A Christmas to Believe In (22 page)

the postponed hearing. He hadn't mentioned court,

reinforcing her suspicion he'd forgotten the date. But if she

didn't say something by Christmas, he'd figure it out on his

own. When he did, he'd stuff all that happiness away. Unable

to trust the setback was only temporary, he'd bottle himself

up until the papers were in his hands and his last name

matched hers.

"Ethan?" she called up the stairwell.

When he didn't respond, she slung her coat over the

banister and went to the kitchen for two cold Pepsis. On her

way out, she grabbed a bag of chips. Junk food always

soothed him. Especially late at night when he'd likely spent

the last few hours hunched over in front of his television,

remote control in-hand.

She climbed the stairs, meandered down the hall, and

tapped on his door with the bottom of a can.

"Yeah."

Letting herself in, she found him as she'd expected.

Tonight's past time, however, didn't involve Indy cars or

wizards and fantasy battles. He focused on one she approved

of far more—online, multi-player Scrabble.

"How's it going?" With one knee on the edge of his

mattress, she passed him her peace offering.

"Eh. I'm stumped."

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Jesse cracked open her cola and squinted at the screen.

Comparing the open letters to the ones in his pallet, she ran

words through her head. "Waif. Up there at the top, off the

A."

He pulled back and looked at her as if she'd uttered

something in a foreign language. "What's that?"

"Someone who's lost. An orphan."

"Oh." He nodded. "Okay. Thanks."

When he finished putting his letters in place, she slid a

sideways glance his way. "Ethan, can we talk for a bit?"

He stared at the screen as someone named Allison slid her

letters into place. "If it's about that guy, no."

Her lips automatically pursed. She gnawed on the inside of

her cheek to halt reactive annoyance. Careful to keep her

voice calm, she asked, "Why not?"

Ethan set his controller on his knee and popped his can of

pop open. "Because I don't want to."

"You're being stubborn."

He shrugged, then picked up his controller.

"C'mon, Ethan, Clint's a decent guy. You'd really enjoy him

if you'd give him a chance. It would make me happy if you'd

at least try."

"Not interested, Mom. I've got friends my age. I don't need

an old fart trying to be cool."

Old fart? Now that was a new one. Did Ethan have any

idea Clint was only a year older than herself? Jesse stifled an

amused chuckle. "I'm not old, am I?"

With lifted eyebrows, he looked at her from the corner of

his eye. "You don't want me to answer that."

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She frowned, entirely uncomfortable with the perception

she was old. Maybe she wasn't as perky as she once had

been, maybe the wrinkles had settled into her face from too

many years in the sun, but she certainly wasn't old.

"There's a difference," Ethan supplied with another casual

lift of his shoulders.

"Oh?"

"You're still ho—" He clamped his mouth shut as his cheeks

burned with crimson color. "Uh. You're cool, and you don't

look old."

Jesse's mouth quirked with amusement. Hot. Her thirteen-

year-old soon-to-be-son thought she was hot. An ego boost

to be sure. However, this conversation wasn't about her. "So

I'm cool. Dontcha think I might have cool friends then?"

"Don't go there, Mom. I don't want to talk about him."

Letting go of the last of her humor, she set her hand on

Ethan's forearm and gave him a hard look. "Well, I'd like to.

Name one good reason, one thing he's done to you, that

justifies all this, and maybe you'll convince me."

He jerked his arm away. "God, let it go already. I told you

I don't want to talk about him."

Scowling, she stared at the hard set of his profile. "Have I

ever once talked to you that way, Ethan? If there's something

you want to discuss, I'm right there. Always."

Silent, he stared at the television. His fingers worked over

the buttons on his controller as he slid two more letter tiles

into place. Frustrated, she resisted the sudden urge to reach

across and rip his controller out of the console. While doing so

might make her feel good for the moment, in the long run, it

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would solve nothing. He'd only become more angry and close

himself off further.

"Ethan, I asked you a question."

Stony, stubborn silence answered. His mouth tightened,

his eyes narrowed. But Ethan didn't respond.

Fine. If he wanted to shut down, two could play at that

game. He might think she was cool, but he'd evidently

forgotten the meaning behind the word
mom
.

Jesse snatched up the bag of chips and stood. "Save your

game."

He blinked at her. "What?"

"You heard me. Save your game. Now."

With a roll of his eyes and a displeased mutter, Ethan

obeyed. He tossed his controller onto the floor at the same

time she jabbed her thumb on the television's power button.

"No games, no television, no computer, no phone until

tomorrow. I'm done with the attitude. Lose it, or you won't go

with Sam tomorrow night either."

He mumbled something as he flopped backwards onto his

bed.

Relying on false bravado to hide the hurt his defiance

created, she stalked out of his room and into hers. None of

this was right. A week ago, she'd envisioned Ethan embracing

Clint and his brothers. He'd met Alex once or twice, had been

friendly even. Heath he had yet to greet, and Clint...

Where Clint made everything in Jesse's world right, he

made everything in Ethan's wrong.

A wealth of conflicting emotion rained down on her as she

sank into her bed. Ethan pushed her farther away the harder

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she tried. She should have expected it, but even armed with

the knowledge of his deep-rooted fears, the reality of the

situation overwhelmed her. With Ethan's distance, she felt

more helpless than she'd ever been. More torn and battered

than a lone soldier atop a bloody hillside.

She had a right to personal happiness. There were

boundaries she didn't dare cross as a parent, but Ethan

couldn't expect her to live the rest of her life alone. Be it

Clint, or someone else in the future, he'd have to come to

terms with this.

If only the hearing hadn't been pushed back. If they'd

gone to court today, she wouldn't have near the uphill battle

on her hands. Even if Ethan couldn't let go enough to trust

Clint, he wouldn't resort to the only defense he knew—

complete and utter distance.

Rolling onto her side, she stared at the phone on her

nightstand. Everyone she knew would be asleep at this hour.

The friends who understood all Ethan had been through,

those who could offer advice and guidance wouldn't

appreciate a midnight phone call. Besides, the only person

who could provide any real solutions would be Carmen,

Ethan's long-time counselor. And Jesse suspected she already

knew what Carmen would say—to expect it, handle it with

patience, give Ethan time.

Years ago, she would have called her brothers for advice.

Had on so many occasions she couldn't count them all. Would

it be so terrible to do so now? To reach out to the stability

and comfort she treasured?

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Ignoring the tugging worry that a ringing phone might

disturb Amelia, Jesse picked up the phone and dialed the

number she knew by heart.

Clint answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"It's me. Sorry I called so late."

"No." His voice softened. "It's all right. Is everything

okay?"

"I... yes..." She heaved a sigh and rolled onto her back,

staring at the ceiling. "I don't know. I had an argument with

Ethan. Again."

"About me." He flatly stated the obvious.

"Yeah."

"Sweetheart, you've got to trust me. Don't push it. I'm

okay with his attitude. Do I like it? No. But I understand it.

Give it time. It'll come together."

Logic lived in his words, but she couldn't escape the

incessant voice that screamed she didn't have time. Clint

would leave before Ethan ever warmed up to him. All she

longed for was a few days of peace. A few fleeting days of

carefree happiness.

All things she couldn't explain to Clint. With a sad smile,

she changed the subject. "I miss you already," she

murmured. "I wish I could have stayed."

"Mm. Me too." The roughness in his quiet confession sent

tingles to her nerves. "You left so fast, Jesse. Don't do that to

me again. Let me hold you for a while. You feel so good in my

arms."

She shivered at the vivid memory of Clint's strong arms

wrapped around her. Her toes curled into the bedding, and a

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genuine smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Ethan's

spending the night with Sam tomorrow. Would you like to

stay here? My vacation starts tomorrow—we can sleep in."

"Yeah," he whispered. "I would."

Stretching, Jesse glanced at the pillow beside hers. She

ran her hand over the mattress, picturing how Clint would

look in the moonlight that poured in through her window. "I'll

make dinner."

"I'll bring wine."

A long comfortable silence fell between them. Through the

line, she heard the rise and fall of his breath, the creak of

mattress springs as he shifted. "Clint?" she asked quietly.

"What, babe?"

"I like this. A lot."

"I do too, sweetheart."

Her smile widened, and she snuggled into the comforter as

giddiness swept through her blood. "Okay. I'll let you sleep.

I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Jesse."

"Night."

Twisting, she dropped the phone into the cradle and

yielded to a contented sigh. Something about that man made

everything right. Like a soothing balm, he took away the sting

of Ethan's biting words. His rough whispers, the way he didn't

hesitate to tell her what he wanted or how he felt, gave her

hope in the impossible. Made her believe someday, somehow,

the three of them might sit down to a dinner where everyone

laughed and where Ethan embraced Clint as readily as he

accepted her.

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Jesse's voice still rang in Clint's head as he stared at the

constellations on his ceiling.
I like this a lot.
Such a simple

statement, yet laden with meaning. Had any other woman

uttered the same, it wouldn't hold the same weight. But

coming from Jesse, it said far more. Mirrored all the

conflicting emotions that churned around in his gut. She

cared for him. Enough to mention the change in their

relationship, but not yet ready to confront any deeper

attachment.

A confrontation he'd warred with since she walked out of

his house. He liked it too much. Jesse belonged here, at his

side, wrapped up in the covers with her legs tangled through

his. Just as he belonged at her dinner table, arguing with a

thirteen-year-old who harbored insecurities only time could

cure. A lifetime of friendship created deeper intimacy that he

had only begun to tap into. She knew him so well. Understood

his needs, as he understood hers. He wanted nothing more

than dig down and discover every fascinating facet of a life

with Jesse.

Yet, as thrilling as the prospect was, he couldn't shake the

foreboding feeling making love to her had been a mistake.

She deserved the whole package—a man who could stick

around, provide for her, be a father-figure to Ethan. Sadly, he

was none of that. Barring complications with his horse, he

would leave in five days. His stables demanded his attention.

He couldn't walk away from unfulfilled dreams and create yet

another failure.

Providing for her was out of the question. Much as he'd like

nothing more, his finances were pitiful. He had just enough

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saved to get through the coming season, and if his three-

year-old colt didn't break his maiden with a significant purse,

next year would be bleak, if it existed at all. Entirely too close

to losing everything, Clint couldn't fulfill the necessary

element of providing for a family.

And Ethan most certainly meant family.

He kicked a foot out and frowned. Hell, if considering

family didn't say mountains about his feelings for Jesse,

nothing would. Not once had he ever thought beyond the

picture of owning a successful racing operation with he as