The Giving Season (3 page)

“So what do you want to know about me?” he asked as he leaned sideways on the bed, stretching out as he propped his head up on his fist. “Should I start with my prison record or the time I spent in South America as a soldier-of-fortune?”

Jessy laughed despite her nervousness, triggering another round of whooping coughs. “Just the basics,” she managed to gasp as the worst of it had passed.

“I can’t believe you think I’m joking,” he said with mock-seriousness, unable to hide the teasing smile in his eyes. “Okay—basics. Let’s see, I’m thirty-eight—no, wait a minute—thirty-nine. Forgot about that last birthday. Anyway, I run a small dairy farm up north, and I have three kids, five horses, and two dozen cows.”

“What about the partridge in a pear tree?” Jessy asked with a smile.

“Give me a while. I’ve still got a few weeks before Christmas.”

Jessy leaned back in the chair, crossing her legs awkwardly; she settled on resting her ankle on her knee. “So what about the rest of the basics?” she asked, eyeing his ringless left hand. Kids usually meant a wife lurked somewhere at home, didn’t it? Not that she was about to come right out and ask.

“Hmm—well, I enjoy painting, riding horses, and taking my kids fly-fishing—” He suddenly batted his eyelashes and smiled brightly. “And when I become Miss America, I hope to end starvation and make the world a better place for all the little children.”

Jessy couldn’t help but laugh. “You’d never pass the swimsuit competition, buddy.”

“Ah, well, I don’t think I could survive the bikini waxing anyway.” He lifted one jean-clad leg and flexed it, grinning as Jessy smiled again. “Actually, that’s about it for me. I’m a dairy farmer in Minnesota. I can’t think of anything more boring than that.”

“Did you grow up on the farm?” Jessy winced inwardly at the inanity of the question, but her brain seemed to be taking a coffee break. She couldn’t remember ever being so antsy around a man.

“Yep—” Michael’s smile softened, growing almost sad. “I left home for college so I could be a painter or graphics artist or
something
. Anything but a farmer.” His smile quirked downward, almost fading completely. “But Dad died a few years back and left Mom the spread. She asked me to come home and help her run it and—here I am. A farmer, just like Dad wanted.”

Jessy heard the regret in his voice. “What about the rest of your family?”

Michael smiled again, seeming to regain some of his good mood. “My older brother, Frank, is a sheriff in a small town up north. All I do is milk the cows and slop the pigs and clean the stalls.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

Michael shrugged, a mischievous smile curling his lips. “Most people would think it was
udderly
boring.”

Jessy winced even as she smiled. “Oh, boo—bad, bad joke.”

“Sorry.” His grin spread even wider. “When it comes to bad jokes, I just get a
bovine
inspiration.”

“Please—” Jessy said as she laughed. “You’re milking this thing to death.”

Michael lost his semi-straight face and laughed with her. Their gazes caught for an instant and held, the smiles lingering just a moment longer than they should have.

Jessy sobered instantly. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. She was starting to like this man, and she knew from past experience exactly what road that would lead to. First, she’d start
liking
liking him, then she’d start acting really dumb and stupid around him—and then she’d say something that would send him screaming for the hills. After all, what man wanted a 220-pound woman interested in him? None that she’d ever found. Charlie had taught her that much.

“What about your wife?” she asked quietly. Not the most subtle approach, but she was too tired to be discreet. She dreaded his answer almost as much as she wanted to hear it. “How does she like living on a dairy farm?”

“She didn’t.” Michael smiled, but his eyes were strangely flat. “It was the whole
Green Acres
thing—I loved the farm, but she loved the city. She’s still in Chicago, a reporter for the
Tribune
. The kids are with me at the farm.”

“Oh,” Jessy murmured, slowly nodding. So he wasn’t married. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that—despite the fact that every nerve in her body was doing a quiet little happy dance.

“And I think I just got a little too up close and personal,” he said abruptly, changing the mood with a grin that was just
way
too cute for Jessy’s comfort. “So what’s your story, morning glory?”

Jessy’s smile held a few moments longer. She really didn’t want to get into the whole sorry saga of her trek North. What could she say?
I uprooted my entire life and moved hundreds of miles away from home for a guy who didn’t bother to tell me he was engaged to somebody else
? Bad enough that she already thought she was an idiot for being so naïve; she couldn’t stand the thought of Michael thinking the same thing.

“Okay,” she said quietly, hoping she sounded casual enough. “Let’s see—I’m from Kentucky, I’m a third grade teacher—and, well—I guess that’s about it. The end.”

“So you’re a teacher from Kentucky.” Michael’s smile widened. “Hold on while I try to process that overload of information.”

“I told you I was boring.”

“Well—where are you going?”

Jessy shifted slightly, uncomfortable with the conversation’s sudden change of direction. “I’m just—
going
.”

“I suppose that’s your polite way of saying it’s none of my business, right?”

“Guess so.” Jessy abruptly stood, absently pulling at her sweatshirt to loosen it. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the dresser and grimaced. Dear Lord, but she looked horrible. Her hair hung in lank chunks around her puffy face, and the rest of her looked as wide as a house. It was a reality slap that she hadn’t particularly needed at just that moment. But it brought her back to Earth, like it or not.

She turned away from her reflection and busied herself by digging through her small suitcase, coughing harshly into her balled fist. She felt as bad as she looked—if not worse. All she wanted was to take a hot shower to clear her aching sinuses and unkink her muscles. Then she wanted to sleep—preferably for days. She wanted to forget about the last few days of nonstop traveling. She wanted to forget that Charlie Wilks had ever existed. More than that, she wanted to forget that she could possibly be as gullible and dumb as she had been over him.

“Something tells me that you’d rather I change the subject,” Michael said quietly, sitting up. Jessy forced herself to casually look at him again. Something about his expression confounded her; he actually seemed to be interested in what she had to say. He actually seemed to
want
to listen to her.

For a moment she wanted very badly to confide in him, to trust her instincts and allow him to be her friend—but she couldn’t. The past few months had been an education she could have done without. People she thought she could trust had turned out to be hiding behind masks. The experience with Charlie Wilks had been a hard lesson, but one she’d taken to heart. Now she didn’t want to trust anyone—especially handsome men with big, bright smiles.

“There—” she took a deep breath and forced a false smile. “There just isn’t anything else to talk about. That’s all.”

“One more question,” Michael said, his friendly smile slowly replaced by a growing expression of concern.

Jessy nodded. “Okay. One more.”

He gazed at her for a few long, unnerving moments. “Who have you been crying over?”

Jessy automatically turned away from Michael to the mirror. Her eyes were still red and swollen. Michael gazed at her with disconcerting intensity, his silence demanding that she answer. Only problem was, Jessy didn’t know what that answer would be.

So instead of speaking, Jessy lowered her eyes and fumbled mutely with the clothing in her suitcase. She really didn’t want to get into her life story with this stranger. There were too many things she regretted, too many bad choices, too many missed opportunities.

“It’s a long story,” she finally said quietly, forcing a slight smile as she looked up again. “Too long and too boring.”

Without saying a word, Michael rose and stood beside her. He didn’t crowd her, didn’t touch her, but she was acutely aware of his strength, his warmth. She wished she could just wrap her arms around him and cry. She wished he would hold her until she didn’t feel so damn alone.

But it was foolish to wish for that. After all, why should he care about her or her problems? He didn’t even know her. As soon as the snow melted, they’d board the bus and never see each other again.

Jessy kept her gaze focused on the unbuttoned collar of his thermal shirt, on the dark chest hair that peeked out at the base of his throat. She knew that if she met his eyes again, she’d say or do something she might regret.

“Jessy,” he said quietly, “I’d like to help you—”

“Why?” she whispered, her eyes and throat burning as she desperately tried not to cry yet again. She hadn’t expected him to be concerned. “Why would you want to help me?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a shrug, lifting her chin with a hooked finger. His expression was solemn, but something in his eyes smiled at her. “I like your accent. I think you have pretty hair. It’s Wednesday.” Now the smile slowly stretched across his wide mouth. “Who says I have to have a
reason
?”

Jessy studied him for a few moments. Maintaining her healthy distrust of the man was getting harder and harder to do. “What do you want?”

“Besides world peace and a million bucks?” His smile faltered when he saw Jessy wasn’t smiling back at him. “Listen, Jess—I don’t know anything about what’s going on with your life, but on the behalf of all decent people everywhere, I have to tell you that not everyone is going to
want
something from you.”

Jessy closed her eyes, blocking out the concern and worry she saw in his expression. She couldn’t handle this. Not right now. Her instincts were divided into two screaming camps: One demanded that she trust him and allow him to be her friend—and the other refused to believe a word he said.

“I’d rather not talk about it right now,” she said softly, words choking into another coughing fit. She dimly felt his hand on her shoulder, bracing her as she nearly lost her balance. His warmth burned through her sweatshirt, unfamiliar but comforting. For a moment, they simply stood there: Jessy with her head down, and Michael with his hand cupping her shoulder almost protectively.

“Are you okay?” he finally asked.

“I’m fine.” She raised her head and took a deep, ragged breath. “It’s just a cold.”

“Yeah, that’s what they said about the plague,” Michael said and smiled again. He kept his hand on her shoulder, absently massaging it, and suddenly he seemed too close, too intimate. Rationally, she knew he meant nothing by the touch, but memories of Charlie’s rejection still burned bright and hot. As casually as she could she stepped away from Michael, keeping her eyes downcast.

“Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving,” Michael said quietly. “Where are you going to be?”

Jessy stopped at the bathroom door, clutching the armful of clothes even closer to her chest. Ever since her parents died, the holidays had just been ordeals to endure. Amelia had tried her best to keep the traditions she had known with her parents, but it could never be the same. Every year, Jessy found herself missing her mother and father more and more. She missed having that sense of belonging, of family. The holidays had always been the most painful time of the year for her—and this year would be even harder. This year she wouldn’t even have Amelia.

“I haven’t really thought about it.” Jessy finally said, half-turning back to face him again. “And to tell you the truth—I don’t know.”

“This is no time to be by yourself,” he said quietly.

Jessy couldn’t look away from him, trying to figure out his angle, what he might want from her. Another thing Charlie had taught her: Men always want something.

“Listen,” she said, “Thanks for the advice, but—”

“Why don’t you come home with me.”

Jessy stared at him for a moment, stunned into silence. “Excuse me, but
what?”

“Come home with me,” Michael repeated. He slowly smiled, as if warming to the idea. “Spend Christmas with me and my family.”

“Christmas is a month away.”

Michael shrugged. “So?”

“
So
I can’t just—” Jessy’s voice trailed away as she shook her head. “This is crazy.”

“What’s so crazy about it?” Michael’s smile faltered. “You don’t have any place to go, and I’ve got more than enough room at my house—”

“But you don’t even know me.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “What does that have to do with anything? For Pete’s sake, Jessy, it’s Christmas time. If you can’t do something nice for somebody now, then what’s the use?”

Jessy silently studied him for a few moments. Part of her wanted to say yes, to allow herself to follow her instincts and trust him— but she couldn’t. What kind of person asks a total stranger into their home for Christmas? His offer was generous, but the holidays were a time for families. And that was one thing she didn’t have anymore.

“Thanks for the invitation,” she managed to whisper, “but I can’t—”

Before Michael could say anything more, Jessy ducked into the bathroom, closing the door before he could see her tears.

What the hell am I doing?
Michael stretched out across the bed, willing his cramped muscles to unkink, and closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of running water. Apparently he’d finally lost his mind—inviting a total stranger to come home with him! No wonder Jessy had looked at him like he was crazy. It
was
crazy.

But he’d wanted more than anything for her to say yes. He didn’t know why—he just knew he didn’t want her to be alone for Christmas.

Michael groaned under his breath and covered his face with his hands. Maybe
he’d
been alone for too long since the divorce. Maybe he wasn’t thinking clearly enough. Or maybe he was just plain crazy. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about Jessy Monroe—and he couldn’t figure out why.