The Christmas Piano Tree: What's Christmas without a tree? (A Kissing Creek novel Book 1) (3 page)

Betty Ann shook her head. “That won’t work, Miriam. His office said he’s investigating a robbery over at Carey Bank.”

Rattled, Kristen knocked over a cupcake, squishing its snowy peak. A robbery? On Christmas Eve? Bad news for folks in this town. Phineas Carey owned nearly every mortgage in town, including hers. She’d never seen the man when he didn’t have a dour expression or a ready finger to point the blame on someone else for his money problems.

If the sheriff didn’t recover the stolen funds, she feared the banker would come calling, wanting his mortgage money. She could expect no sympathy from him.

She hated the queasy feeling hitting her, making her ask because she had to: “Did they get away with a lot of money?”

Betty Ann clasped her hand to her ample bosom in a dramatic manner. “A whole month’s cash deposits, according to Mr. Carey.”

“Just our luck,” said Miriam, wringing her hands. “Mr. Carey’s daughter is a student here. If the banker finds
any
reason to have another fit that could be our undoing if he doesn’t make a sizeable donation this year.” She turned to her sister. “How’s your
ho ho ho
, Betty Ann?” Her tone was curt, insistent.

“That Santa suit makes me look fat,” whined her sister, refusing to be talked into what was for her an awkward situation. Kristen ached for her. Betty Ann referred to herself as a happy-sized woman, but that was only to disguise the hurt she suffered every time Miriam put her down because of her weight. 

Miriam narrowed her eyes. “If the shoe fits.”

“How can you do this to your own sister?” Betty Ann said, miffed.

“Do it, Betty Ann.
Now
.”

“Please, Miriam. Everyone will laugh at me.”

Kristen turned away, embarrassed to be listening to this, especially for Betty Ann’s sake. The woman had taken her under her wing, shown her kindness, and she
loved
her sugar cookies, the pure joy on her face making her smile when she bit into one. She had to do something to help her. Even as the two women argued back and forth, a crazy idea formed in her mind.

The homeless vet.

Santa.

Why not?

Kristen felt the heat rise in her cheeks and a fluttering in her belly thinking about her bold plan. Would it work? The soldier possessed a streak of arrogance she hadn’t seen in other homeless vets. The look he shot her was unnerving and intense, but lost somehow. How was she going to convince him to play Santa?

Flirt with him.

Her? She wasn’t accustomed to flirting with a man. Scott had been her first love, but drastic times called for drastic measures. They needed a Santa Claus and
he
was perfect.

Kristen grabbed a cupcake and took off for the stable. If ever her baking skills were needed to get the mission done, it was now.

* * * * *

“Are you trying to
bribe
me to play Santa?” asked Jared, not believing the lady’s proposition. And it was a doozy. He’d trekked over a hundred miles to get here in the bitter cold, changed buses several times, lived on peanut butter sandwiches and coffee out of vending machines, and now
this
?

A gorgeous woman was wiggling a yummy cupcake under his nose, trying to seduce him to play the jolly man himself.

God, she was a picture. Tilting her head and looking up at him, swinging her long blond ponytail over her shoulder. A man would be insane to say no to her.

Scott’s wife.

Kristen.

Pretty as a hot summer day in her blue-and-white checkered apron pulled tight around her waist. A fluffy ruffle added a feminine touch. Her jeans hugged her slim hips and the top button on her blouse had come undone, giving him a peek at her cleavage.

That
nearly had him hightailing it out of here, but Jared wasn’t just any homeless soldier looking for a hot meal. He was on a mission. Which meant that he keep the burning itch crawling up his spine at bay. No way was he going to let his mind go
there
. Danger lurked in those pale green eyes, the curve of her breast, the sway of her hips.

No, sir
. This was business. Important business for a buddy who couldn’t speak for himself.

All morning, Jared had been hanging around the school, waiting for her to show up. Once he explained himself, he’d tell her what Scott had told him with his dying breath, and then take off. A simple plan. Should have been easy. It wasn’t. After their encounter earlier in the snow, he didn’t trust his emotions around her.

First, she almost ran him over.
Twice
. Now this.

A cupcake. Tempting as sin. Like her. Sweet and creamy. Melt in your mouth delicious. It was more than he could stand.

“Yes, it’s a bribe,” Kristen said, looking him square in the eye. As if she knew he was suffering. Man, was he. “With real
buttercream
frosting.”

“No.”

He
couldn’t
say yes. That would take him off his game. A soldier didn’t question his orders.
Get in, do the mission, and get out
. That was what he was used to, what he knew. Not feeling what he was feeling now. Want, need, a strong desire to make things right for her. His gut told him it wouldn’t work. The longer he stayed, the harder it would be to leave.

She sighed deeply. “You’ll make the girls here at the school very happy if you put on that Santa suit.”

“No.”

Didn’t she ever give up
?

“
Please,
” Kristen begged. “My Rachel will be so disappointed if Santa doesn’t show up.” She said the words with so much emotion she made him feel guilty. Okay, he
did
feel guilty, but what could he do about it? He didn’t know the first thing about playing St. Nick.

“I’d like to, ma’am, but I don’t have the right equipment,” he joked, pointing to his flat stomach. She wasn’t buying it. If anything, that made her more determined.

“Rachel has had a hard time this year and needs cheering up. Please say you’ll do it.” She sounded tired, a deep loss darkening her eyes. That made him take a step back. The love she had for her child was electric, all-consuming.

She lost her daddy, is that what you mean?
Jared wanted to say, but didn’t.

He had the feeling she’d risk anything for her little girl, even death. He said nothing, just stared at her, each thinking their own thoughts.

He was hurting, too, but he couldn’t tell her that. He was here to make good on a promise. It was his duty to protect her, keep her safe. Her child, too. He’d promised Scott.

“Listen, ma’am,” Jared said finally, trying to keep his voice casual. He had to come up with a story, something,
anything
until he figured out how to tell her why he was here. “I saw the front gate open and I figured I could get a hot cup of coffee. That’s it. I’m no Santa Claus.”

“Where were you stationed, soldier?” she asked, changing her tactics.

Clever, but not clever enough.

“That’s
sergeant
, ma’am,” he said proudly. “Sgt. Jared Milano.”

“Army, am I right, Sergeant?” She grinned, acknowledging his rank. “You have that look about you.”

And you have the look of home and prayers and apple pie with ice cream.

“My husband Scott was in the Army,” she continued, her voice choking up, though she struggled not to show it. She dug her hands deep into her apron pockets. “He was killed on patrol in Kandahar province.”

I know. I was there that day. I held him in my arms when he took his last breath. He wanted me to tell you…

Damn, he couldn’t remember. After all these months, his mind was still blank.

“Sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he managed to say. “I’m sure he was a first class soldier.”

“The best, Sergeant,” Kristen said with pride.

“We lost a lot of good men like your husband over there…” Jared stopped. He couldn’t finish his sentence. Another damn headache gripped his head like a vice. He pushed his fingers into his forehead. Hell, he couldn’t put together anything that happened after the second IED went off. Like a million firecrackers. Exploding in his ears, blinding him. Then a deep silence. He’d stumbled, fallen, crashing into the hot sand, his arms and legs so heavy he couldn’t move. He’d looked up in time to see a large shadow approaching…sweeping over him…he heard voices…and then he passed out. He had no recollection after that until he woke up in the hospital.

Then the headaches started.

Painful, mind-numbing headaches.

Day and night…for months…pushing out every thought that happened that day.

All Jared
could
remember was that he’d made Scott a promise to be here for his buddy’s wife and child at Christmas so they wouldn’t be alone. Protect them, give them hope for the future. But there was something else, too.

Something he couldn’t remember.

“Are you okay, Sergeant?” Kristen asked, concerned. She leaned closer, raising her hand as if she wanted to soothe his brow, and then caught herself.

“It’s nothing,” he insisted, attempting to smile.

Her breath was sweet, her smile warm. It had been a long time since a woman affected him like that. Would it hurt him to stay a while?

“I promise if you play Santa for us,” she tried to coax him. “I’ll fix you the best home-cooked Kentucky dinner you ever had.”

A hot meal wasn’t half as tempting as her pretty mouth and full breasts.
Too
tempting. She looked so girl-back-home in her apron and ponytail. Jared always was partial to the country girl look. Fresh-faced, kind-hearted, but with a sex appeal that made him want to undo the ties on her checkered apron and crush her in his arms.

He exhaled, slowed his breathing.
Hold on, soldier
, he chided himself. He was
way
off his game. Thinking such thoughts about her wasn’t part of the promise he’d made to his buddy.

“I
could
use some fine home cooking,” Jared admitted, averting her gaze. God help him if she saw the desire in his eyes. She’d boot him out the back door faster than the Grinch on ice skates. “But like I told you, I don’t look like Santa Claus.”

He grinned and pulled on his dark beard to gain her sympathy. Why was he making excuses? He wanted to tell her who he was, why he was here, but he couldn’t. Not until he remembered what Scott had told him. It was better that way.

Kristen walked around him in a circle, getting a good look at him from every angle.
Every
angle. Her look was downright sexy.

Jared flinched. The woman was determined to outmaneuver him. Man, she was something else.

“Don’t worry, Sergeant,” she said with a smile. “I can fix that.”

Silky white flour.

Combed into his dark beard like fluffy snow.

Kristen couldn’t help but notice that he was so handsome. Square jaw. Straight nose. Clear hazel green eyes that never left her. Watching her when she brushed flour into his beard, her fingers gliding over his cheeks, his neck.

Whoever thought her Santa would be a homeless vet?

She smiled, allowing herself to relax around him, liking him in spite of him being so obstinate. She caught herself, however, before she went into full flirt mode. A little charm was okay to get the job done. Anything else was off limits.

Still, she couldn’t help but think,
There’s something different about him than the others
. She could feel it in her bones. A unique purpose in his coming here that she couldn’t put her finger on. She’d seen that right from the beginning when he insisted on asking her personal questions. He listened to her intently, interested in what she had to say. She’d addressed him by his rank since he was so insistent. These guys deserved the respect due them, even if they’d mustered out. Also, his beard was well-kept, not bushy like the other homeless vets who passed by this way. And he didn’t ask if she cooked anything besides meat stew, the usual fare at the homeless shelters.

He must be fresh from the field, she decided. Still battle weary. Maybe that’s what attracted her to him. Made her think of Scott. He exuded strength and possessed a warrior’s instinct to observe and calculate his odds before making his move.

Take the problem at hand. Zeke. What to do with a soused Santa? First, off came the red cap and jacket. Then she couldn’t take her eyes off the soldier as he hoisted Zeke’s prone body onto his shoulders and carried the tipsy handyman to his quarters to sleep off his eggnog and rum binge. Effortless. As if he were a rag doll.

Next, she had to turn the soldier into Santa.

She glanced at his wide chest when he took off his field jacket, his flannel shirt open, exposing his taut muscles pulling under his white T-shirt. His skin glowed bronze. Yep, she was right. He hadn’t been back long from overseas duty. She imagined him standing under the hot desert sun, shirtless, his silhouette looming against the red-infused sky, the mountains standing sentry behind him, their deep purple hue bathing him in shadows. The image was intoxicating, a romantic dream that captured her heart and made her tremble inside like a schoolgirl when she had no right to dream about
anything
, much less a handsome solider.

My God, she was in way over her head. Whatever possessed her to have such sexy thoughts? Embarrassment flooded her cheeks. Avoiding the sergeant’s eyes, Kristen mumbled something about him leaving his pants on, then she set about turning the homeless vet into Kris Kringle.

To her chagrin, she enjoyed every minute of it.

His slow breathing. Hot breath on her face. A pleasant earthiness about him as if his very maleness enveloped her every time she touched him. She’d almost forgotten how a soldier smelled. When they’d sent Scott’s things back to her, an odor she recognized as sanitizing soap hit her nostrils when she opened the box. That had sent her reeling. She’d so looked forward to inhaling his essence, but everything was washed clean, leaving no scent for her cuddle up to, inhale, and remember.

This soldier, on the other hand, was alive with all those memories she’d tried so hard to put back into that black box. A cold, dark place where light couldn’t get in. Where she kept her female needs and desires tied up in tight knots so they wouldn’t come undone. She could never allow that.
Never
.

Kristen was so involved in her thoughts, she didn’t realize she’d pulled on his beard.
Uh-oh.
He groaned, jerking his leg. The sudden movement made him brush his thigh against hers. She stepped back, surprised. Her resolve failed her. Her pulse jumped. What was that sudden feeling in her chest? Her heart fluttering?

He’d startled her, that was all. No doubt he wasn’t used to sitting still while a woman turned him into Santa Claus. Most likely the only time he was quiet was when he was cleaning his weapon. Or shining his boots. Just like Scott. He was always on the go, racing his car or getting his gear together. Everything from AA batteries to his poncho to lip balm. Ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice.

A sudden urge to know the vet better made her look at him closer. What she saw sent a chill through her when his eyes turned a darker green even in the bright light overhead. Secrets lay there, she knew. Dark secrets, moody thoughts. As if he were hiding something.

She kicked herself for not seeing it before. Scott looked like that when she asked him what it was like
in country
, as he called it. This man had that same look. An eerie sadness that penetrated her down to her bones, making her feel colder than if she were standing naked outside in the snow.

She looked away, trying to dismiss what she saw. She couldn’t. What was his hold on her? Other soldiers had come through here. Why did she let this one get under her skin?

Why
? It bugged the heck out of her.

Kristen shut the flour bin with a loud
snap
and wiped her hands clean. Rubbing them together so hard, her skin reddened. What was wrong with her? She had to get her soldier Santa over to the school and forget him. She didn’t have the time or the patience to play games. Then why was she stalling? Other vets flirted with her, but they didn’t try to pry open the lid she kept shut on her emotions. They respected that.

But this guy? No, he ripped it wide open with one slow move when his hard thigh brushed against hers. Burning her up with pleasant sensations she’d given up the thought of ever feeling again.

Get over it. He reminds you of Scott. Nothing more.

“Perfect,” she said, her voice quavering. She admired her Santa handiwork. In spite of her fiery emotions eating her up alive, the dusted white flour had turned his dark beard into snowy white. “Not even Mrs. Claus would know the difference.”

“Shall we put it to the mistletoe test?” he said, grinning. He nodded toward the fresh sprig of holiday green ready to be hung from the rafters. Then he gave her a wink she couldn’t ignore.

“You mean a kiss?” Kristen pretended to be shocked. What was she supposed to do? Close her eyes and pucker up? That scared the hell out of her. Then she saw the laughter in his eyes, daring her to take him up on his challenge.

Flirting, is he? That’s a relief.

She could deal with that, unlike his searing looks that grabbed her heart and wouldn’t let go.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s
exactly
what I mean,” he said boldly. This time there was no mystery in his intention. His message came in loud and clear. “A kiss.”

* * * * *

Jared watched the reaction on her face. She looked flustered, jittery, and then put her hand to her forehead like she was dizzy. Why did he do that? Playing games with her like she was a quick roll in the hay.

God damn it
, she was Scott’s wife.

Widow
, he reminded himself, but that didn’t change anything. Kissing her was not part of the mission. He noticed she still wore her wedding ring, making him feel even more guilty. Okay, so he was a number one jerk for trying to get close to her, but he’d come here to tell her what Scott said.

If he could just remember
what
that was.

He didn’t give her a chance to give him an answer, jumping up while she was still searching for something to say. There was nothing else
to
say without putting his boot into his mouth again.

He put on the Santa jacket, skipping the padding. She excused herself, telling him to hurry. The program would be over in a few minutes, she said, and the students would rush in, anxious and excited to see Santa.

Jared sneaked a glance at her as she left, admiring her from the rear, her ponytail hanging down her back, the big bow on her apron drooping, her tight jeans hugging her butt. What man wouldn’t play St. Nick if she asked him to? He tugged on the red jacket, trying to fasten the big, furry buttons. Not easy. The jacket was too tight in the shoulders. It wasn’t made for a guy used to carrying seventy pounds of gear on his back through the desert heat.

He got a punch to his gut when he remembered he wasn’t that guy anymore, not after that hellish day when his mind plummeted down that black hole. A riveting moment of truth lost in a place so dark no beam of light could get break through. For months he’d found no relief from this anguish, though the doctors told him he was in good shape physically. Flipping through his file fast and quick on their clipboards, they warned him he could continue to experience memory loss for a long time, his mind scattering like a deck of cards on the wind.

Jared wasn’t buying it.

He was a number on a set of dog tags to them. Nothing more. A casualty of war. They did what they could, but an inner voice told him that the moment of truth, the surrender of his brain to remember what happened that day in the desert, would have to come from him. No fancy meds, no shock therapy. It would happen when his mind healed, his faith became strong again, his soul whole. It could come tomorrow or years from now or never.

He wasn’t waiting around the hospital to find out. Not when he had a mission to do. They’d tried to keep him under observation, but Jared refused to stay. Not when the force inside him to do right by his buddy was so strong.

What did the doctors know anyway? he thought, plopping the fur-trimmed red Santa cap on his head. No one understood his need to escape into the shadows, to be a ghost until he could straighten things out in his mind. He hadn’t completed his last mission and until he did so, he couldn’t move on.

So he’d packed his duffel bag and checked out of the VA hospital and then started walking, taking one bus then another until he got here.

To Kissing Creek.

A little town forgotten by time.

The minute he’d stepped onto the snowy sidewalk, he smiled at the sight of the bustling street. Scott had talked about the Kentucky town and the general store with the fresh pickle barrel, the confectionary shop with rock candy and red licorice. How Kristen dragged him back here every year to visit her Aunt Gertrude. It was so
Christmasy
, she said. Together with her aunt, she’d bake the most delicious holiday treats. Cookies the size of a man’s hand topped with green sprinkles, Scott told him, warm mince pie, and chocolate cake so thick with frosting it took two big bites for him to find the cake.

Jared figured Kristen had come back here when he couldn’t find any trace of her on base housing. It hadn’t taken him long to find out where she worked. A trip to the tiny post office on Main Street and here he was, playing the jolly man himself.

Sitting in a wooden sleigh surrounded by presents with crinkly bows. The vintage sleigh was painted a bright red with gold trim and lined with red crushed velvet seats a man could get real comfortable in. Silver bells hung over the side along with white plumes that kept getting in his face and tickling his nose.

Time to play Santa.

Little girls dressed up as angels jammed into the cold stable right on cue, giggling and lining up in front of the sleigh, waiting their turn to see Saint Nick.

But it was the blond angel standing off to the side that grabbed his attention. He gave her a long look as Kristen helped an older woman with big, fat curls bouncing on her head hang mistletoe from the rafter. Nearby, another woman they called Miriam kept shaking her head in disapproval. Whoever she was, Jared didn’t like her.

Kristen never lost her smile, even when Miriam stomped off, her look still disapproving. She fought to tamp down her emotions and keep smiling as she put her arm around the other woman, comforting her. Scott said she was like that. Good-hearted and always thinking of others.

Still, he’d found out she had boundaries she wouldn’t cross. Which included getting too chummy with him.

A stranger.

“Ho, ho, ho!”
Jared called out to the crowd of parents and relatives filtering in behind the girls. He let out a low whistle. High-class people with plenty of bling and stock portfolios to match. So unlike the big family of mechanics and truck drivers he’d grown up in back in South Philly. What they used to call blue collar until the economic bubble burst. Hardworking folks who knew a dollar didn’t grow on trees even if they didn’t have any in their front yards. Proud people who went to Church on Sunday and never failed to find something to put into the poor box. That was why when his dad’s auto repair garage went belly up, Jared joined the Army. He had to pay back what they’d given him. A good home and good parents. He wanted to serve his country
and
put food on the table at home.

A hot, sticky day in Afghanistan changed everything.

Wind blowing, crickets chirping. Then the blast, shattering his world.

Sometimes a word, then two would break through in his mind. No more. The message from Scott remained a blur, like a voice recording slowing down. Still, he couldn’t go home, back to Philly. Not like this. Half a man. Not in body, but in mind. He had to work out a few things first.