A Christmas to Believe In (17 page)

Clint has work to do."

He turned them loose, ruffled their hair in turn, and

climbed to his feet. Go Fish, Slap Jack, Checkers, and Chutes

& Ladders gave way to wrestling. Four hours he'd spent with

them. Four hours of absolute heaven. How Alex had produced

such beautiful little girls, he'd never understand. Zoe must

have contributed those genes.

Stomping his feet to straighten his jeans, Clint looked at

the clock. Almost five. Surely Jesse would be home by now. If

he left right now, he could escape the pile of holiday

garnishments waiting for his mother to enlist everyone's help

to hang. All day long, she'd hobbled about, hanging mistletoe

in strategic places, dictating where she envisioned the tables

sitting for the reception, instructing him to get this box or

that crate from the attic.

His mother had always loved Christmas. But this year,

she'd given decorating a whole new meaning. With the in-

house reception and the holiday itself, not a corner of their

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home escaped adornment. Regardless of Jesse, the trip to the

barn would be a welcome escape.

"I'll be back after a while, Mom," he called to the dining

room.

"Okay, honey."

The girls scampered out of the room in search of their

grandmother, and Clint slid into his coat. Jesse would love

those three. Hell, Jesse would have loved every bit of today.

A shame she'd had to work, he'd have brought her back here,

let her sample Zoe's food, watch as she wrestled with them.

He opened the door and stepped outside as a white Camry

skidded into the drive. Drawing back, he watched Jesse jump

out and rush toward the house. As she approached, he caught

the faint sound of a sniffle.

Crying? What the hell? He couldn't remember ever seeing

Jesse in tears.

"Clint." In the next instant, her arms were around him,

and she hung on tight.

"Shh." Gathering her close, he pressed his hand to the

crown of her head and urged her cheek to his shoulder.

"What's the matter?"

Her shoulders shook with a sob.

"Hey," he murmured. "Calm down, sweetheart. What

happened?"

She gulped down a deep breath and turned watery eyes to

him. "The adoption. Jonathan called—" Another plaintive sob

choked off her words. With a fierce shake of her head, she

buried her face in his chest. Her chest expanded as she drew

in a deep breath.

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Clint smoothed her hair, nuzzled his cheek against the top

of her head. "Come on. Let's go inside."

She nodded on a sniffle.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, drew her against

his side and helped her through the door. Urging her onto the

couch, he sat down beside her and waited for her to gather

her composure enough to speak.

"Jonathan called." She exhaled slowly, blinking back fresh

tears that welled in her blue eyes. "The hearing's been

postponed."

The rest of her story came out in a jumble of words that

ran so fast his head spun. By the time she finished, she was

sobbing again. Her entire body trembled against his. Where

she laid her cheek on his shoulder, his shirt soaked up her

tears. A strange, wholly unexpected feeling swept through

Clint. She'd come to him. Turned to him when she thought

everything had fallen apart. She could have called Alex,

cornered Heath, but she'd come here for him. His heart

swelled at the realization, and he wrapped his arms around

her more securely.

"Does he know yet?"

She shook her head. "When he finds out, it will ruin

Christmas for him. Jonathan's telling his
Guardian ad Litem
to

let me break the news, but still, it'll break his heart." She

took a deep breath. "He hasn't said anything about the court

date. It's been so long since they scheduled it, I think he's

forgotten what day it was supposed to happen. I'll just have

to try and keep him from finding out until I come up with the

right words."

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"I know it's not how you envisioned it happening, but it's

still going to go through. Of course, he'll be disappointed. But

he'll realize it's out of your control, I'm sure."

"No, he won't. Somehow, this will become my fault."

"Why?"

She sat up and wiped her cheeks with the back of her

wrist. "I can't tell you. I promised him I wouldn't ever tell."

If there were one thing Clint loved about her most, it

would be her loyalty. Though occasionally frustrating, her

fierce dedication knew no boundaries. He could press for

answers all night long, and she'd never betray Ethan's

confidence. No more than she'd share all the secrets she

knew about him and his brothers.

With no answers to give her and no way to solve the

problem on her behalf, Clint drew her into his arms once

more. He slid his fingers through her hair, combing out the

long raven locks. They sat together in silence for several long

moments, the only interruption, the occasional titter of four-

year-old female laughter.

Jesse's breathing evened out, and she edged out of his

protective hold. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't dump on you like this."

He reached out and cupped the side of her face. With his

thumb, he brushed away the wetness on her cheek. Giving

her a soft smile, he murmured, "I don't mind." To reinforce

his statement, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her

flushed lips. "That's what I'm here for."

"I should go." She heaved a sigh. "I have to make dinner.

I'm late, and Ethan will wonder where I've been."

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"I was just heading over to check on Angel. I can't take a

minute more of this holiday stuff."

"Oh?" She lifted her eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

Another sniffle had her rubbing her reddened nose, and

she tried for a smile. It came out weak, hesitant, and so

adorable Clint's heart thumped hard.

"Want to have dinner with us? Though, I warn you, we're

putting up our tree tonight too. It's not a total escape."

He blinked. Dinner with Ethan and Jesse? "You think that's

a good idea?"

"Well, you said you thought you could work things out.

Might as well start sometime."

Invited into their life. She trusted he could smooth things

over with Ethan.
Wanted
him to take the chance. His chest

contracted with the realization. She believed in him.

Sliding his hand to the back of her neck, he guided her

closer to brush his mouth across hers. She offered no

resistance, parting her lips in welcome invitation. The tip of

her tongue met his, and Clint closed his eyes on a heavy

exhale. Fringed with salty flavor, her mouth was warm,

inviting. He set his free arm on her waist, fingers clamping

into her side to stop himself from pulling her onto his lap.

Lord above, she could turn him inside out so damn easily.

The sound of footsteps in the adjoining room brought him

to his senses. Drawing the kiss to a lingering close, he

released her. "I'll be right behind you," he whispered against

the corner of her mouth.

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She turned her face a fraction, caught his lower lip

between hers, unwilling to separate. Their breaths entwined

in a taunting game of catch and release. He played with fire,

all too aware anyone might walk in and witness his inability to

resist. Told himself one more touch would be enough, then

he'd pull away, follow her out the door.

Yet it wasn't enough. Nor was the second. Only one thing

would satisfy the hollow ache each retreat intensified. With a

choked groan, he dragged her sideways onto his lap and

delved in deep. One hand tangled in her hair, the other he set

on a stocking-clad thigh. His fingertips traced the hem of her

skirt, dipped beneath to creep around and caress her dainty

buttock.

Distantly, he heard someone call his name. But the play of

Jesse's palm against his chest made it impossible to answer.

She explored freely, across his pecs, down his ribs, over his

belly. Her gentle caresses scored in and turned his gut into

liquid heat. Trapped beneath the confines of his jeans, his

cock swelled with craving.

Touch me.

As if she could hear his silent plea, her hand flattened

firmly over his swollen length. His entire body tightened with

a shock of ecstasy.

"Clint, can you—" The hobbled footsteps stopped abruptly,

his mother's voice dying off in the entryway.

Jesse scrambled off Clint's lap, her cheeks as crimson as

the stockings on the fireplace. Clint turned his head to look at

his mother. "Shit," he mumbled under his breath.

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Amelia's expression didn't change. Not even the hint of a

smile, or worse, disapproval, touched her knowing eyes. She

held his gaze, telling him she'd witnessed everything, but to

her credit, continued as if she'd seen nothing. "I need you to

move this box for me." Using her crutches, she maneuvered a

tight turn and disappeared down the hall.

He looked to Jesse, offering silent apology while she

rearranged her skirt. She glanced up, and to his absolute

surprise, flashed him an amused grin.

Thank God. He'd expected her anger. Not that she'd have

a right to it, but her ability to find the humor in their situation

erased a large portion of the embarrassment he felt for her

sake. Rising to her feet, she bent over and kissed his cheek.

"I'll have dinner ready in an hour."

He caught her hand as she retreated, lifted it to his lips.

"Be there shortly."

After the front door shut behind her, Clint dropped his

head to the back of the couch, closed his eyes, and willed his

body into submission. It wouldn't be the first time his mother

caught him with a girl. But today marked the first time he'd

ever lost his senses enough to not block her intrusion with a

door. What the hell was the matter with him? He was thirty-

six years old, for God's sake. Long past the age of making out

in the front room.

He muttered another oath and pushed himself to his feet.

He should apologize. While his mother tolerated her boys'

natural urges, she'd never been pleased to have them indulge

beneath her roof.

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Inside the dining room, he found her and the girls sorting

through a box of ornaments. All four heads snapped up as his

boots announced his entry. His gaze locked with hers. "I'm

sor—"

She pointed to the top box, on a stack of four. "That one, I

can't get it down. It's too heavy, and it has some handmade

ornaments from your father's mother I want to put on the

tables. The girls and I are going to clean them up and repair

them."

Disbelieving her obvious dismissal of his indiscretions, Clint

stared. Had everyone changed in the five years he'd stayed

away? Jesse turned into a siren, Heath lost his usual humor,

Alex was a father—and now this. Where his mother would

have looked down her nose, expecting his apology, she went

on as if she hadn't just walked in on him and Jesse, mere

moments away from peeling off clothes.

"Don't stand there like I've asked you to move the Eiffel

Tower. I assume you know what you're doing. Move my box

and go see to that horse of yours."

There, she'd acknowledged it. At least that was somewhat

normal. Only, she had it all wrong. He didn't have the

slightest idea what he was doing. Nothing about his inability

to resist Jesse made sense. It just felt too damn good to stop.

But his idiocy wasn't his mother's concern. With a dutiful

nod, he crossed to the tower of boxes and set the topmost on

the ground. "Don't keep dinner for me."

"Didn't intend to."

As he left the room, he caught her smirk from the corner

of his eye. Perfect. Just what he needed. His mother knew

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something, and he'd cut off his thumbs to discover what it

was. If he were lucky, today wouldn't result in subtle pressure

to turn Alex's wedding into a dual ceremony.

Frowning, he stomped out the door.

At his truck, however, all his discomfort fled as his

thoughts returned to the evening ahead. Somehow, he'd

make it work with Ethan. They'd all have a nice dinner, full of

laughter and conversation. The boy seemed to like sports, if

his enthusiasm about tomorrow's hockey game said anything.

Maybe he liked football as well. Sports were safe territory, far

removed from anything related to Jesse. Well, excepting the

fact she could play almost as well as him and his brothers.