Read A Christmas to Believe In Online
Authors: Claire Ashgrove
But it wasn't an intimate conversation. Had nothing to do with
inserting himself in Ethan's life.
They could put up the tree. He'd be sure to explain how
the man of the house always put the star on the top. He could
relate the story to his father. Tell Ethan about the time his
father had knocked over the entire tree. It wouldn't seem like
an obvious hint if he kept it to a coincidental conversation.
But he'd make damn sure Ethan stood on the footstool and
set the topper in place.
Whatever it took, tonight he'd leave no question in the
boy's mind about his position in their lives. Jesse belonged to
Ethan first. Ethan needed to understand that. Somehow or
another, he'd convince the boy to share just a tiny portion of
her heart.
Doing so was his only hope. If he failed, he'd lose Jesse
forever.
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Clint jammed his foot on the brake at the bottom of the
driveway. His fingers tightened on the wheel as he swallowed
hard.
Forever
. What was he thinking? Forever didn't matter.
He just needed—wanted—this week. Forever wasn't part of
the equation.
His gaze slid to the house on the next hill, lingering on the
bright lights that glowed in the twilight.
Was it?
He shook his head. No, it couldn't be. He couldn't give
Jesse what she deserved. Couldn't provide for her as a
partner should. For that matter, he couldn't provide for
anyone. It took everything he had to see to his stables, and
even then, he barely scraped by. Until he could offer the
same comfort and security his father had given his mother,
forever didn't matter. Not with Jesse. Not with anyone.
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Convinced Angel had decided to keep her foal at least
another twelve hours, Clint let himself inside Jesse's house.
He found her in the kitchen, her skirt exchanged for a pair of
faded blue jeans. Standing at the stove, she looked over her
shoulder and gave him a bright smile. "Hey. How's the
horse?"
"Same as this morning." He shucked his coat, tossed it on
the chair and wandered into the kitchen. The hearty smell of
meat and potatoes permeated the air, blending with the
aroma of gravy. Curious, he moved behind her to investigate
the dishes on the stove and slid an arm around her waist. The
fragile skin of her neck beckoned. Drawn by its call, he dipped
his head and pressed a kiss to the side of her throat.
She shivered.
"Smells good," he commented in a low voice.
Jesse leaned her head on his shoulder and settled her
hand atop his arm. Lingering in his embrace, her lashes
fluttered shut as she let out a quiet sigh. "So do you."
Clint dusted his mouth along the length of her neck. "You
have no idea how badly I want to kiss you," he whispered. At
her earlobe, he paused to draw it between his teeth and give
it a gentle tug. "How badly I want your hands on me again."
He sank his hips into hers, his half-swollen erection nestling
between her buttocks.
Beneath his lips, her pulse leapt to life. "Mm," she
murmured. "Ethan."
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"I know." Indulging, he skimmed his hand over her
lightweight blouse and covered her breast. Her nipple beaded
beneath his palm. He gave her soft flesh a gentle squeeze,
then with a reluctant sigh, stepped away.
She braced both hands on the stove and bowed her head.
Her ribs expanded with a deep draw of air. Her physical
reaction matched his, and he took a small degree of pleasure
in knowing he affected her in the same powerful way. As Clint
dropped into a chair, she found her composure and returned
to her meal.
He allowed the silence to soak into him, comforted by the
intermittent clatter and clink of dishes and silverware. She
dished out bowls, opened a box of crackers, unwrapped a
warm loaf of fresh bread. He never would have associated
domesticity with Jesse, but here in her kitchen it suited her.
To his discomfort, it suited him as well. It wouldn't take much
to get used to the idea of spending evenings like this. It
would sure make the nights his house felt empty and soulless
more enjoyable to have Jesse hovering over his stove. Ethan
waiting upstairs.
She turned around with a smile. Her gaze met his, bright
with arousal.
No, not much at all.
Clint hurried to his feet and relieved her of two heavy
bowls.
"Ethan, dinner!" Jesse hollered as she set the rest of the
dishes on the table. She motioned Clint to the chair closest to
hers.
"Did you warn him?"
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"About?"
"My coming to dinner?"
"No. I haven't seen him yet tonight."
Great. Just what would guarantee even more attitude from
the angst-ridden teen. Clint dropped into his chair and
listened to the heavy footsteps on the stairs. His back to
Ethan's approach, Clint couldn't see the expression on the
boy's face. But when the purposeful pace came to an abrupt
halt, his imagination filled in the details.
"Oh," Ethan remarked.
Clint cringed inwardly. Jesse should have forewarned
Ethan, and Ethan should have been given the opportunity to
excuse himself from the meal. Nothing good would come from
forcing Ethan to interact. Nevertheless, neither had occurred.
For better or worse, they were both committed to the meal
now.
Twisting in his chair, Clint gave Ethan a cordial nod.
"Evening, Ethan."
"Hi." Flat and unemotional, the boy's tone raised billowing
red flags. He didn't look at Clint, merely shuffled to his chair
and hunched over his bowl of stew. He shoveled in a
mouthful.
"You should wait for your mother to sit," Clint commented
quietly.
As Jesse sank into her chair, Ethan lifted his gaze. Steely
blue eyes challenged. "I thought I was supposed to wait for
guests."
The message was clear, and Clint ground his teeth against
the snub. So he'd done it on purpose. An act of defiance
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meant to insult. It had worked. But it also made Clint that
much more determined to win the boy over.
"Ethan, we have company." Jesse's low voice held firm
warning.
With a shrug, Ethan returned to his food.
As Jesse bent over her bowl and lifted her spoon, she shot
Clint a look of apology. His hand still under the table, he
patted her knee, telling her the only way he knew how, she
shouldn't worry.
"Ethan, why don't you ask Clint about baseball tryouts?
You'd said none of your friends had any advice. Clint played
third through high school and college."
Sensing opportunity in Jesse's question, Clint turned his
attention on Ethan. "Are you thinking about going out for the
team?"
Ethan's glare shot daggers at Jesse. "Maybe."
"It was a lot of fun. If you can throw the ball and hit,
tryouts are pretty simple. Any idea where you'd like to play?"
"No." Still not looking at Clint, Ethan set his spoon slowly
in his stew. He dropped his hands to his lap, his posture
tightening along with his jaw.
Undaunted, Clint offered him an encouraging smile. "If you
can catch, you'll never sit on the bench. A good catcher
makes the team. You can find two pitchers for every catcher
worth anything. Double when it comes to infielders or
outfielders."
"Look." Ethan lifted his gaze, turning his glare on Clint.
"It's not important. Okay? Just drop it."
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From the corner of his eye, Clint caught Jesse stiffen. He
fell into silent dining. Though Ethan made no further attempt
to acknowledge his presence, Clint studied the harsh set to
his features. What could have possibly happened to create
this sort of unwarranted anger? The very inability to be polite,
his always-present anger—had he been abused? Was there
some male figure in his life who'd done the unthinkable and
molested him? Or was this underlying rage a byproduct of too
many years in the system?
Whatever it was, the walls Ethan erected would take a
bulldozer to crack. Yet, Jesse had gotten through to him.
She'd created a bond, and his loyalty to her couldn't be more
evident. But how? What had she done? Where had she
started?
Ethan pushed his empty bowl to the side. "May I be
excused?"
Jesse answered with a perturbed frown. "We're putting up
the tree, remember?"
"Oh." On a heavy sigh, Ethan slumped in his chair.
Clint glanced at what remained of his dinner. His appetite
diminished, he followed Ethan's lead and pushed his bowl out
of the way. "Why don't you and I go up to the attic and bring
down the boxes?" Looking at Jesse, he inclined his head
toward the stairs. "They are still up there, aren't they?"
Her short nod accompanied a brief smile. "Yeah. Up there
behind th—"
Ethan shot out of his chair, nearly knocking it over. "I'm
not putting up our tree with him. He's not my family." With a
forceful kick, he shoved his chair out of his way and stormed
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to the door. He jerked it open, stomped outside, and
slammed it shut. The windows rattled in his wake.
Jesse bolted to her feet. She tossed her napkin on the
table and took two strides toward the door. As she passed
Clint, he caught her by the wrist, jerking her to an abrupt
halt. "Let him go, Jesse."
"Let him go? You've got to be kidding. After what he just
did? I don't think so." She tugged on her arm, twisted to get
free.
Clint tightened his hold. "Let him go. He's right. You and I
might be close, but I'm not his family."
Changing her tactics, she pried at his fingers with her free
hand. "I don't care. There's no excuse for that kind of
behavior. He knows better. Your mother's been just as much
of a grandmother as mine. I won't have him treating you this
way." With a frustrated mutter, she slapped at his hand, then
pinched her nails into his knuckle.
Ignoring the painful bite, Clint gave her arm a shake
meant to jolt some sense into her. "It's me who gets to
decide whether I'm insulted or not. I'm a big boy. I can deal
with his attitude. If you run out there and give him the ninth
degree, all you're going to do is give him more reason to hate
me. Now knock it off, let him have time to himself."
Her shoulders sagged with defeat. He held onto her wrist
until he was certain her resignation wasn't an act created just
to gain her freedom. When he let go, she sank into her chair
with a dejected sigh. "I don't know where you get your
patience."
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Clint eased out his chair and bent over to kiss the top of
her head. "I'm going to go, sweetheart. Put up your tree
together, and don't worry about me. You can call me later if
you want."
"I'm sorry, Clint."
Shaking his head, he squeezed her shoulder. "Really, it's
okay."
His gut rolled into a knot even as he uttered the
reassurance. Was it? With the way Ethan seemed determined
to close off every avenue Clint attempted, Jesse's conviction
that Ethan wouldn't come around took on more plausibility.
And if the boy continued to throw up walls every time Clint
tried to forge a bridge, sooner or later Jesse would pick a
side. It didn't take much guessing which one she'd choose.
Ethan would gain his victory. As he should.
Forcing a smile to his face, he pulled on his coat and
quietly exited. Outside, he dropped the facade and allowed a
frown to settle into his brow. Fresh footsteps led toward the
barn. Between the old exterior planks Jesse hadn't insulated,
light glowed. A shadow shuffled behind the weathered slats.
Clint trudged to the barn. Curiosity nagged him to slide the
door open, peek in on Ethan. But respect for the angry teen's
privacy forbade follow through. He thumped on the door,
leaned in close to holler through the crack. "Go on back
inside, Ethan. Your mom wants to put the tree up with you."
He didn't wait for a reply. Marching back to his truck, he
jumped in out of the frosty air and keyed the engine. He
eased backwards, then rolled down the hill. At the juncture of
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the street, he glanced in the rearview mirror to see a tall,
shadowy form retreating to the house.
Sports hadn't worked. Opportunity presented, and despite
all sensibility, it failed. But the horse... His mare held some