The Christmas Piano Tree: What's Christmas without a tree? (A Kissing Creek novel Book 1)
Authors: Jina Bacarr
The CHRISTMAS PIANO TREE
A Kissing Creek Novel
Jina Bacarr
Copyright 2014 by Jina Bacarr
Cover Design by Jina Bacarr
Photo credits:
Piano: ©
Unholyvault
|
Dreamstime.com
Romantic couple: ©
Iurii Sokolov
|
Dreamstime.com
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at
[email protected]
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination
My favorite Christmas was in Kentucky when I was in grade school. We lived in a small cottage-like house on the outskirts of town with snowdrifts that came up to my waist. Going into town to buy a Christmas tree was a big deal for us, seeing the lights and decorations on Main Street and stopping by the general store to buy rock candy. It was a world without the Internet or cell phones, which makes it seem magical now when I look back on it.
One Christmas we almost didn’t get a tree. We were snowed in and when the storm cleared, we drove from lot to lot until we found finally found a tree and hauled it home. We were all nearly frozen. The creaking heater in the house didn’t work right, so my dad lit the big ole fireplace and I can still see my mom decorating the tree and hanging up our stockings on the cracked mantel. It’s a memory that never fades but glows brighter each year.
I wanted to recreate that Christmas memory in a small Kentucky town so I created Kissing Creek, a town that hasn’t changed in fifty years. There’s still a general store with fresh pickles in a barrel and a Main Street with brick buildings that date back a hundred years. But there’s another side of town where the rich folks live with a fancy new bank and a private girls’ school. It’s there the two worlds collide when a homeless vet comes to town on Christmas Eve and meets up with a pretty young war widow who can’t afford a Christmas tree for her little girl. I hope you enjoy Jared and Kristen’s story. Come on down to Kissing Creek and put up your feet and stay a while!
Merry Christmas
!
Jina
Kandahar Province, Afghanistan
The explosion filled his eyes with a blue-yellow flame so intense he could feel the heat blast on his face. He flinched as a hot ball of fire singed the hair at the back of his neck and he heard a scream of pain. Like someone was hit.
God, no, not—
Dust filled the air.
His vision blurred under his smoke gray goggles. Only the devil knew what he’d see when the veil of swirling sand settled on the road. That didn’t stop him. Hell, he’d seen worse in this no man’s land. A place where the nights hit his psyche with a darkness so intense he swore he was in a floating hell between what was real and what wasn’t. What was important to him was his buddy.
The scream had been his.
Breathing hard, his head on a swivel searching out the enemy, the sergeant pulled the wounded man out of the burning jeep. His limp body was heavy in his arms, made more so when he felt the sting of metal dig into his shoulder as sharp as a knife.
“Stay with me, bro!”
he yelled, hoisting the man onto his back. He ignored the pain tearing through his shoulder. Not easy, especially when you feel like a beast of prey is gripping your insides with its claws. The intense desert heat made him sweat from every pore. He cursed under his breath.
No need to guess what happened.
The pile of camel dung was a decoy.
The taste of sand filled his mouth as he plowed ahead, ignoring the sparks of fire crackling in the air surrounding the charred metal frame of the vehicle. The smell of burning rubber made him choke. Sweat in his eyes blinded his judgment, sadness crushed him.
The man on his back was dying. His best friend.
Hell. Get him to a medic. Now.
A bullet whizzed by his ear. A sniper. His mind raged with anger.
Kill the bastard.
He took cover behind a large boulder, praying it wasn’t a hiding place for snakes. A nasty surprise he didn’t need. He laid his buddy down, making him groan. The man’s eyes grew wide, but he showed no fear. His helmet, goggles were gone. His face sunburned, though the skin around his eyes was pale. The stark contrast made the look in his eyes all the more desperate. Whatever was going on inside him, whatever pain jolted through him, he fought to keep it under control, not lose consciousness. The sergeant could see he was struggling to speak, but his words were lost on the wind.
But not the scent of the enemy.
The stink filled his lungs. Like a dead carcass left in the sun for days. The enemy was so close he could smell him. A sixth sense made the sergeant turn and fire his weapon. This time his bullet found its target. The desert sun marked the spot with a blaze of light as the sniper hit the sand hard, lifeless and godless.
The sergeant threw down his rifle, his fury still hot. He
had
to save his buddy. He grabbed him by the shoulders, tried to lift him, but he lost the struggle. Blood streamed between his fingers, running down his pants, his boots. The golden sand under him deepened to a dark, ugly red. He shouted, cursed, hollered so loud he drowned out the cawing of the birds overhead as he pushed down on the gaping hole in the man’s chest to stop the bleeding.
He couldn’t.
He slammed his fist into his palm, not believing this was the end. They’d fought long and hard in this war together, watching each other’s back, baking in the white heat of the desert on patrol after patrol, moving, thinking as a unit. Talking about home. Where they were from. What comforts they missed, what made them laugh, what made them lose sleep at night. The families they’d left behind. Now that bond was broken. It was more than he could bear. His wounded soul was on fire. He had seen men die before, but this was different.
This man saved my life.
His buddy struggled to speak. Agony twisted his features into a tight mask while his eyes glowed. His lips were cracked and dry. The sergeant leaned closer. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, as if his bro had to tell his story through his darkest pain, his voice shaking equally with fear and with love.
He told him about her. How much he loved her.
And a secret.
“Yes, I’ll find her,” the sergeant promised, knowing his buddy was already gone. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t wipe them away. “And tell her—”
Before he could finish, a second explosion roared behind him and knocked him on his butt, stunning him. His ears were ringing, his brain rattling in his skull. Knocked about like billiard balls with nowhere to go. Hitting, throbbing pain that didn’t stop.
What the hell—
Before he could grab onto something,
anything
, his mind snapped. He staggered to his feet and through sheer willpower, pulled his buddy’s prone body onto his back, and then wandered aimlessly, lights flashing in front of him. Bright, so bright, they pushed everything else from his sight. His brain felt horribly compressed in a whirlpool of pain. He walked and walked until he collapsed, his legs giving out, the blood coursing through his veins so fast, he swore his heart pounded more than a hundred beats a minute, driving out every emotion, every thought. He had to get help. Couldn’t.
Oh, God
…he couldn’t move, the strength drained out of him. He fell down,
down
into a deep, dark hole with no bottom.
His brain went into freefall and he couldn’t stop it. No matter how hard he tried, how much he squeezed his mind, the memory stayed lost in a thick, suffocating fog swirling around in his head.
Lost
.
Dead and forgotten.
Angry, frustrated, he tried to reach out and grab it, but whatever his buddy said to him before he died remained silent and still in his mind.
When would he remember?
When?
Kissing Creek, Kentucky
Christmas Eve without a tree was like seeing Santa in his underwear.
Unthinkable.
Kristen Delaney couldn’t get that thought out of her mind as she slid the box of frosted red and green cupcakes onto the passenger seat of her SUV and then pulled out of the driveway. She’d already explained to Rachel they couldn’t afford a tree, but what six-year-old understood that?
The thought of her little girl in her pink snow jacket and hood staring up at her with those big, blue eyes grabbed her heart like nothing else could. But life didn’t always turn out the way you planned, she thought. Especially when you clung to fairytales. It was even harder to swallow this time of year, but she had no choice. Still, Kristen had no tree, but she had the feeling that wasn’t the end of it. Rachel wouldn’t give up.
A second wave of dread hit her, landing heavy in her stomach like too much spicy eggnog. It was going to be a tough Christmas this year without Scott.
That
thought kicked her harder in the stomach than anything. She fought back tears, her eyes burning, her throat closing tight. She’d survive. She had to. She’d never let him down.
She jammed her foot on the accelerator and raced down the country road past high snowdrifts and the old mill toward town. She’d have no job if she didn’t get moving. She struggled to see where she was going. Not easy. Fresh snow covered her windshield like a perfect meringue, making her wipers work overtime.
Like her. She was already late. She couldn’t help it. Christmas always did this to her. Gingerbread houses scenting the kitchen with spice, sugar cookies sliding off the hot metal sheet, the whipping sound of her wooden spoon mixing cake batter, all made her internal clock lose time.
Kristen loved to bake, the smells and tasting, but it wasn’t the same this year. She was slower than a turtle trying to cross a frozen pond. As if for every step she took forward, she slid two steps back. Inside she was all undone, tired, and worried. She knew why. Scott wasn’t here to cheer her on. Cuddle up to her and tell her she was the best little baker in Kissing Creek.
“The sweetest lips,” he’d say, brushing his mouth against hers, and then nibbling on her lower lip like it was a soft, tasty marshmallow. She’d smile, close her eyes and—
No. I don’t want go there, get all teary-eyed again. It hurts too much.
Kristen took a deep breath, let it out, and then went on just as she’d done since she received the news Scott was killed in Afghanistan on a routine patrol. She was a soldier’s wife and she was damned if she was going to act like a sissy. Scott wouldn’t want her to break down. He’d want her to keep him in her heart always, but for their little girl’s sake, she had to move forward with her life. It wasn’t easy, but she was coping. Barely. The holidays were the worst. She prayed her windshield wipers wouldn’t give out as the snow fell harder when she turned down Main Street.
Christmas for sale
greeted her. A winter wonderland of plastic red Santas popped out of every storefront and silver tinsel drooped down from the lampposts like wilted celery. All that schmaltz pushed her frustrations to the limit. Made her want to go back to her cottage and close out the world.
Who needs Christmas anyway?
Jingle bells and all that jazz.
She didn’t. Not without Scott.
Kristen groaned silently, filled with an aloneness that intensified this holiday like she’d never felt before. She missed him so much. At times, she’d break down and cry, and then other times she couldn’t cry at all. But she wouldn’t give up. Scott had made the ultimate sacrifice for his country. Her job was to honor him, to carry on and be strong no matter what. She had to get through the season the best she could.
For Rachel.
Her little girl kept asking her if Santa Claus was real. Her lower lip trembling, her head in her hands, as if she didn’t believe in him anymore. It broke her heart. Kristen had the feeling the older girls at school teased her because she couldn’t let go of the Christmas magic that filled every child with joy. A super big tug to her heart hit her. It didn’t seem right that Rachel should lose both Santa
and
her daddy so soon.
Kristen slowed down, her hands sliding over the steering wheel, her palms moist with sweat. Even her wedding ring slid up and down her finger. Reminding her the man she loved was gone. She couldn’t take it off. Not yet. She remembered the day Scott had surprised her by topping a red velvet cupcake she’d baked him with a wedding ring. No time for a long engagement, he said, since he was leaving in a few days to join the Army. After she said “yes,” he slid it on her finger, gooey icing and all.
She took a deep breath and let her mind wander back to happier times as she drove through the big, black wrought iron gate to the Mary Huber School for Girls. Times when she and Scott and Rachel would drive down from the base to stay with her Aunt Gertrude, singing carols all the way—
Wait. Who was that in her path?
A man walking? Here?
She pulled her steering wheel hard to the right to avoid colliding with the tall man bundled up in a black field jacket and khaki pants, a duffel bag strapped on his back, his broad shoulders dusted with falling snow.
She stuck her head out of the window to give him a piece of her mind and then stopped. Something about him made her stare at him. He had that swagger she knew so well. Military. Seeing him touched a nerve. Another homeless vet. Kristen shook her head, understanding. He was the third one this week looking for a hot meal.
Not surprising on Christmas Eve.
Word had gotten around that a vet could get a home-cooked meal
and
a smile if he showed up at the kitchen door of the prestigious finishing school. No questions asked. It was her way of keeping Scott alive in her heart.
Kristen was crazy busy today with the Christmas program, but she’d make sure this man was fed.
“Come back in an hour, soldier,” she called out the window and then waved him on. “I’ll have a hot meal ready for you.”
If I can get the oven to work
, she mumbled to herself. The old school oven was overheating again, which was why she’d baked the cupcakes at home this morning.
“I can’t wait that long, ma’am,” he yelled back in a booming voice. As if he was shouting a command at her. She raised an eyebrow. The nerve. “I’m looking for—”
Kristen squealed her brakes, cutting him off.
He can’t wait
?
What arrogance
. She looked into the rear view mirror, the full view of his strong body challenging her. She was already in a strange mood, but something about the man got under her skin. What was it? She couldn’t put her finger on it and it bugged her.
Who was he?
She couldn’t see his face clearly. Black hair tipped with frosty snow. Dark beard. A slow smile curved over her lips. He didn’t look like he was starving. The breadth of his shoulders and powerful way he took over the situation was enough to knock any woman on her rear.
Oh, yeah? Well, he wasn’t going to pull rank on
her
.
She gunned the engine and put the car in reverse, but the snow had turned to ice and she skidded down the brick driveway, brakes squealing, and nearly running over him
again
.
Thank God he jumped out of the way and rolled in a snowdrift.
What had she done
?
Kristen jumped out of the vehicle and walked over to him, her pink sheepskin boots sinking deep into the snow. This was not turning out the way she wanted it to, not at all.
“You okay, solider?” she asked, concerned. She couldn’t resist casting a curious eye at him. He towered over her, making her feel small.
“Where’d you learn to drive, lady?” he said, brushing off wet snow and checking for broken bones.
“My husband taught me,” she said with pride, lifting her chin. Not that it was any of his business, but she’d never forget those driving lessons in Scott’s old sports car after class back in high school. She’d learned more from him than how to use a stick shift. “Scott loved to race cars.”
That sobered him up. Why, she didn’t know. But he gave her the strangest look. Oh, well, she didn’t have time to second guess a hungry soldier. Not with the program about to start. School tradition dictated the students receive presents afterward from Santa arriving in his fancy sleigh in the old riding stable. A sleigh that hadn’t moved an inch for more than sixty years.
He mumbled he’d hang around for a while. She nodded, and then pointed him toward the stable, knowing Zeke the handyman was there getting ready for his Santa gig. She had to smile, her spirits lifting at the thought of seeing Zeke in the ancient red suit, his big belly eliminating the need for a pillow, his hearty chuckle making her laugh. It made her feel like a kid again. Something she needed this year. A way to assuage the pain in her heart.
As the soldier trudged off through the snow, Kristen headed go back to her SUV then stopped. She turned to look back at him. She couldn’t stop watching him. Something about
this
soldier was different. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. For some reason, he reminded her of Scott. Or was it because she saw her husband in
every
soldier who stopped by for a meal?
She swore he walked like Scott. Each step intense. Silent but sure. As if he didn’t want to wake anybody up. Like he was on patrol.
Crazy.
Even more disturbing, there was that feeling again. She tried to tell herself that because it was so close to Christmas, her heart swelled at seeing the familiar walk of a military man. She refused to believe it was anything else, though she sensed a strange connection between her and this soldier that drew her to him in spite of his gruff attitude.
He must have felt her gaze. He turned around and looked her up and down. Grinning. There was something in that grin she couldn’t figure out. Curiosity? Or was he trying to charm her for a free meal? He wouldn’t be the first, but she usually took it in stride and went about her way.
Not today.
She fought back an unsettling attraction to the man that made her wiggle her toes in her pink boots.
Whoa, girl.
Guilt hit her like a wet snowball. She hated the way her pulse started tripping to a jingle bell tune. She didn’t even know him. It wasn’t like he was a guy who knew Scott and gave her a shoulder to cry on.
She shouldn’t have felt a damn thing even if he
did
remind her of her husband. It was embarrassing, standing here in the snow and letting her feelings make her act silly. Then with a tug at her heart she didn’t understand, Kristen jumped back into her SUV and bolted up the long driveway.
She wasn’t surprised to see BMWs and Mercedes filling the parking lot in front of the school. If anyone noticed the tall man with a beard carrying a duffel bag, they wouldn’t take him for Santa Claus. A bum was more like it. That bothered her. Few people understood the plight of these vets, what obstacles they faced “over there.”
Kristen tried to understand. How many times had she re-read Scott’s letters, his emails, or talked to him on the phone and she knew in her gut that he wasn’t himself. That he was worried about something, but he couldn’t tell her what. A mission gone wrong, a man down, bad intelligence. As soldiers, they lived in a heightened state of danger at all times.
She saw it when Scott was home on leave, always looking behind his back, checking out the exits at the burger place, his head swiveling around when he heard a car backfire. No wonder it was difficult for these men to readjust to civilian life. The saddest part, the part that made her heart cry every time an ex-soldier showed up on the school doorstep, was that it often resulted in them becoming homeless.
Kristen was troubled by that.
She saw it as unfair to the men and women who had served and she was determined to right that wrong. On the down low, of course. She never told anyone about giving free meals to the vets except Betty Ann, co-owner of the school. Betty Ann was a good soul, but if her sister Miriam found out she was handing out food, she’d take it out of her salary or worse yet, fire her. That would be pretty much of a catastrophe. Kristen couldn’t afford to lose this job, not with the mortgage on her cottage two months overdue.
Too bad she couldn’t bake gingerbread elves and wave a magic wand so they could give her a hand. She often thought about selling her homemade cookies and cakes, but there wasn’t enough time in the day for extra baking. Unless she gave up sleeping. With bills and insurance piling up, no wonder she didn’t have the money to buy a Christmas tree this year.
She wiped melted snow crystals off her gloves. Enough feeling sorry for herself. It was almost Christmas. She should be thinking about peace and joy and good will toward men.
Her mind drifted to the homeless vet waiting in the stable, hoping for a hot meal, praying he’d have a warm place to sleep tonight. He’d only spoken to her briefly, but for Kristen it was enough to feel his pain. She’d been there, so she understood how hard it was to ask for help. She respected him for that. She refused to believe anything else, which was why she reassured herself she was only paying it forward like she’d promised Scott in her heart.
