A Christmas Affair Read online

  “Whatever you need. Whenever you want it. Just come to me.”

  She giggled. “I didn’t think it would be this easy. I thought I might have to talk you into this.”

  “You did convince me, dear. The moment you touched my shoulder, the discussion was over. I’m open for whatever you want. I could never turn you down, never. I’ve dreamed of holding you like this for a long time.”

  Without another word, they were kissing again. Deep, passionate kisses. He was so lost in the taste of her, he didn’t know or care how much time went by.

  A tap sounded at the office door. “Maria’s ride is back, boss,” Wanda Lee, his only early-morning cashier, yelled, obviously already moving away. She hadn’t tried the knob. She wasn’t the curious type.

  Maria pushed gently against him and he let her go. She stood slowly, letting her body brush past his cheek as she straightened her clothes.

  His hands were on her waist. He let them slide down over her hips. This wasn’t the place, the time for what they were doing, but this was the woman.

  He opened his mouth, trying to think of the right words to say. Stay. Come back.

  One finger touched his lips, keeping him silent. “Will you be my lover?” she whispered. “I’ve decided I’d like you for Christmas, Wes. If you have no objections, of course.”

  “If you have any doubt, stay a while longer and I’ll show you.”

  When he looked up, she was smiling. Then without a word, she stepped to the door and was gone.

  Wes sat at his desk and decided to give up thinking or planning. He didn’t know or care where this was going. It didn’t matter just as long as it was moving along. If she wanted him for Christmas, she could have him then, and the other 364 days of the year, too.

  He’d just wait and be surprised. If she wanted to come in and kiss him every week in her gentle, silent way, he could handle that. They didn’t have to talk about it.

  His hand opened and closed. She hadn’t been gone five minutes and he already missed the feel of her. Who was he kidding? If this continued, he’d be insane by Christmas. A smile lifted his mouth as he realized he didn’t care.

  “Mr. Whitman?” The high school kid, who’d just given his notice, poked his head in the office. “Miss Davis said to tell you that she’d be back on Monday to restock.”

  “Thanks, Randy. Why don’t you take off early? I know your folks want to get on the road. Have a great Christmas in Vermont.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Whitman. You have a merry Christmas.”

  Wes stood and whispered, “I plan to.”

  That night his thoughts were still filled with Maria. He locked up his store and walked home in the light snow without even noticing the cold. Why would he? He’d already been struck by lightning.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TRAVIS’S NEW HOME with Horace and Dice wasn’t exactly on the barren prairie, but it might as well have been. Horace lived in a little house five miles from town where the land was rolling and rocky. His place bordered Ransom Canyon, which reminded Travis of a deep crack in the earth that ran for miles.

  It occurred to Travis that maybe all the Fuller women had died from sleepwalking. One missed step and you’d have a hundred-foot drop.

  The fireplace looked like it was built from bricks, rocks, petrified wood and whatever had been rolling around in the back of a pickup at the time of construction. The place was two bedrooms with a big open room that served as living room, dining room and kitchen. One whole side of the house was Horace’s study, with books lining every inch of wall space.

  Dice winked and said Horace did top-secret work on computer hacking for the government. It was so secret not even Horace knew what he was doing most of the time. Then the thin old guy laughed so hard Travis thought he might be having some kind of fit. Travis decided that all three of his uncles were probably barely on speaking terms with the truth. He decided to walk around while the old guys argued over who would cook supper.

  Horace had a house obviously built with unskilled labor. The front porch was wider on one side. Both living room windows leaned to the left, reminding Travis of a modern art painting.

  Taking off on his own was out of the question right now. Even if Travis could remember the half dozen turns it took to reach the paved road, it might be hours before another car finally came by that would give him a ride. When he’d asked Horace if he had neighbors, the old guy had to think about it. Travis decided if that question took thought, Horace probably didn’t have anyone living close.

  Dice, the middle brother of the three, had moved into the only other bedroom of Horace’s strange little house. They’d been working on Travis’s room since their niece’s social worker called them and asked them to take Travis in a week ago. Their plan was simply to build up from the sunporch that looked like a museum of dead potted plants.

  Only they hadn’t finished it yet. The walls and roof were up, but no drywall or paint. They had cut for a big window, but the glass hadn’t come in.

  Travis studied the marvel of chaos carpentry. This was great! When the window was in he’d have a killer view of the canyon.

  Dice showed the add-on off like it was grand. “You’ll have to come downstairs to the bathroom, but we thought you’d need your own space. We’ll get around to finishing it up soon.”

  “Can I paint it any color?”

  “Sure. What sounds good?”

  “Suicide red,” Travis said, just to get a reaction from the old guy.

  “Sounds great to me,” Dice said. “We could do the baseboards in vomit green and maybe get one of those modern light fixtures that looks like dripping cow innards.”

  Travis stared at Dice, having no idea if the beanpole of a man was kidding.

  After two nights on the couch, Travis decided that if his room was ever going to be finished, he’d better do it himself. Dice was happy to haul supplies back from town and Horace looked up plans on the internet, but neither of them seemed in any hurry to do the work.

  When Travis asked Uncle Cap to help, the old guy took charge. Three days and Travis was sleeping on the floor of his new room. Cap might not want to live with his brothers, but he didn’t mind calling in favors to ask for help. A crew of men worked alongside Travis, asking his advice now and then, like he was the boss. Showing him tricks of the trade only carpenters knew. Deputy Cline, who’d driven him in from the airport, even helped one afternoon. He showed Travis how to seal the window properly.

  Funny thing was, almost every man who helped thanked Cap for the opportunity to pay back a favor.

  Wrapped up in his sleeping bag like a long burrito, Travis began to plan his escape as soon as he was alone. He’d need money first. He’d already been watching how to drive. Two months, maybe three, and he’d be on his own, if he could somehow get his hands on some cash.

  The way to make money came to Travis the first day he spent with Cap at the retirement village. Cap introduced him to a half dozen elderly folks with walkers. Before he had time to say more than hello, they were asking if he’d help them out.

  Travis nodded, not even sure he wanted to get too close to them, but standing around listening to Cap all day might be the only other choice.

  So he started moving furniture so those with walkers could put up their Christmas trees, and hanging lights on the porches of their little cottages, which were circled around a community area.

  The retirement village was in the center of town and within walking distance of the grocery, gas station and county offices. So errands were easy for Travis.

  The unexpected benefit of helping out was that each one handed him a five-or ten-dollar bill and whispered something like, “You tuck this away for your Christmas money.”

  Since Travis never had any Christmas money, he didn’t know what to do with it. Once, in the fourth grade, he�
�d won the school library’s award for reading the most books. Twenty dollars. When he showed his parents, they took it away and spent it on beer.

  After that, he hid any money he came across, and stole what he needed. It was easy in New Orleans, with dozens of stores close by. Travis was careful never to steal much and never, never take from the same store twice.

  But here, he’d have to change his plan. Maybe it would just be easier to pay for what he needed.

  Three days later, when he made his third trip to the grocery store with a list from the walker crowd, he lifted a few candy bars when the cashier turned away for a moment.

  The next trip, two hours later, he grew bolder. Two canned drinks from the cooler jumped into his coat pocket.

  On the next trip, Travis was considering a flashlight. He had enough money to buy it, but the store would never miss one flashlight.

  He glanced at the cashier, who was painting on her lipstick.

  Without taking his eyes off her, he reached behind him for the flashlight. The moment it was solid in his grip, Travis felt fingers as strong as iron close around his wrist.

  “I wasn’t doing nothing,” he said, as he turned around and faced what had to be the store owner. He had a name tag that said Whitman and his hawk-like eyes left no doubt that the man could read Travis’s thoughts.

  “I didn’t say you were, but I’d like to talk to you in my office.” Whitman’s voice was low but not friendly.

  Travis thought of running or screaming, but either could turn out ugly. The owner was a foot taller than him and could probably outrun him. The guy looked like he was in shape.

  Besides, Travis thought, where would he go? He didn’t want the uncles to know he was a shoplifter. Horace wouldn’t understand and would ask a million questions. Cap would lecture him, and Dice lived in the Wild West so much, he’d probably string him up from the nearest tree. Maybe he could talk his way out of this? After all, he did have the money in his pocket.

  The owner of the store pointed to the only chair in the cluttered little office and Travis tried not to look guilty as he sat down. He knew the drill. If he was lucky, he’d get a lecture. Or worse, the manager would call one of his uncles. Or really bad, the store owner would call the sheriff.

  “You drink coffee, Travis, or just Cokes?” Whitman was waiting to pour from an old coffeepot.

  This was bad, Travis decided. The guy knew his name and he knew about the Cokes. “I drink coffee. How’d you know my name?”

  Whitman smiled as he handed Travis a cup of steaming coffee. “Mrs. Kirkland from the retirement village called and told me to toss in a bottle of vanilla when Travis Fuller picked up her grocery order.” He shrugged. “I know your kin, Travis. All of your uncles are liked and respected.”

  Here it comes, Travis thought. I’m the weed in the garden, but what this guy didn’t know was he’d been living among the weeds all his life. His folks were the kind of kin you wouldn’t even call if you needed a kidney.

  He set the coffee on the desk just in case Whitman took a swing at him. That’s what his dad always did when he thought Travis needed to learn a lesson.

  “Your Uncle Cap told me you’re not starting school until after New Year’s. There’s not much to do around here to keep someone your age busy.”

  “I’m helping out at the retirement home.”

  “You like that?”

  Travis had no idea where this conversation was going. Maybe Whitman was simply making small talk until the sheriff showed up. “It’s all right. Beats staying around Horace’s place. He lives on his computer and doesn’t even own a color TV. Claims he’s not buying one until the old set he has goes out.

  “I wake up and Horace is already working at his desk in his study. I go to bed and see the light of the screen shining from his room. I think he’s some kind of zombie who never sleeps.” Travis knew he was rattling on, but the owner was making him nervous by being so nice. “Dice at least talks to me when he comes home, but he sounds like he’s one of the extras in a John Wayne movie. I never know if the story he’s telling happened that morning or fifty years ago. Then there’s Cap, who must miss teaching because he never misses the opportunity to lecture me. Once I went back to the shed to get a hammer, and when I came back he was still talking.”

  Travis hadn’t had a chance to talk to anyone about his uncles and this quiet store owner looked like he was at least listening. “You know, I don’t think that my three uncles have even talked to each other in years before I showed up.”

  “It’s close to Christmas. Maybe they’re busy?”

  Travis shook his head. “I don’t think any of them have any idea the holidays are coming. Half the time I’m not sure they remember I’m around. I startle Horace every time I come downstairs and feel like I need to introduce myself again.”

  The room grew silent. Conversation was over, Travis decided.

  Whitman raised one eyebrow, then picked up a pen. “I’m a little rushed here in the store with everyone buying for the holidays. I could use another stocker. Someone to make deliveries around town if needed. Someone to help folks with their groceries. You interested in the job? By my calculation you already owe me an hour’s work.”

  Travis almost jumped out of his chair. “You’re offering me a job?” No one had ever offered him a job. A real job.

  “Sure,” Whitman said. “Only no more stealing. You pay for what you eat or drink. We get busy in the afternoon. If you like the job, and I like your work, we could talk about an after-school job in January.”

  Travis just stared. He was being offered exactly what he needed. A way to make money. A way out.

  “I’ll take it.” He stood. “And Mr. Whitman, you won’t be sorry. I’ll work hard until I leave. I can’t promise how long that will be.”

  Whitman nodded. “I understand. But you work while you’re here.”

  Travis fought the urge to cross his heart in promise. He’d never had a job.

  “Now, go tell Cap you’re working, then come back. I’ll find you an apron and you can start.”

  Awkwardly, Travis shot out his hand. “Thanks.”

  An hour later when Travis tied on the plain white apron, he stood a little taller. He had a job. A real job.

  That night when Cap picked him up to drive him home, Travis paid for the flashlight after he hung his apron up on a nail in the back. When he climbed into Cap’s old boat of a car, Travis talked all the way home about all he’d done and the people he’d met.

  Cap just nodded and didn’t say a word.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WRAPPING UP IN her heavy coat and boots, Maria listened to Dakota and Blade loading her jars of red candy-apple jelly along with gift baskets for the holiday. She’d taken two baskets on Friday and they’d already sold. Now she wanted to put out six more in Wes’s store.

  And—she smiled to herself—she wanted to touch Wes Whitman again.

  Dakota and Blade bumped their way in from the cold. Her sister was laughing, as she often did when Blade was around. He had the ground floor of his house finished, and he slept over there sometimes when he wasn’t off somewhere working. But if he was home, he came over for breakfast, then usually went into town for lunch with Dakota. Come supper time, he was back.

  Grandmother often mumbled that Maria shouldn’t have fed him, because now they’d never get rid of him. But Maria didn’t miss the fact that she dropped in for breakfast more often when Blade’s new pickup was parked out front.

  Maria had tried to explain that Dakota and Blade were getting married, but Grandmother still complained that they shouldn’t let the neighbor on their land. After all, a hundred-year-old feud might start up again at any time.

  Blade only laughed at her worries. He’d made a habit of kissing Grandmother on the cheek every morning when he walked in, even bef
ore he hugged Dakota. Grandmother would complain and rub the kiss off, but still she leaned her head slightly waiting for the kiss when he passed by.

  This morning was no exception. Blade kissed Grandmother, stole a hot muffin out of the pan and sat down at his place at the bar beside Dakota. This headstrong, stubborn, loving man had become part of their family.

  Maria served breakfast. As always, the kitchen was her realm. She had everything in order and cooked with ease. Sometimes, when she was surrounded by the smells, the tastes, the feel of cooking, she forgot that she was blind.

  “I’m sorry I have to show a home so early again,” Dakota said, gulping down her breakfast. “I like driving you in. It gives me time to check my email, then I have a break taking you home before I have to figure out what to do with my day.”

  “No problem. I’ll ride with Blade. He’s going that way anyway.”

  Grandmother pointed with her fork. “He’ll need to help with all that extra stuff you’re taking.”

  Maria picked at her breakfast. “Wes had the idea for the baskets. Looks like they might sell. Last-minute gifts.”

  “Wes?” Dakota said.

  Maria smiled. “I’ve known him for more than four years. Maybe it’s time I called him by his first name.”

  Her sister leaned closer. “And what does Mr. Whitman call you?”

  “Dear one,” Maria answered with a smile.

  Dakota laughed. “You wish.”

  “Best breakfast ever. Ready whenever you are, Maria.” Blade moved his plate across the bar. “Now are you sure you don’t mind waiting a few minutes at the store? I don’t think my meeting will be more than twenty minutes, then I’ll have you home before the snow gets any worse.”

  “I don’t mind. Wes always has coffee in his office and I’ll bring my phone. I’ll just listen to one of my books. While you’re talking banking, I’ll be having a wild affair.”

  Blade laughed. He didn’t believe her any more than Dakota did. “You and those romance books. Real life isn’t like that, you know.”