Santa's Kiss [Book Three in the Ladies of Legend Christmas Anthology] Page 2

  The Emporium was packed with shoppers, half of them there to hear a wind ensemble from the high school band playing Christmas music, and the other half in support of Midnight's latest charity. She was donating a portion of the evening profits to the group of wives from the local VFW who provided letters, care packages, and comfort items to deployed soldiers from Legend, and helped their families at home.

  Since Christina Montgomery's Scout Sniper husband had gone missing in Iraq two years ago, Legend citizens had taken up the cause of the American soldier. Patriotism reigned in Legend on Memorial Day and the Fourth of July. Even during the busy holiday season, Midnight's charity received wide support.

  Clint leaned against the bar thinking about Johnny Montgomery. He had heard the rumors about the desertion, but he liked to believe the best of his cousin. Give him the benefit of the doubt, for Christina's sake, if nothing else.

  The door chime tinkled. Clint lifted his gaze as Jane and Graham Winchester strolled into the store. Even bundled in an ankle-length wool coat, Jane couldn't hide her advanced pregnancy. He smiled. He would like to have kids, but the absence of a wife was a major problem. For the time, coaching the middle school football team had to satisfy his latent paternal instincts.

  He once fantasized about being married to Jane's twin sister, Dawn. Fat chance. She had too much talent and ambition to remain in Legend. He applauded her for following her dreams. In fact, her example had given him the courage to start his own car dealership. He had tried more than once to put her out of his head. It didn't help that pictures of her glamorous face were everywhere, haunting his dreams.

  Sipping coffee, Clint looked down at his rough hands. Sure, he was a big guy, former football player—six-three, broad of shoulder and build, but he had slimmed down in the year and a half since the high school reunion. After seeing Dawn, he wanted to clean up his act, so he brought new clothes that didn't come from WalMart. Not Hollywood fancy, but better than his customary ripped jeans and t-shirts.

  Graham planted a kiss on Jane's forehead and came over to the bar, leaving his wife to wander the brightly decorated aisles. Graham nodded to him and Clint inclined his head, quietly waiting. They had become friends since Graham's return to Legend and Jane's switch of identities during the reunion. The quiet, studious Jane played her game well, pretending to be her twin Dawn. She had caught her man and they both seemed happy about it.

  No longer a hotshot lawyer, Graham had given up his career to settle in Legend and write thrillers. He had a new book out which was climbing the New York Times Bestseller list.

  "Merry Christmas, Clint,” Graham said, lifting a finger to order a drink.

  "Same to you, buddy.” Clint took another sip, cradling the hot mug, his elbow on the bar. “Everything okay? You look worried."

  Graham's shoulders slumped and then he pulled himself together, standing straight. He turned to Clint with a sheepish grin. “Jane's due date was yesterday. We went to the doctor today and she's two centimeters dilated and starting to efface, whatever that means."

  "I think it means you'll be a dad before you know it."

  Graham nodded. “I know. Jane is anxious right now. She wants everything to be perfect."

  "That's understandable."

  "And worrying about Dawn doesn't help."

  Clint stood upright, shoving his mug away from him on the bar. The rented, flannel Santa suit was hotter than hell. Once he had enjoyed discussing Dawn with Graham. That had changed earlier this year when he had finally realized how his desire for a woman who was unattainable had colored his life. What self-respecting guy took lunch at one o'clock every day just to catch a soap opera or flipped through tabloid magazines at the Piggly Wiggly looking for pictures of his former girlfriend?

  "Is there something wrong?” Clint cleared his throat, unable to say Dawn's name aloud.

  Macy Grey set a mug of The Emporium's specialty drink on the counter. Graham paid her, flashing the charming woman one of his trademark smiles. Then lifting the mug, he took a sip, the whipped cream creating a thin mustache on his upper lip. Graham swiped it clean and set the mug down. Why was he taking so long with his answer? It was almost as if Graham was weighing his words, reluctant to speak.

  "You haven't heard about the reporter in town looking for Dawn?” he finally asked.

  "No.” Clint didn't listen to rumors if he could help it. They flew fast and furiously in a little place like Legend. “I was at the dealership all day yesterday and today."

  "The bastard thought Jane was Dawn, grabbed her by the arm and tried to take a picture of her."

  "Did he hurt her?” Clint took a step forward, suddenly tense.

  "Not physically, but he told us Dawn has disappeared, which caused Jane to fret about her sister."

  Years of caring were hard to overcome. Clint's heart surged. Dawn was missing? He didn't want to be concerned, but something in Graham's eyes tipped him off. There was more to this story than his old buddy was telling or willing to tell.

  "You're keeping something from Jane,” Clint accused. “Is Dawn in big trouble?"

  Graham raked a hand through his hair. “Damn, Clint. For a single guy, you're pretty damn perceptive."

  "She's in trouble?"

  "Not really.” Graham glanced at his wife who had emerged from one of the aisles and was laughing at something Midnight said. He lowered his voice. “Dawn's avoiding the paparazzi and she doesn't want to worry her sister. She didn't have anywhere to go. She's well-known in Hollywood and Vegas."

  "What's wrong with coming home?” Legend wasn't such a bad place. At least people cared about each other here.

  Graham eyed him with a strange look on his face. “Can you help me out?"

  Clint shrugged. “If it's like helping Midnight by wearing this Santa suit, I don't know.” He grinned, hoping to lighten the mood.

  It didn't work. Graham searched for Jane, looking like a man hiding a secret. He turned back and whispered, “You must not tell anyone this."

  Clint shrugged again. “You know me."

  "Yes, I know you.” He offered a friendly smile, apparently making up his mind. “When Dawn needed a place to hide, I suggested Aunt Harriet's house."

  "Aunt Harriet?"

  "Yes, you know how my aunt likes to take trips."

  "Right."

  "It will be empty for a month. As far as I know, Dawn is over at the house right now."

  Clint's eyes narrowed. “This is ridiculous. Why is she being so secretive?"

  "If you saw the behavior of that reporter, you'd understand,” Graham said. “I also think Dawn's tired. She told me she needs time alone."

  "Why are you telling me?” Clint didn't care for the sudden rush of apprehension.

  "I'm going to be busy with the baby, hopefully sooner rather than later, and I feel guilty not telling Jane where her sister is,” Graham acknowledged. “You've known Dawn a long time. I thought you could check on her for me once or twice before she leaves town."

  Shit. Clint didn't say the word aloud, but he thought it and a long string of other expletives worthy of a drunken sailor. No, he didn't want to see Dawn again. He feared her blue eyes and sexy smile would pull him back into dreaming about something he knew would never work—a small town boy and a big movie star.

  Before he was able to gather his thoughts and refuse Graham's request, Jane walked toward them, a bright smile on her face. She drew her husband away to look at a handmade quilt for the baby's room.

  Clint read Graham's pleading look as Jane pulled him down an aisle of knit goods. Damn! Clint could no more turn down his friend's appeal any more than he could turn down Midnight and her stupid Santa suit.

  Long ago he had taken out the most popular girl in Legend, and they ended up going out together. But that was in high school. They had been kids. He thought he had finally gotten over her. Right. She was back in his life, even for a while. By seeing her again, he would open up old wounds. His old wounds.

  Who was he kidding? He
had never stopped loving Dawn.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Three

  Maple Street, Legend

  Christmas Eve

  Clint's mind swirled with reasons to beg off, but his excuses were lame. Even so it took him a whole day to work up his nerve, and then he didn't have enough courage to do it without a gimmick. He was dressed in his Santa suit.

  Earlier he had played Santa Claus for the little kids at the Methodist Church on Park Street. He drove home afterwards, putting off the chore, wishing he had never agreed to Graham's request. When Suzie Matthews’ sister Chelly showed at his door at four o'clock delivering the fully cooked Christmas dinner he had ordered at Thanksgiving, Clint took one look at the sack of food and capitulated. There was too much in the big brown bag for a single man. He was alone.

  And so was Dawn.

  A dull ache squeezed his heart. The thought of Dawn without bright lights and an adoring audience made him sad.

  Driving down Maple Street in a tungsten grey metallic Ford Escape Hybrid, Clint wondered if Dawn minded being alone at Christmas. He did. Big time. He usually ate Christmas dinner with family, but his mother and father were in Florida, visiting his mom's twin sister and then going to Disney World. Since Johnny failed to come home from Iraq, the family Christmas was not as festive as the ones he remembered growing up.

  Okay, so he would offer to share his dinner with Dawn and then go back to the dealership. Ford sales had slipped since the summer's gas price increase. He could use the quiet, holiday time to catch up on paperwork.

  As he parked in front of Aunt Harriet's house, Clint wanted to kick himself for thinking he could ever offer Dawn a life of glamour and glitz when he detested big cities. What's more, how could he deprive Dawn of the life she loved? His dreams of having a relationship with Dawn had been futile from the beginning.

  Low, gray clouds gathered with the twilight. Clint climbed out of the SUV and collected the bag of goodies from the back seat. His Santa's beard hid his face and the red hat flopped over his fake white hair. He didn't feel like himself clad as Santa. He was playing a part, so maybe he didn't need to act like himself tonight. Maybe he could hide behind the persona of the jolly old elf and survive this ordeal with Dawn. As Santa Claus, maybe he could avoid the enchantment of her blue eyes.

  The air was sharp and crisp. The quiet, residential street held its breath, almost as if it waited for something magical. Clint raised his eyes. The first flakes of snow touched his beard and red flannel suit, speckling it with white. He drank in the silence and the cold air.

  Now or never, Roberts.

  He lowered his gaze focusing on Aunt Harriet's darkened house. One light burned behind the shuttered living room window. He took a determined step up the sidewalk.

  He could do this. He could remain detached.

  * * * *

  She was alone. Just the way she wanted it, or so she told herself. Dawn pulled one of Aunt Harriet's multi-colored afghans over her shoulder and stretched out on the sofa. The loud television weatherman reported an approaching snowstorm. It was heading their way from the South, not a good sign for East Tennessee. Southern snowstorms always brought plenty of moisture. Fueled by cold temperature and mountain air, Legend may be in for another bout of bad weather.

  Snuggling deeper into the sofa cushions, Dawn stifled a yawn. She shouldn't be tired having slept most of yesterday, waking only to feed Little Bits and turn him outside. Today she had done laundry and puttered around the house, trying not to think. Trying not to worry.

  So what if Gloria, her character in No Time Like the Present, a popular afternoon soap opera, had been written out of the script. Her demise had been dramatic, showcasing Dawn's acting skills. Poor Gloria had succumbed to a brain tumor, dying a quick but agonizing death. The bottom line, at the close of the last day of shooting, Gloria was a goner and so was Dawn's career.

  It had happened before. However, then she had Randy's support and encouragement to fall back on. But Randy had left, dumping her for that little bitch hardly old enough to vote.

  Dawn was thirty-five years old, a little long in the tooth for Hollywood.

  She knew she didn't look thirty-five. She had kept her figure, not wafer thin like the young actresses, but comfortably slim and curvy. More like the stars during Marilyn Monroe's day. Her face was smooth and her hairdresser took care of any gray showing through her blond hair. She had a facial every month and a massage once a week. For the hundredth time, she told herself her looks weren't keeping the offers away.

  That pesky reporter from Gossip Magazine once told her Randy was to blame. Could the man she had mistakenly loved for so long be blackballing her? He had gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? The little bitch was pregnant. Was he that petty to ruin her career? Her heart crumbled and she shut her eyes, refusing to cry. She didn't deserve this.

  What if Randy turned out to be just a convenient excuse for her? Maybe he had nothing to do with her layoff and subsequent dry spell. Maybe she wasn't good enough any more. What if the directors and producers didn't want her?

  God, how would she cope?

  A-rooooo, roo, roo, roo.

  Little Bits lifted his snout toward the ceiling and let go with the loudest, sharpest wail Dawn had ever heard. Fear shot through her veins. She sat, pulling the afghan tightly under her chin.

  Someone was outside. She heard the scrape of boots on the doorstep. Little Bits bounced to the front door, yipping and circling. The doorbell rang. Dawn's breath caught.

  "Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!"

  What? She climbed to her feet, dragging the afghan up with her. Using it as a shield, Dawn crept to the door. Little Bits spun and barked, making a terrible racket. No use pretending the house is empty. Whoever stood on Aunt Harriet's doorstep knew someone was home.

  "Open the door, Dawn! I've brought Christmas dinner."

  Shock prickled her scalp. Only Graham knew she was here and that voice didn't sound like his. Dawn tiptoed nearer to the door and placed her right eye against the peephole. Santa Claus stood outside, a big brown sack in his hands. The doorbell rang again. She sprang back, dropping the afghan.

  Roo, roo, roo.

  "Quiet, Bits!” She knelt on the floor and cradled the dog. “Hush! I can't hear myself think.” Little Bits licked her chin.

  The doorbell rang three times. “Open up. I know you're in there. Graham told me,” the strangely familiar voice said. “It's cold out here."

  Clint.

  Little Bits wiggled out of her arms and Dawn stood. Why would Graham tell Clint she was here? She didn't want to see him. She didn't want to see anyone, not being fit company even for herself.

  Her hands trembled. God, the way she felt tonight she would fall into Clint's arms like a needy child. But she couldn't do that. Not to Clint. He deserved much more than a woman who could never have children could give him.

  "C'mon, Dawn, open up. The longer I stand out here, the more chance I'll attract attention. You don't want that."

  That did it. Dawn sucked in a big breath. She must let him in or blow her cover. Quickly, she smoothed her hair and then turned the deadbolt lock on the front door.

  * * * *

  She opened the door a crack. Clint shoved aside his trepidation and released a boisterous “Ho, ho. ho!"

  She peaked at him from around the door, holding the knob with one hand and the edge with another. “Oh, cut out the clowning. Come in,” she finally said and swung the door wider for him to enter.

  A little brown dog yapped at his feet. Clint scuffed a booted foot forward, shoving the dog gently aside.

  "Quiet, Bits. Hush! It's just Clint."

  The offending canine stopped barking, but shadowed his red pant's cuff, sniffing. Dawn shut the door and Clint turned, trying to ignore the dog, focusing on his former girlfriend.

  He had never seen Dawn in pajamas. He had seen her in much less during the summer reunion when she had worn a sexy black dress and then a halter top and sk
impy shorts. There was nothing revealing about these red and green plaid, flannel pajamas and green fuzzy robe tied at the waste with a belt. He swallowed hard. Sure, nothing showed, but she was wearing nightclothes and he was a man. A man with a very active libido. He hadn't known how active until he realized the object of years of his affection was standing in front of him ready for bed.

  It's just Clint, she had said to the dog. That didn't set right.

  He drew himself up, remaining in character. “And what do you want for Christmas, little girl?"

  She grimaced.

  Okay, sick joke. He may be small town, but he was proud of being willing and able to help out his neighbors.

  "Santa has brought you a lovely Christmas dinner,” he said in a booming voice.

  Dawn fisted a hand on her hip. “Cut it out, Clint. Why are you here? Why did Graham tell you where I was?"

  Her blond hair wasn't all gussied up and it was longer than when he had seen her last. Wisps fanned her face, but the rest of it hung long, past her shoulders, tied back with a piece of red yarn. Her face wasn't made up either, but was smooth and perfect, her complexion like that of a teenager. What were they now? Thirty-five? Lord, it hardly seemed possible. Where had time flown?

  "Graham thought you should have company for Christmas and I don't have anyone to eat with,” Clint said in his normal voice and strode straight into Aunt Harriet's kitchen.

  "Wait a minute!"

  She scurried to catch up and so did the little dog. Clint disregarded them and sat his bag on the countertop. He dug into it, pulling out takeout boxes of food. “Get out the dinner plates. I'll warm everything up."

  "Hold on!” She grabbed his sleeve.

  Sparks ignited where she touched him. Clint paused and glanced down. She felt it too. He could tell. A delightful blush turned her cheeks pink. Dawn raised her eyes and their gazes collided in a room full of heavy silence and strange electricity. If he thought about the moment, he would have laughed. Here he was dressed as Santa Claus and Dawn Smith, famous Hollywood actress, was gripping his arm, dressed only in her pajamas.