A Texas Christmas Wish Page 2

  “The usual?” Klaus asked, his Texan drawl slow and deep. With his long white beard and twinkling eyes, if he’d been dressed in red and wearing round spectacles, he’d have made the most perfect Father Christmas.

  “Yes, please, and also for Maisey.”

  “I heard about your window.”

  “News travels fast.”

  “In this town it does. Any luck with the insurance company?”

  “I’ll call first thing tomorrow.” She glanced over to where Brynn spoke on her phone. “A certain person was knitting.”

  Klaus chuckled. “Enough said.” The amusement in his eyes sobered. “I have a little extra put aside…”

  Aggie had already shaken her head before Klaus had finished. “Thank you, but I couldn’t. You’ve already done more than enough helping me get the upstairs rooms habitable.”

  Over the fall, they’d sanded floorboards, painted walls, and renovated the bathroom in the apartment above the store. The more dust-covered they’d become, the more they’d laughed. The plan had been to rent out the empty space to generate extra money. But now, with the window expenses, the last items she needed to make the one-bedroom apartment livable would have to wait.

  “We both know that was more fun than work,” Klaus said, words gentle before he busied himself making her drinks order.

  When he placed three tall glasses of paloma cocktail in front of her, she thanked him with a smile. Glass clinked as she picked up the drinks and turned to walk over to where Maisey’s auburn hair now gleamed beside Brynn’s blonde head beneath the overhead light of the corner booth.

  Aggie came to a stop as a man wearing cowboy boots jostled her elbow. She accepted his apology with a brief nod as the lime wedges in each glass bobbed. She waited until they’d settled and there was zero chance of any cocktail spilling before relaxing her tense shoulders and walking forward.

  No harm done. Her steps quickened. Tomorrow also was a new day and she’d be staying away from buzzards, ladders, and cemeteries. She couldn’t afford for anything else to go wrong, however small. Her control depended upon it.

  *

  There was a reason why Mason dealt with words. He wasn’t a numbers guy. In a rare display of distraction, he smothered a yawn and looked out his office window. He’d been trapped in the numerical wormhole of the law firm’s finances all day and he’d never been more bored.

  He resisted the urge to drag a hand through his hair and instead focused on the document in front of him. There was a financial team who handled the accounts but, call it pride, family duty, or being a control freak, now that his father had stepped aside, Mason wanted to be across everything. Even if it did his head in.

  He’d only reread the top line of the loan document before his attention again strayed toward the window. He didn’t need the rumble of his stomach to tell him it was late. Beyond the glass, a heavy downpour reduced the diamond-bright Denver skyline to a dull blur. He flexed his shoulders beneath the fine wool of his charcoal suit. Ever since his mother’s parcel had arrived two days ago, he’d been on edge. Now the sound of the wind pelting raindrops against the windowpane further awakened dim memories.

  There had been a time when they’d been a family and his father’s smile had reached his eyes. The distant Rocky Mountains were invisible tonight, but in a rustic cabin beside a meadow where elk grazed, he used to feel at peace. His father returned to the cabin for a week every summer, but Mason hadn’t visited since his mother had died. He’d tried. He’d never made it past the city limits.

  A tightness in his chest caused him to look back at the papers spread across his desk. Work was the only thing that made him feel like his life wasn’t spinning. Not that this loan document appeared to have anything to do with work, even though it had been filed in a law firm file. A long-ago receptionist must have been having a bad day.

  He scanned the first page again. There was no mistaking his mother’s details or signature, but nothing else made sense. Why had his mother given a personal loan to an unfamiliar company four months before her death, a loan that was six figures big?

  Instead of a street address, the borrower, Gelberose Ltd., had provided a mailing address of a post office box in Last Stand, Texas. As far as he knew, his mother had no connection to such a place. She’d grown up in Oregon. He frowned as a memory half-formed and then slipped away. Thanks to the illegible scrawl of whoever signed the document, even with a magnifying glass, he’d have no hope of deciphering their name. As for the fact that the box had been ticked that no interest was to be paid…

  He came to his feet. Loose ends had no place in his world. He’d been the one to close his mother’s bank account so if any repayments had been made, he’d have noticed them. There’d also been nothing in her will or her private papers to indicate such a loan even existed. He headed to the door. His father may have stepped away from the day-to-day running of Firth and Sons, but that didn’t mean he spent any less time in his office.

  He didn’t bother to knock. His father’s door was ajar and there was no rumble of his deep voice to indicate that he was on the phone. His father looked up from where he read over a wad of papers. No welcome relaxed the set lines of his face. No warmth tempered the hard light of his gray gaze. Mason’s stride didn’t falter. The only thing that would have unnerved him was if his father had greeted him in any other way.

  Without speaking, he placed the loan document on his father’s desk. Walter Firth’s gray brows rose as he picked up the first page.

  As his father read, his shoulders stiffened. “I wondered when this would turn up.”

  “You knew about this?”

  “Where was it?”

  The change of topic was no accident. Mason repeated his question. “You knew?”

  His father scanned the second page before answering. “I did…afterward. The repayments appeared in our joint account once your mother had gone. They’re still coming in like clockwork, except the payment before last was late.”

  “Do you know who from?”

  “No. I had someone in the finance department confirm the transactions were legitimate, but that was it.”

  “And you didn’t want to know anything more?”

  “I was busy.”

  Mason turned away before frustration would show on his face. He too was guilty of putting work first, but when it came to his mother, she’d always been a priority.

  “That’s it?” His father’s words were more of a bark than a question.

  Mason faced him again and made sure his expression remained unchanging. He’d learned fifteen years ago that his father saw emotion as a weakness. “I’ve work to do.”

  He didn’t add that he’d scanned the loan document, so if more information came to light, he’d have a copy. He also intended to dig deeper as to why he couldn’t shake the feeling that the name Last Stand meant something. He didn’t care that he was being sentimental in wanting to know more about his mother’s life. Now that there were to be no more Christmas parcels, he needed to hold on to her somehow.

  His father’s frown turned into a glower. Mason didn’t break eye contact. When it came to stubbornness, he knew from whom he’d inherited such a trait.

  “I’ve changed my mind.” His father’s words barely moved his mouth.

  Mason couldn’t stop the lift of an eyebrow. This was a first.

  His father flicked the loan document with an impatient finger. “I want to know.”

  It was only subtle, but he caught a rasp in his father’s tone.

  “Why?”

  His father didn’t need to reply. The bleakness that dulled his gaze before he looked away gave Mason all the answers he needed. This year’s Christmas parcel to his father had also been the final one. Like him, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

  Voice low, Mason spoke. “I can be in Last Stand by tomorrow afternoon.”

  *

  Mason’s grip firmed on the steering wheel of the rental car he’d collected in Austin after bad weat
her had delayed his flight from Denver. The late afternoon shadows had given way to a Texas sunset and now a darkening dusk. Except, the earlier wash of vivid color across the vast sky hadn’t brought him any pleasure. The next time he allowed emotion to override common sense, he deserved to spend a week in the accounts department crunching numbers.

  In less than twenty-four hours, he’d swapped tailored suits and routine for jeans, a navy Henley sweater, and bedlam. And when it came to bedlam, there was nothing that made his teeth grind more than Christmas chaos.

  Gaze fixed, he stared straight ahead. There was no escaping the fact that right now, he was surrounded by all things yuletide and festive. According to the car’s GPS, he was driving along Bluebonnet Lane in the town of Last Stand, but he could have sworn he was in the middle of a Christmas snow globe, minus the snow.

  Fairy lights twinkled from where they adorned trees and the distant strains of a Christmas carol filtered into the car. Even the hardware store was smothered in tinsel with an inflatable Santa secured beside the front door. He was sure if he wound down the window, he’d smell gingerbread. It wasn’t only the streetscape that caused tension to pulse at his temples, but the people filling the sidewalks, as well.

  Children wore huge smiles and too-big Santa hats, while adult laughter replaced the fading notes of a trumpet. He scraped a hand over his jaw and looked away as a young couple swapped a tender kiss. He refused to label the ache inside him as loneliness. He needed a drink. Make that two. That’s if he ever made it through the Christmas mayhem to the Last Stand Saloon.

  The white sedan in front of him slowed to a crawl as the pedestrian traffic turned left to go past the police station and toward what appeared to be a large limestone building. The huge Christmas tree that he then glimpsed explained where everyone was heading. There had to be a tree lighting going on. He pushed back the childhood memories of holding his mother’s hand while his father switched on the lights of their own tree. Sentiment had already caused him enough trouble. Not only had he missed close to a full day of work, but when he’d called the bed and breakfast he’d booked online last night to say he was running late, they’d had no record of his booking.

  Now seeing the tree lighting crowds, he could understand why they then hadn’t had a spare room. He could phone Cathryn to ask her to find him accommodations, but she’d already left three messages about matters his father could handle. So he’d planned to stop at the Last Stand Saloon, de-Christmas, and search on his phone for a place to stay. The perpetual sparkle from the tinsel and fairy lights had made him twitchy. Real life didn’t shine as bright.

  The white sedan picked up speed, and soon the GPS directed him left before telling him his destination was on the right. To his relief, the Last Stand Saloon only sported some low-key wreaths. He pulled into the parking lot with a heavy sigh. Not bothering with a coat, he left the warmth of the car for the brisk breeze of a winter’s night. After spending so much time in an office, he found fresh air invigorating. For some reason tonight, despite his fatigue, the icy bite upon his skin also felt liberating.

  He walked over to the saloon and welcomed the weight of the somber and starless sky overhead that matched his thoughts. Against the darkness, the pale stone stood solid and resolute. He’d done his research and knew all about the significance of the historic building. He touched the bullet-scarred limestone that felt rough and cold beneath his hand.

  Last Stand had sounded familiar because his mother had had an association with Texas after all. Late last night, he’d remembered where he’d seen the name. The town had been listed on her birth certificate. Tomorrow, he’d take a look at the hospital where she’d been born.

  He pushed open the door and the aroma of beer rushed to greet him. With most of the town at the tree lighting, only a few fellow grinches were inside. Balls clicked as a couple of cowboys played pool in an alcove, while over in a booth along the wall, a trio of men were deep in conversation. Instead of Christmas music, a country tune crooned from the jukebox.

  He headed toward the bar. If anyone would know of a business called Gelberose, it would be the elderly man wiping the bar top. But now wasn’t the time to ask or to reveal while he was there. He was a stranger and, knowing how the tiny band of locals had once defended Last Stand, he didn’t want to risk the town closing ranks against him.

  The bartender approached. With his white hair and long beard, the man appeared as though he should be dressed in red and sitting in a sleigh instead of serving beers. Except when those shrewd blue eyes met his, jolly wasn’t exactly a word he’d have used to describe his expression.

  For a moment, the bartender assessed him before speaking. “What can I get you?”

  His slow drawl left Mason with no doubt that he was in the Lone Star state.

  “A beer, thanks.” He paused. The bartender didn’t move. It was as if he expected Mason to say something more. He hadn’t planned to until the old man continued to stare at him. “You also don’t know of a place to stay, preferably on this side of Main Street?”

  He wasn’t battling the crowds again and he’d seen barricades blocking off sections of the main thoroughfare, which could make it difficult to get across town.

  “That depends…how long are you staying?”

  “A week.”

  The bartender didn’t answer, but Mason made no effort to break the silence. The savvy local wasn’t getting any more information out of him, even if he had made provision to be away for two weeks if he needed to.

  The bartender’s gaze skimmed his torso, before lingering on his jaw. “You look like a man who can take care of himself.”

  He nodded. He boxed for fitness and to keep in shape. If his only option was a room in a dive hotel, he’d take it. He might pride himself on never losing control, but if he was honest, there was a restless, edgy part of him that never completely conformed, no matter how many rules he followed. If trouble found him, he’d handle it.

  “I might know of a place. It’s nothing flash.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “It’s close by…but you’ll have to eat out.”

  The tension gripping his shoulders ebbed. “I do anyway.”

  “There’s a catch…” The bartender’s voice hardened. “It’s above a store that, last week, someone broke the front window of. The owner’s a friend. I’d appreciate if you’d make sure nothing else goes wrong.”

  “I work late and sleep light.”

  “Payment is by cash…in advance.”

  “Of course.”

  Mason held the bartender’s stare and made a mental note to never underestimate any opposing counsel who looked like Father Christmas. The older man in front of him had a will that was as weathered and as tough as the stone walls surrounding them.

  “All right, then.” The bartender took a notebook out of his shirt pocket and wrote down a name and address.

  He handed the paper to Mason, but didn’t immediately relinquish his hold. “Make sure you tell Aggie that Klaus sent you, otherwise you’ll be sleeping in your car.”

  Mason had a brief vision of a snowy-haired woman who too possessed eyes of blue steel. “Understood.”

  Klaus turned away to pour Mason his beer.

  Five phone calls and another beer later, Mason left the haven of the Last Stand Saloon. Klaus gave him a brief nod. Mason wasn’t sure, but as he held the door open for two women to walk through, he thought he saw a twinkle soften the old man’s stare.

  Whatever respite he’d achieved from the Christmas chaos dissipated as he rejoined the throng of festive traffic. Tension again thrummed at his temples. The tree lighting had to be over. Crowds spilled onto sidewalks and car horns blared as laughing teenagers dashed across the busy road. At least the directions Klaus had given him took him around the blockades on Main Street. He found a parking place close to where he needed to be and, leaving his coat in the car, walked the final yards. He came to a sudden stop.

  No way.

  The business a
bove which he’d be staying, and would be keeping an eye on, was an ugly Christmas sweater store decorated to the hilt. Winking lights and evergreen foliage were entwined around walkway posts, while inside the store, a kaleidoscope of Christmas color assaulted his senses. His groan was carried away by the stiff breeze. He’d be seeing Christmas pom-poms and reindeers in his nightmares.

  Then he saw the figure of a woman bundled in a red coat standing in the lamplight staring not into the store, but at the front window. A red sequined Santa’s hat covered her loose chestnut brown hair. Yet it wasn’t what she wore that kept him immobile, but her stillness.

  All around her, there was movement, noise, and life. People passed by or walked around her, but in all the disorder, she remained unmoving. Her shoulders were braced, and her gloved hands clenched and unclenched. He could feel her tension as if he too were fighting to stay composed.

  The crowd thinned, allowing him to catch the glint of light from a crack that arced across the small left side store window. This had to be the store owner and it looked like a second window had been broken.

  The woman’s head lifted and she half turned. He caught a glimpse of a delicate profile and smooth, pale skin. Then she fully turned and, with her chin angled, she locked the bluest eyes he’d even seen onto him.

  Chapter Two

  Aggie didn’t know what made her turn. All she knew was that one minute, she was staring at the damaged window, disbelief ricocheting through her. How could another window be broken? The next, she sensed someone watching her.

  She’d swung around, her fight response kicking in. Maybe the person standing behind her and slightly to her right had something to do with the new break. The first crack couldn’t have now been an accident.