Sweet Christmas Kisses (58 page)

“To my father.”  And then she added in a less brazen, unconvincing voice, “Not to the world.”

She was lying to herself and she knew it.

“If I had two legs, I wouldn’t be doing this.  I wouldn’t have a list of things I need to…to…do.”  He’d be in Phoenix, sitting in an air conditioned, bug-free, snake-free living room, happy that he’d made it home in one piece.  “I’m doing this to prove something to
me
.  No one and nothing can keep me down, certainly not because I’m missing eighteen inches of bone.  Who cares what my parents or the world think of me?” 
Now who was lying?

Crickets or their Ecuadorian equivalent began chirping outside.

It was a fitting end to their ruse of a poor man’s wedding night.

“Merry Christmas.  There’s no running water.”  Tiff huffed back into her room the next morning, feeling every inch the put-out Bon-Bon Heiress.  She and Jax hadn’t talked since discussing their need to prove themselves. 

She’d been telling herself for weeks she was down here to save the company and prove Daddy wrong.  She’d conveniently refused to acknowledge that it would help her love-tarnished image if she succeeded in a legitimate endeavor.  She was shallow.  She wanted people, especially her father, to think highly of her.  She wanted Jax to think highly of her.  Was that such a bad thing?

Tiff stuffed her dirty clothes in her laundry bag.  “Darn water pump is as temperamental as Sister Mary Ofelia.”

Jax sat on her cot, changing the bandage on his knee.  Nothing about him was posturing or self-conscious.  The skin around his eye was black, but the swelling had reduced considerably.  She could see two blue eyes, eyes that regarded her levelly.  “Do you want me to have a look?”

The morning was bright and sunny, promising to be hot and muggy later on.  Her morning shower was her one luxury, the one time of the day she wasn’t hot and sweaty.  If she lost that…She swallowed her pride.  “Could you fix it?” 

He put on his boot.  “I’ll look after I get my bionic leg on.”  He could joke about his setback.  Why couldn’t she?

“Let’s eat first.”  She led him to the common room.

In the kitchen, Jax fingered the wet material hanging over the hot plate.  “My socks are still wet.” 

“It takes two days for clothes to dry in here.  Three in my room.”  She was lucky her bras hadn’t been drying in her room last night.  How embarrassing would that have been?

“I wanted to leave today, but without dry liners…”  Jax frowned, fingering a pocket of his cargo pants above his missing appendage.

She wanted to kiss his cheek and tell him not to worry.  Okay, on a morning of self-examination, that wasn’t quite right.  Tiff wanted to kiss his worries away…on the lips.  What was happening to her?  “I’m sure the sisters would be happy to host you for the Christmas holiday.”  Once more, she swallowed her pride and decided to be honest.  “I’d be happy if you’d stay.”

Was she nuts?  It was starting again.  The attraction.  The appeal of being part of a couple.  The feeling that he was
The One
. 

And yet, she babbled on like the flooded river.  “Besides, you said the river crested over the bridge.  Unless you try your hand at swinging on vines, you’re not crossing today.”  Maybe not even until the day after tomorrow.  Tiff hoped he’d stay until his knee healed.  She kind of hoped he’d change his mind altogether and return home.  Ecuador had daily rain showers.  How did Jax expect to make it through a thunderstorm every day without freaking out?  “It seems odd that you’d come out here this time of year.” 

“I couldn’t take it at home anymore.  It’ll make things easier for my parents, trust me.”  He sniffed the oatmeal Sister Mary Rosa had left on the hot plate.  “Why aren’t you home for the holidays?”

“I was supposed to spend Christmas with someone, but it fell through.”  She couldn’t bring herself to tell him the whole truth.  She was supposed to have married Chad on Christmas Day.  Lying, manipulating Chad, who was Greek god beautiful and Greek god vindictive.  She dished Jax a bowl of oatmeal with a forceful flick of the spoon.  “Why don’t you sit at the table?  I’ll bring your food.”

“Where are the nuns?”  He limped toward the table, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Sit on the bench we sat on last night, not–”

Jax yelped and clutched at the table, having sat on the bench she was in the process of warning him away from.

“Are you okay?  I should have spoken up sooner.”  She gave him a once-over.  All his muscles seemed to be in their proper place.  “One of the bench legs rotted and is crumbling.  It’s more like a rocking chair now.”

He leaned over for a closer look.  “You let the nuns sit here?”

“They insist.”  The elderly trio was a stubborn, independent lot.  “And they insist on waiting for someone named Elvis to fix it.”

“You’re right.  It’s not exactly Trump Towers.  Or your aunt’s B&B.  Where did you say that was?”

“Cedar City, Utah.  The Iron Gate Inn.  They get a lot of trade from the local Shakespeare Festival, plus their fair share of weddings.  It’s a beautiful place, right out of a history book.”  She put the brakes on her babble-mouth.

“You’re cute when you gush.”

Cute?
  She drew the compliment close, while simultaneously reminding herself not to get carried away.

Jax propped the bench upright against the wall and took a seat on the one they’d shared last night.  “If you have some basic tools, I can fix that.”

He’d need planked wood, something rare in these parts.  She wouldn’t burst his bubble just yet, not when she was hopeful for a water pump fix.  “A plumber and a carpenter?  It really is Christmas.”  He was too good to have been found wandering in the rainforest.  “Might I point you in the direction of the front door?  If you open it too quickly, the bottom will swing out on you.”  She served up a bowl of oatmeal for herself, and carried both bowls to the table.

“Breakfast with a beautiful woman and a honey-do list.  How quickly the honeymoon ends.”  He winked with his good eye.  “Where are my hosts, wife?”

“Please, don’t call me that.”  She sat on the bench next to him, careful to keep a respectable distance between them.  She should tell him about the five rings in her jewelry box.  But not only would that stop the wife-calling, it would erase any respect he had for her.  “The nuns left early to go into the next nearest village to give blessings and lead an early afternoon Christmas service.”

Jax dropped his spoon in his bowl.  “They all went?  Even Sister Mary Rosa and her walker?  On foot?”

“You’re making me feel like I should be stopping them.”  No one stopped them.  “Those women cling to their independence like a barnacle to a coastal rock.  Besides, the bus service knows when they need a pick up.  I heard it come by earlier.  And it’ll bring them home in time for Christmas dinner.”  It was practically door-to-door service.

“The bus?”  His raised brows were lopsided due to his black eye.  “But the roads must be impassable.”

“They’re more gravelly and quick-draining above the river.”  She stirred her oatmeal as if stirring it might reveal the answers to her questions.  Or erase her need for acceptance.  “What I said last night?  About proving yourself as a man?  I stepped over a line.  You made me realize how important approval is to me, when it should be the least important thing.”

It was his turn to stir his oatmeal.  “We all tell ourselves little white lies to get through the day.”  He angled his head to look at her with his good eye, drawing her in with that intense gaze.  “The thing that bothers me is that most people judge me based on my appearance.”

“You mean your gorgeous, model-like features?”  She scoffed.  “You shouldn’t be offended by the association.  Models aren’t all empty headed.”

He flashed that lopsided grin.

“Seriously.”  She cleared her throat.  “You don’t need anyone who judges you by the number of toes you have.”

“And you shouldn’t care what the world thinks of you either.  You’ll develop that super-strain of cocoa bean tree.  But you should do it because it makes you happy, not because you’re looking for something to make your dad proud.”

“What a pair we make.”  She tried to make light of her insecurities.  She was afraid she failed.

Jax placed his hand over hers on the table.  “Who you are today matters.  Not your past or your past mistakes.”

If only that was true.  She turned her hand to clasp his.  Best to keep things light.  “I got lucky when I married you, sailor.” 
Sailor.
  It was the nickname her grandmother had used for every boy with spunk.  Jax had plenty of spunk. 

“It’s Army.”  He drew his hand away.  “About that.  Before I leave, I’d like the nuns to undo our
unido
.”

She nodded stiffly.  Her first marriage and her first divorce.  All in one week.  Practically in one day.

Merry Christmas.

There was nothing like taking away a man’s limb to make him feel inadequate.  Add having to hop down stairs on one leg because his prosthetic socks were still wet, and Jax had to bite back his need to voice his frustration.

He may have talked a good game about not caring for anyone else’s opinion, but he’d lied.  He was bunny-hopping down the stairs followed by a beautiful woman.  One he was married to.  He might just as well belch and fart to complete the illusion that he was one heck-of-a-catch.

The moment he told Tiff he wanted out of their
unido
, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.  Her smile had shattered and fallen to the floor.  The more he got to know Tiff, the more it seemed wrong to stay in a relationship without love.  And yet, it felt wrong to sever their tenuous connection, because…because…There was something about Tiff.

By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Jax was sweating in his cargo pants and T-shirt.  He used his cane like a crutch to traverse the path to the rear of the convent where the water pump and rainwater harvesting system were located. 

Tiff trailed behind him, carrying a small toolbox.  She’d donned her pink boots, skinny jeans, a lime green button-down, and a red bandana around her neck.  She’d braided her hair.  When she’d been in the kitchen, the tail of her braid swung across her shoulders when she walked, teasing him to catch it and draw her close, kissably close. 

The heat’s getting to me. 
“I haven’t taken the place of anyone special in your life, have I?”

Her laughter was short and hollow.  “I’m on a sabbatical from men.”

“Been burned, have you?”  Who would let her go?  Only a fool…like him.

“Something like that.”

The sun was already baking.  Around the clearing surrounding the convent, the forest dripped and splatted as water made its way down to the ground.  The air had a green, fresh quality overlaying the usual mugginess.  They walked beneath the stilted building where it was cooler, but it smelled moist and dank, as if they were deep in the rainforest.

Jax tapped the gauge on the water pump.  It read zero pressure.  Not a good sign.  Neither was the amount of rust around the system.

Tiff had paused by a wood and wire rack.  She inspected her cocoa beans.  “Too soon to tell if they’re ruined.”  She joined him, gesturing toward the pump.  “Rust and mold.  Welcome to life in Ecuador.”

“Could have been worse,” he said.

“How so?”

“Owen could have wanted to trek the North Pole.”  He loosened the wing nuts on the pump cap so he could check the connections.  “I’d be freezing my remaining toes off.”  In which case, he never would have met her.  Could he get away with taking his divorce request back?  He could apologize.  “About
unido–
” 

The pump system began to buzz.

“What’s that noise?”  Tiff backed up a couple of steps.

“I don’t know.  It doesn’t sound mechanical.”  He loosened the last wing nut and lifted the cap.

A bee flew at him, dive bombing and circling.

Tiff waved her arms, presumably trying to scare the bee away.  “You made him angry.” 

“Bees are always angry.”  He tried to swat it.

It flew past his ear.  And then there was silence.

“Ow!” Jax slapped the back of his arm, feeling a small body squish beneath his palm.  “He stung me.”

“Let me see.”  Tiff came around behind him.  The top of her head barely reached his shoulder.  “I want to make sure it wasn’t a scorpion.”

Jax went very still.  “They have those here?”

“They have everything here.”  She gently pinched the skin of his bicep.  “Got the stinger.  You aren’t allergic to bees, are you?” 

“Never have been before.  And I seem to be breathing okay.  Although it stings.”

Something soft and wet pressed against the sting.  Immediately, he felt better.  “What was that?”

“My grandmother’s feel-better remedy.”  She moved beside him, brushing a lock of sweat-dampened hair from his forehead.  “A kiss to the finger pressed to your boo-boo.”

Boo-boo.
  Heat flash-fired unexpectedly through his veins.  The term shouldn’t have been a turn-on.

And suddenly, he got it.  His attraction to her.  Boo-boo or not, Tiff treated him like a man.  Like a man she was comfortable with and respected.  She didn’t shudder at the sight of his stump or rush to open the door for him.  He didn’t need to walk the Andes to prove anything to her.  Tiff cared for him without him having ten toes.

She did care for him, didn’t she?  He couldn’t be reading that wrong.  She’d spent a long time last night with her hand on his leg.  And they’d told each other things they hadn’t shared with anyone else.

Tiff licked her lips, those plump, kissable lips.  “Is something wrong?”

Everything was wrong.  He’d met her less than twenty-four hours ago.  If he kissed her, she’d think he was a one-night stand type of guy, especially since he’d essentially just asked her for a divorce.

He dragged his gaze away from her and peered into the pump.  “There’s a nest in here.”  He cleaned it out.  Almost immediately, the gauge went from zero to thirty-two pounds of pressure.  The pump was equalized, but his heart was pumping in the red zone.  “You should have water pressure now.”