Читать книгу Christmas in Hawthorn Bay - Kathleen O'Brien - Страница 9

1862

JOE KILLIAN WASHED UP in the river, though the December air was frigid. He was too covered in dirt and sweat to use the basin in the bedroom. Julia slept lightly on her perfumed sheets, and the stink of wet earth would wake her.

His shoulders ached. He’d worked hard all his life, but only with his mind, not with his arms and legs. Though he had inherited Sweet Tides and the one thousand acres of rice fields all around it, he’d never planted anything with his own hands.

Until tonight.

Tonight he had planted the crop that would, he prayed, secure his future. Billings and Pringle were arriving in the morning. They would take his gold for the Cause, and in return they’d give him piles and piles of Confederate paper.

Joe was a Southerner by birth, and his father before him. But Joe had married a Philadelphia woman, and he’d visited there many times. He knew facts, hard realities about the differences between the two places. He knew things that these naive Hawthorn Bay zealots—men who thought the South Carolina state line was the edge of the civilized world—couldn’t even imagine.

He knew that, unless God intervened with a miracle, Confederate paper would be worthless within the year.

And he knew that Julia, with her divided loyalties and her love of all things graceful and easy, would despise him for a fool. She had already hinted that, if foodstuff were to be rationed any further, she might have to make her way home to Daddy.

Joe wasn’t afraid to live without coffee and sugar and meat. He wasn’t even afraid to die, although that didn’t seem likely, since, bowing to Julia’s charming entreaties, Dr. Hartnett had certified him unfit for fighting.

But Joe couldn’t live without Julia.

And so he had buried the gold. Dozens of heavy bars, hundreds of elegant coins, all gleaming dully under the cloudy moonlight, their fire winking out as he shoveled the black dirt over them, spade by spade. When Billings and Pringle came tomorrow, Joe would toss them a few bars, like scraps to the hogs. They’d be surprised, maybe even suspicious, but what could they do?

Julia would know, of course. She was as clever as she was lovely. She would give Joe one long look, and then she’d bewitch Billings and Pringle until they forgot to be suspicious.

When he was through, Joe made his way to the bedroom quickly. He’d begun to shake from the cold and the exhaustion of his limbs. As he climbed into bed, a shaft of moonlight fell on Julia’s ivory face, and he told himself it would be all right.

But, in spite of the perfumed sheets, in spite of Julia’s warmth beside him, the sleep that finally came to him was thick with dreams.

He dreamed of dead men bursting from black-sod graves. They rose and, like an army, marched slowly toward Sweet Tides to avenge their terrible deaths.

They had no skin, no flesh to soften their skulls, no eyeballs to gentle their pitiless stares. But their bones shone in the moonlight.

Bones made entirely of gold.

WHEN JACK SAW THE BUSTLE in the town square, with the Santa in the band shell and the Christmas tree in the center, he wasn’t a bit surprised.

Like most little towns, Hawthorn Bay loved a good festival. Without the museums and theaters and operas and bars of a big city, the good people of the community had to break their boredom other ways. So they held parades and picnics and rodeos, carnivals and cook-offs and white elephant jumbles. Any excuse to string the town square with fairy lights would do.

Jack had actually liked the festivals, back in high school. As the reigning community leaders, “Boss” Carson and his society wife, Angela, had always been in the thick of things, busy with committees and volunteers, organizing the dances and pouring the lemonade. Which had given Jack the perfect chance to sneak away with Nora.

Back then, he’d always been burning up with the need to touch her. With a girl like Nora, you had to go slow, but over the six months of their romance he had been claiming her, inch by tormenting inch. He’d already owned her soft, sunshine-golden hair, her lips, her cheeks, her ears, her eyelids. He had left his mark on her neck, her collarbone, the inside of her elbow, her swelling, rose-tipped breasts.

He’d win her all someday, he’d been sure of that. The fire lay so deep inside her that it didn’t often show on the outside, but he knew it was there. He could taste it in the heat of her lips. He could hear it in the trapped-butterfly beat of her heart.

And then, one day, in a black Killian temper, he’d put the fire out for good.

But that was ancient history. He gave himself an internal shake and put the memories back in cold storage.

It had been late afternoon when he’d left Sean at Sweet Tides, and by the time he got to City Hall, though it was only about four thirty, the offices were closed. At The Christmas Jubilee, the sign on the door read.

He left his car by the municipal complex and walked back to the town square. It was growing colder, and the trees were already casting long shadows on the sidewalk. The sun would probably go down in about an hour or so—he could tell by the light on the river behind City Hall, which was morphing from dark blue to dirty pink.

The sky was a little busier, too, as the birds made their last-minute flights back to their nests.

Funny how quickly he could fall back into the rhythms of coastal life. He might have been gone for only twelve days, instead of twelve years.

He stood at the edge of the square for several minutes, just absorbing the scene. They’d gone all out for this particular festival. Main Street was lined with life-size, blow-up snowmen, which would have been right at home in the Macy’s parade. Every tree, large and small, twinkled with colored lights. At the south edge of the square, an ornate merry-go-round in which every horse was a reindeer twirled to the tinkling sounds of “Jingle Bells.”

But most of the activity was concentrated at the north end, up by the band shell. That was where Santa was holding court, enthroned in red velvet under the bright lights that usually illuminated the Hawthorn Barbershop Quartet. A long line of children wound down the band shell stairs and out into the square, waiting to sit on Santa’s lap.

Boss Carson used to do the Santa bit, but Jack knew that Nora’s dad had died quite a few years ago. He wondered who had taken over. He moved up a few yards, to the edge of the bank of folding chairs, to get a better look.

Well, how about that? It was Farley Hastert. Talk about casting against type. Farley had been the tallest, skinniest boy in Blackberry High. A couple of years older than Jack, he’d been a basketball jock and a straight-A student, on top of having a very nice, very rich father. Naturally, Farley was never without a gorgeous girl on his skinny arm.

Jack had been so jealous of Farley Hastert, he hadn’t been able to see straight. Once, Nora had let Farley give her a ride home from school, and Jack had gone caveman, getting up close into Farley’s long, hound-dog face and ordering him to stay away from his girl, or something equally Neanderthal.

Nora had broken up with Jack on the spot, and the week before she forgave him had been pure hell.

True to form, Farley still had a gorgeous girl with him. Santa had a sexy elf helper this year, dressed in a tight-fitting, very short red satin mini-dress trimmed in white fur. Red tights set off fantastic legs, and a perky red cap perched on top of bouncing blond curls.

Jack stood up straighter.

That was no elf. That was Nora.

“Well, knock me down with a feather! If it isn’t Black Jack Killian himself, all dressed up like a banker!”

Jack turned. It took him a minute to place the face, which looked like the much-older version of someone he once knew. The red hair was a clue, and finally he made the connection.

“Amy!” He gave her a hug, hoping his face didn’t register surprise. Amy Grantham was actually two years younger than he was—maybe twenty-nine or so? But she looked forty-five and exhausted. “I didn’t know you were back in Hawthorn Bay.”

“It sucked me back,” she said with a dry smile. “I married Eddie Folger, he’s got a charter boat business. We…we don’t have any kids yet, but we’re still trying. We do all right.”

“I’m glad,” he said, but it hurt to see her so drawn and discouraged. He had hoped her life had improved.

They’d met at an Al-Anon meeting his first year of high school. Amy’s father had been an alcoholic, too. And they’d both been poor. That had been enough to make them friends. Secretly, they’d bonded against all the happy families in Hawthorn Bay—secretly because Amy hadn’t wanted anyone to guess how much being an alcoholic’s child could define you.

Jack had already accepted his fate as an outcast—what was the point, after five generations of Killian hatred, in fighting it?—but Amy was still pretending she was just like everyone else.

They still exchanged Christmas cards sometimes…or at least his firm used to send his. He tried to remember whether they’d started to bounce back, after she’d moved. He was ashamed to realize he had no idea.

“What about you?” She smiled at him. “What are you doing here? Don’t tell me this place has got hold of you again, too?”

He shuddered inwardly at the thought. “Nope. I’m just here to see Sean. He’s in a tangle with the city council, and he needed some legal advice.”

Amy rolled her eyes. “Them! Yeah, I heard about them wanting Sweet Tides. They’re just a bunch of vultures, the lot of them. But they’ve got the power, just like they always did. Tom Dickson is one of them, did you know that?”

Jack smiled. “Sure. That’s the icing on the cake. Made the whole trip down here worthwhile.”

Amy glanced at the band-shell stage. “And she’s one of them. In fact, she’s the head buzzard. I guess you knew that, too.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you seen her yet? I mean, to talk to her? Does she know you’re in town?”

“Not yet.” He watched Nora lead a little girl up and lift her into Santa’s lap. The little girl began to cry, so Nora knelt beside her, soothing her tears. “I don’t think she’ll exactly be thrilled to see me.”

“You two never made up, then?” Amy’s pursed mouth moved nervously. “You never—explained things to her?”

He put his hand on the woman’s arm. It was painfully thin. Amy had been anorexic back in high school. He wondered if she still was. Her neck was stringy, like an old woman’s.

“I promised you I’d never tell anyone about all that,” he said. Had she carried this fear around with her for the past twelve years? “I meant it.”

“But…” Amy’s eyes looked watery and pale. “She never forgave you for what you did to Tom, did she? Surely you were tempted to explain—”

“Explaining wouldn’t change anything,” he said. “Nora didn’t want the kind of man who would try to murder anyone.”

“But—”

“And I didn’t want a woman who thought I was that kind of man.”

Amy gazed at him a long moment, then nodded slowly. “I guess I can see that,” she said. She drew herself up a little straighter. “I should be getting on home. Eddie will be docking soon, and he’ll want dinner.”

They hugged goodbye, and Jack watched her go. Even from the back she looked like a tired, middle-aged woman. He couldn’t help comparing her to Nora. In that ridiculous but strangely seductive elf suit, Nora could have been mistaken for a teenager.

He looked at the stage again. There seemed to be some kind of commotion. Nora was talking to a group of kids, and Santa was walking slowly down the stairs. As soon as she herded the kids back to the line, she posted a sign that said Santa Will Be Back In Five Minutes. Then she turned quickly and followed the man in the red suit.

Looked as if they were taking a break.

If Jack wanted to talk to her, now was the time.

But did he? What did they have to say, after more than a decade? Wouldn’t it just open up a wound that had healed nicely over the years, hardly giving him so much as a twinge anymore?

The questions were purely rhetorical. Jack was already moving toward the stage.

NORA HADN’T EVER BEEN IN a men’s restroom before. And if she never went into another one, that would be fine with her.

But this time she’d had no choice. The minute she’d realized Farley was drunk, she’d had to do something. The kids had been crushed, of course, and a couple of parents were annoyed, but she’d explained in her best elf voice that Santa had an emergency call from the North Pole, and he’d be right back.

She’d managed to get him in here before he started vomiting. But unfortunately, she hadn’t pulled his beard off in time. When he was finished groaning into the bowl, she unhooked the elastic carefully, and deposited the beard in the trash can.

As an afterthought, she covered it over with paper towels. No point shocking innocent kids.

“Thank you, darlin’,” Farley said in a little boy voice as she wiped his face with a cool paper towel. “I think you saved my life. My lunch must have disagreed with me.”

Nora felt too grumpy to participate in the charade. “More likely the bottle of wine you drank with lunch, don’t you think?” She scrubbed at his white fur collar, which wasn’t quite white anymore. “Look at you. What are we going to do about that line of kids waiting to see Santa?”

“Tell them Santa’s been distracted.” He reached up and caught Nora’s hand. “Tell them Santa’s fallen in love with his beautiful little elf.”

“Gross.” She batted his fingers away unemotionally. “I’m not kidding, Farley. There are at least fifty kids out there. You’d better call one of your friends and get them to take over.”

“Whatever you say.” He smiled. He might have thought the smile was sexy, but he was wrong. Farley had been sexy in high school, and even in college, but from the time he’d started drinking heavily a couple of years ago, all that had disappeared like smoke in the wind.

“I’ll call Mac,” he said. “But only if you give me a kiss.”

Nora turned away and tossed the paper towel into the trash. “Your mouth smells like a toilet, Farley. Nobody’s going to be kissing you tonight. I’ll go stall the kids. You stay here and make that call.”

She would have thought he was too wobbly even to stand up. But she had just exited the men’s room when she felt him wrap his gloved hand around her waist.

“I’m serious, Nora,” he whispered in her ear. She nearly vomited, too, as she recognized the odor of half-digested seafood. “I think I love you.”

“Farley Hastert,” she said through gritted teeth. She kept her voice low, in case any children were nearby. “Let go of me.”

“But Nora—” He brought his other hand up to her waist and began trying to spin her around to face him. “Nora, you’re so beautiful.”

“Goddamn it, Farley.” She put the heel of her hand on his chin and shoved his face up, so that at least he wasn’t exhaling rotten food into her nose. “Get a grip.”

He was so tall, and though he was as thin as a stick he was pretty strong, from all those years playing basketball. Her arm was failing. His face was getting closer and closer.

Oh, hell. She brought her left knee up hard.

Farley made a sound somewhere between a curse and a kitten’s mew, and then he slid to the ground, clutching his red velvet-covered crotch.

She looked down at him, just to be sure he hadn’t cracked his head on the sidewalk. Nope, he was fine. She felt kind of sorry for him, but not sorry enough to stay and face the wrath when he recovered. She brushed the front of her elf dress, in case he’d left anything disgusting there, then turned to go back to the band shell.

She’d have to think of something to tell the kids. Santa’s a drunken letch probably wasn’t the right approach.

But she never made it to the stage.

She got only about ten feet, and then, there on the path, clearly watching the whole thing with a broad grin on his face, stood a man she hadn’t seen for a dozen years. A man she’d hoped never to see again.

Jack Killian.

Her heart raced painfully—from normal to breathless in less than a second. She had a sudden, mindless urge to knee him in the groin, too, and make her escape.

She couldn’t do this right now. She couldn’t do this ever.

But he wouldn’t be as easy to subdue as Farley. Farley was basically a spoiled man-boy who thought the world was his box of candy. Jack Killian had been a street fighter from the day he was born. He didn’t expect life to be simple or sweet.

And he didn’t know how to lose.

She had loved that about him once. Before she’d realized the twisted things it had done to his soul.

“Hello, Nora,” he said with a maddening composure. “Been explaining to Santa that all you want for Christmas is to be left the hell alone?”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Something like that,” she said. She adjusted her elf hat, which had slipped sideways, and tried to look semi-dignified. “It’s nice to see you, Jack. I didn’t know you were in town.”

How stupid she’d been not to consider this possibility. She knew that he and Sean were still close. Through the years Sean had traveled to Kansas City frequently to visit Jack, but the only time Jack had come back here was for his mother’s funeral, which had been held while Nora had been in Europe.

She had naively assumed she was safe.

Why hadn’t it occurred to her that the council’s bid to confiscate Sweet Tides would be the one battle he’d be willing to fight in person?

“Is it, Nora?”

“Is it what?”

“Nice to see me.”

She willed herself not to flush. But, as she looked at him standing there with his curly black hair and his piercing blue eyes, a dizzy confusion swept over her. For just a moment, she was transported back a dozen years, to a cold Christmas dawn rising over the water in wisps of blue and gold. Jack’s lips had tasted like the chocolate he’d stolen from her stocking, and his arms had been hotter than the bonfire they’d built on the beach.

In another instant the memory dissolved. All that was left was the awkward present.

“Of course it’s nice,” she said. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how easily her composure could unravel right now. She had to keep it distant, keep it professional. “I know we’re going to be on opposite sides of the eminent domain issue, but still…I’m glad to see you looking so well. Apparently the Army agreed with you.”

“Not really, but getting out of it did. And I enjoy practicing law. It’s a relief to be on the right side of it for a change.”

She laughed politely. “I can imagine.”

God, who were these two people? Years ago, they’d sat in this very park, in a twilight much like this one. They’d shared a cold park bench, and she’d laid her head in his lap. He had hummed a love song—he had a beautiful baritone—and had lifted her long curls to his lips, the gesture so sexy it had burned her scalp.

“I should go,” she said. “The children—”

“Yes.” He stepped out of the way. “I’ll look after Santa for you.”

“Thanks.” She paused, a sudden anxiety passing through her. Jack’s temper. If he’d seen Farley pawing her, grabbing her against her will…

“He’s been punished enough,” she said carefully, hoping Jack would get her meaning. “He drinks a little too much, but he’s not a bad guy.”

Jack understood her alright.

His familiar blue eyes narrowed briefly, and then he raised one eyebrow high. Oh, God, she thought. She knew that expression. She knew it so well it took her breath away.

“I think I can control myself, Nora. After all, I have no reason to hurt him, do I? He hasn’t messed with anything that belongs to me.”

“No.” She felt like an idiot. The man who stood here, with his expensive suit and his expensive haircut and his sardonic voice…he wasn’t going to get in a brawl over some woman he’d forgotten a decade ago.

He didn’t lust after Nora Carson’s body anymore, or her heart, for that matter.

But that didn’t mean she was safe.

She might still have something he wanted. Something he’d battle for. Something that would bring out the bare-knuckled street fighter she used to know. Just thinking of it made her racing heart come to a dead standstill.

She just might have his son.