Christmas Confidential Read online

  “The only responsibilities ten-year-olds are supposed to have are cleaning their rooms, doing their homework and taking out the trash. You weren’t responsible. You couldn’t be. You give your mother credit for doing her best. You have to give yourself the same credit.”

  Her soft sigh didn’t sound convinced as she rested her chin on her knees. “My name was Ali then. The last time I saw Oliver and Chloe, they were screaming Ali, Ali! as the social workers dragged them away. Sophy tried to comfort them, but she was crying, too. She was only six.”

  Wasn’t that a pleasant memory to have burned into a ten-year-old mind? Dean thought, bitter on her behalf. He’d always known she was strong, but he hadn’t had a clue exactly how strong, to have survived a childhood like that.

  When she remained silent, he gently prompted, “So they were adopted, and you grew up really fast to take care of your mom. Have you seen them since?”

  She shook her head.

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “Oliver’s still in North Carolina. Chloe’s in Alabama. Sophy...” Her mouth moved, trembling, as she tried to form a smile. “She’s in Georgia.”

  Of course she was. “That’s where you’re going. To see her.”

  Another sorry effort at a smile. “Yes. Maybe. Unless she doesn’t want...”

  To see me. He dragged his fingers through his hair. She blamed herself for not being able to keep the family together—as if she’d had a snowball’s chance in hell—and now she was afraid that her sister blamed her, too.

  And, hell, who knew? Maybe she did. Maybe Sophy had been too young and too traumatized to remember anything except that in a few short months, she’d lost her entire family and big sister Ali hadn’t protected her. Maybe she’d been so traumatized she didn’t even remember her big sister at all.

  Either of which would break Miri’s heart.

  Scooting, he bumped her shoulder, nudging her aside, then mimicked her position beside her, only instead of resting his arms on his knees, he slid his left arm around her. “You’ll never know what she wants until you try. You could be the best Christmas gift she’s ever gotten.” He paused, swallowing over the lump in his throat, then hoarsely added, “You’ve been a pretty damn good one for me.”

  “Or the worst she’s ever had.” She paused, too, and he thought she was going to ignore his last statement until she showed the first real emotion since she’d started the conversation. Curiosity. “Even though I’m not giving back the money?”

  The idea made him a little squeamish. A criminal shouldn’t profit from her crime. Even though the court hadn’t ordered restitution, even though as far as the State of Texas was concerned, she’d served her time and had no further obligations, it was just plain wrong to keep money she’d embezzled. Morally, ethically wrong. Just not legally so.

  “I can’t pretend I don’t care about that.”

  “I earned that money.”

  “How? By serving fourteen months in jail?”

  She tilted her head to gaze up at him. This close he could make out her features. Brown eyes. Cute nose. Lips curved up the slightest bit. “I earned it—at least, part of it—by taking care of my sisters and brother for five months. By taking care of my mother for eight years. By watching my mother die and burying her all by myself. By losing my family and my childhood. By having my entire world ripped apart by the man who’d sworn to love my mother in sickness and in health, when what he really meant was until sickness, then he was getting the hell out.”

  Dean slowly released her to move where he could see her face-to-face. After staring a moment in darkness, he switched on the wall sconce between the beds. Its light was so dim that it took only seconds for his vision to adjust, and then he continued to stare at her.

  Slowly he forced his mouth to move. “Mr. Smith is your father.”

  She extended her hand. “Alicia Miriam Smith. When Mom died and I switched to Miri, I also took her maiden name, Duncan.”

  His stare dropped to her hand, small, delicate, but he couldn’t move to take it. All he could think in that moment, and the next few, were two words. That bastard.

  John W. Smith, multimillionaire politician whose strong Christian beliefs and even stronger family values were expected to take him far. The man always accompanied in public by his beautiful wife and their beautiful children, upon whom he lavished time, love and tons of money. The man who’d kept Dean’s business running when he’d had tough times. He’d always had so much respect for Mr. Smith.

  So much for his character assessment skills.

  “Does he know?”

  She shook her head. “I thought I would tell him once I’d given Sophy, Oliver and Chloe their shares. Then I thought maybe not. He didn’t care about us. I don’t care about him.”

  Shares. The amount of money had been odd: $1,092,673.72. Why not an even $1.1 mil? “You totaled the child support he never paid, didn’t you?”

  “Plus interest. Each of us gets a share depending on how many years he didn’t pay.”

  It was a lot of money, but Miriam had described their house as big and beautiful and said he’d worried about his sick wife tarnishing his reputation. Likely, the child support had been commensurate with his salary.

  “So you’ll get the least amount. After getting the money in the first place. That doesn’t seem fair.”

  She managed a real smile. “Most things in life aren’t fair. But he owed this money. Taking it was fair. Giving it to my sisters and brother is fair.”

  It was a lot to take in, and it was a confidence that humbled him, that she could trust him with all the painful aspects of her life. But he still had one question, still needed one answer. “Why are you telling me this now?”

  For a long time, she sat silent, then slowly she reached out to touch his hand—not to grip it, just to lay the tips of her fingers on it. “Someone once told me that if what you’ve been doing isn’t working for you, then it’s time to change. I—I need a change, Dean.”

  Chapter 6

  Her chest was too tight to manage adequate breath as she waited for him to say something, for a hint that he understood what she was saying. It came when he gently turned his hand over and folded his fingers around hers. “Miriam,” he whispered, and the intensity of emotion in his voice brought tears to her eyes.

  He leaned forward, still holding her hand in his, and kissed her, the sweetest kiss she’d ever gotten. When it was over, he rested his forehead against hers and raggedly said, “Don’t do this tonight, then leave me tomorrow. I’ve never had my heart broken before, but I’m sure it’s not a pretty sight.”

  “Mine’s been broken six times. I can tell you, it’s not.”

  She could practically see him counting silently: her father, her mother, Sophy, Oliver and Chloe. He grinned. “You did like me.”

  “I did.”

  “I liked you, too. I still do. More than any other woman I’ve ever known.”

  A spasm of uncertainty clamped around her heart. She was so used to not believing, not trusting, that the doubt came automatically, but she forced it away. That was the old Miri, the old life. New Miri had faith in herself and others. New Miri trusted the people she loved and, no matter how she’d denied it, she did love Dean.

  He kissed her again, and the uncertainty vanished, replaced by warm, hungry desire. He wanted her. After eight years of being needed too much, then twelve years where no one needed her at all, it was wonderful to be wanted.

  They made love, fitting together so naturally, desperately and tenderly and lazily, and it was more perfect than she’d ever dared dream of. Just before falling asleep, Dean nuzzled her neck. “Santa never disappoints those who truly believe, Miriam. Welcome to the believers.”

  A believer. That might have been the nicest compliment anyone had given her.

  She dozed fitfully through the rest of the night, waking up too often from dreams about her family. The kids screaming and fighting the social workers. Sophy crying. The last wo
rds her sister had said, What about Boo?

  Every waking moment, it seemed her heart beat faster, her stomach turned queasier. How could she face Sophy again? How could she risk knowing her little sister’s life was too full for an unhappy reminder like Miri? She could put Boo in a box, along with the storybook and the motel phone number, address him and drop him at a shipping place. Everyone was doing overnight deliveries this close to Christmas. Sophy would have him on Christmas Eve, and if Miri didn’t hear from her in the next few days, she would have her answer.

  But when she made the suggestion to Dean while they ate breakfast, he scowled. “Sure, if you want to take the coward’s way out.”

  “I’m not a coward,” she denied even as her internal voice admitted she was. “I’m trusting you, aren’t I?”

  The scowl transformed into a look of awe that quickly gave way to his usual overconfident grin. “Yeah. You are. But it’s still the cowardly way. When did you start looking for Sophy and the others?”

  “The day after I buried my mother.”

  “Twelve years. You planned twelve years for the day you could see Sophy again—you went to jail for that—and now you want to back out? You want to send a note telling her where the money is?”

  Her gaze flickered out the restaurant window to the Charger, where Boo lay covered again in the backseat.

  “You’ve earned this day, Miriam. And you’re not going alone.” He gripped her hand, resting on the tabletop. “I’ll be right there beside you. I’ll always be with you.”

  The words sent a rush of warmth through her. She knew not all promises could be kept. Her father hadn’t wanted to keep his; her mother hadn’t been able to keep hers. But as long as Dean meant the words, as long as he tried, she would be all right.

  “Okay?” he asked when she didn’t say anything.

  She nodded.

  He asked the passing waitress for the check, then said, “So where are we going?”

  Her stomach knotted, but she answered anyway. “Copper Lake. East on I-20 until we see the sign.”

  Within five minutes, they were on their way. She sat stiffly in her seat, holding Boo as tightly as she’d always wished she could have held Sophy, Oliver and Chloe. She stared out the window, anxious and apprehensive, trying to be positive but too used to taking the negative view.

  Whichever way it went, she would be okay. Better to know than to forever wonder, right? And whatever happened, at least she would see Sophy. She would be able to put an adult face to the sweet, brown-eyed, pigtailed, blonde kid who’d followed her everywhere.

  It seemed as if the trip from Dallas to Atlanta had taken weeks, but the miles to the Copper Lake exit flew past. Long before Miri was ready, a sign announced the town limits, then businesses began appearing on either side of the road.

  “Where do we find her?” Dean asked quietly.

  “She has a shop downtown on Oglethorpe. It’s called Hanging by a Thread.” Her voice was breathy, and as he turned onto the street running along the south side of the square, she could hardly manage to fill her lungs. Copper Lake was a small town; downtown couldn’t be more than a few square blocks. She was so close to Sophy that she might be able to scream her name and be heard.

  Oglethorpe was the next street. Dean paused at the intersection, looked left, then right and said, “There it is.” He turned right and found a parking space a few yards down.

  Hanging by a Thread was a quilt shop and occupied the bottom floor of an old Victorian house, with Sophy’s apartment on the second floor. It was a lovely, homey place, with a picket fence, rockers on one side of the porch and a swing on the other, along with tasteful Christmas decorations. Matching fresh-cut wreaths hung on each of the double doors, tied with elaborate red bows. It was perfect for a girl who’d lost her real home when she was six.

  Please, God, let her be happy. Let Oliver and Chloe have good lives, too.

  A few clicks and grumbles from the settling engine were the only sound inside the car until Dean took her hand. “Are you ready?”

  “No. There’s a coffee shop over there.” She gestured back to the square, even though the thought of hot brew made her stomach flip-flop. “We could get some coffee, maybe something to eat.”

  “We finished breakfast less than two hours ago.”

  “Maybe we should just walk around a little. See what else is here. Or find a motel. Or—”

  His kiss silenced her. It was fierce and passionate and turned her brain inside out. While she tried to recover, he got out, circled the car and opened the door, taking her hand, pulling her from the vehicle. “You can do this. We can do it.”

  She tugged free before he could close the door and grabbed her backpack. After emptying her clothes onto the seat, she stuffed Boo inside, slung it over her shoulder, then sighed deeply. Exhale terror. Inhale confidence. What she actually inhaled was the fragrance of Dean’s cologne, a reminder of the man himself, and that was close enough to confidence for her.

  The gate in the picket fence was propped open, and the steps creaked as they climbed them. The scent of pine tickled her nose as she reached for the knob. It was only the pressure of Dean’s hand in the small of her back that allowed her to open the door and step inside.

  Fabric took up most of the space, in every color, every pattern. Finished quilts hung on the walls and on racks, while unfinished ones were draped across tables. Christmas classics performed in blues style played softly in the background, and the lone person in the store, her back to the door, sang along while she worked at a large table. Her silky blond hair was fixed in an intricate French braid and tied with a red-and-green velvet bow, and she wore a white shirt with neatly pressed pants and flats.

  Sophy. Miri’s knees went weak, and she would have turned and fled if Dean hadn’t anticipated the move and stopped her with his arm around her middle.

  Though there had been no ding of a bell when they’d opened the door, the rush of fresh air or maybe the change of pressure had alerted Sophy to someone’s presence. “I’ll be right with you,” she said without looking up. “Just give me a minute to finish pinning this section.”

  Dean pushed Miri along the aisle toward the work area in the center of the shop. She wanted to stop, to flee, to race to her sister, throw her arms around her and cry, but she was too stunned to do anything but follow his direction, stopping finally when a cutting table blocked her route.

  “Okay, that should hold it.” Sophy turned, revealing clear brown eyes, perfect nose, delicately shaped mouth. She was beautiful, with the same sweet, happy smile Miri remembered best in her dreams.

  She couldn’t speak, didn’t know what to say, how to start, whether she could say anything at all. Sophy looked curiously from her to Dean, then back again. Slowly her eyes widened, and the fabric squares she held fell soundlessly to the floor. “Ali? Oh, my God, Ali?”

  Miri took a step and bumped the table, surprised it was there. With a quiet, “It’s okay,” Dean nudged her around it, and by the time she cleared the other side, Sophy was there, grabbing her in a breath-stealing embrace.

  Something inside Miri broke, some ice, some force that had kept her going the past twenty years, and she sagged against her younger sister, tears seeping from her eyes. For the first time since she’d sat at her mother’s deathbed, she cried.

  “I’ve wondered, I’ve hoped, I’ve prayed... Oh, Ali, I thought I’d never see you again!” Sophy pushed her back a little, her hands tightly gripping Miri’s, and gave her a sweeping look. “You haven’t changed except for getting taller. We still look so much alike except you’re still so gorgeous.”

  They did look alike, though Sophy’s features had such sweet softness to them. Miri knew she looked harder, tougher, but that was okay. Toughness could fade.

  Finally Miri found her voice, and of course, her comment was inane. “You’re all grown-up.”

  “Twenty years will do that. How did you find me?”

  “The internet. You and Oliver and Chloe.” And
dear old Dad. “Have you seen...?”

  Tears welling, Sophy shook her head. “I tried a few times to find them, to find you, but...” Her eyes darkened with sadness. “I did find Mom’s obituary a few years ago. I went to Asheville, to see if you were still there, or the little ones, and I visited her grave. Have you seen the kids?”

  “Not yet. I wanted to see you first. I wanted to bring you—” Miri freed her hands and tugged the backpack from her shoulder. First she pulled out the storybook, rewarded with instant recognition, then she removed the bear.

  Sophy’s eyes lit with delight. “Boo! Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe you kept him for me. Mom and Dad—I mean, my adoptive parents—bought me every teddy bear they could find to replace him. They couldn’t accept that he was irreplaceable.” She hugged him, then swiped at her eyes. “Oh, Ali, thank you!”

  Dean came to stand beside Miri, and she glanced at him long enough to see that she was definitely going to hear I told you so from him a time or three. “Sophy, this is Dean Montgomery. He’s, um...” My boyfriend? My lover? The man I love most in the world?

  He offered his hand, and her sister took it. “I haven’t asked yet, but I plan to be your brother-in-law soon.”

  Sophy kissed his cheek. “Welcome to the family, Dean.”

  “Yeah, welcome to the family, Dean.”

  The voice came from behind them, rough, mocking, sending chills through Miri. She’d heard only a few words from that voice, but she recognized it. Stiffly, she turned to face him and his buddy.

  The men from the bus station.

  * * *

  Muscles taut, Dean moved to block both Miri and Sophy from the men’s view. He recognized the flaring of satisfaction that he was right; the run-in with them hadn’t been coincidence. Given that they were both holding guns, he would have much preferred to be wrong. The fact that his own weapon was nestled in the small of his back didn’t offer much comfort, not with the two women behind him at risk.

  “What do you want?” he asked, feeling Miri’s trembling even though she wasn’t actually touching him.