Our First Christmas Read online

  “Maybe he didn’t want to kill you. Or maybe he was sloppy. My guess is sloppy. Assumed the accident had done its job.”

  A cold shiver shuddered through her as she studied the isolated land. “The accident didn’t get me but this land would have. Doubtful anyone would have found me for days, and with the cold temperatures, who’s to say if I would have made it.”

  “Your father would have gone looking for you.”

  “He was having a huge party. Tons of guests. I knew I’d barely see him, and I could have easily been missed until morning at the earliest. I have a reputation for being late.”

  Lucas worked his jaw, as if chewing on a retort. “You were found, and that’s all that counts.”

  “The papers were stolen from my office along with my memory.”

  “You’ll remember.”

  “But when? You said time was critical.”

  “Don’t worry about time. This is not your fault.”

  “It feels like my fault. If I’d left on time, none of this would have happened.”

  “You can’t say that.”

  “It would have at least been daylight, and I’d have seen who was trailing me.”

  “Let it go.”

  She touched the broken branch of a scrub, knowing she’d snapped it when she’d slammed past.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where do we go?” She felt so weary now. Home for her was a plain, cold house littered with dozens of unpacked boxes. She couldn’t return to her office, not now when she felt so vulnerable. It had been her safe haven, and it had been violated.

  “There’s a motel nearby. It’s clean and doesn’t get much traffic this time of year. We can hold up there for the night, and tomorrow I can take you wherever you want to go.”

  The night’s reprieve lifted her spirits. She liked being with Lucas, and though she doubted they had a future beyond the case, now was good enough. “Sounds good.”

  When she climbed into the SUV, his scent, a blend of fresh air and soap, wrapped around her as he turned on the heat. She held her hands up to the vents, letting the warmth spread through her chilled fingers. She didn’t know the area well, only venturing out here when she made the annual drive to her father’s Christmas party. With unspoken emotions hounding her each year, she’d vowed to find the joy in this trip but it always eluded her.

  For a while, they drove as the sun slowly dipped and vanished into the horizon, leaving a wake of reds and yellows that slowly faded to blackness. “I’m starving,” she said.

  His face would have been lost to the shadows if not for the light from the console. “I know a barbecue place. If we hurry, we might be able to grab some takeout before they close for the evening.”

  “Why would they close so early?”

  “Holidays.”

  “Right. I keep forgetting.” A half smile teased her lips. “There are people who love the holidays.”

  He tossed her a curious glance. “You must have liked the holidays at some point?”

  “Sure. I loved them before my parents’ divorce.”

  “Favorite memory?”

  She carried in her heart a box of dusty memories and from time to time opened the lid to peer inside. Most times, it was too painful to view, so she kept the lid closed. But today was about remembering, and if conjuring a forgotten Christmas moment helped her remember the rest, she’d do it. “I was six. And my dad bought me a new bike. It was blue with streamers and training wheels. It was awesome. My parents weren’t ones to splurge at the holidays. They believed it was a time for family and not huge presents. They kept telling me it was too expensive. And I accepted that I’d get the customary gift-wrapped socks and shirts. But when I came downstairs and saw the bike under the tree, I squealed. Both my parents looked pleased with themselves.”

  A smile softened his face but he remained silent.

  “Mom explained that Dad had put the bike together in his office and stowed it at the neighbor’s until Christmas Eve after I went to bed. It was a cold day, but I didn’t care. I rode for hours.” Two years later, her parents were divorced. “After the divorce, Christmas was not fun. Mom insisted on having me for the holiday, but she also refused to cook that day so we ended up at the Chinese restaurant eating our Christmas dinner.”

  When her mother had gotten sick, Marisa had brought a small tree into her hospital room. Her mother had thanked her, but when Marisa had returned the next day the tree was gone, her mother making the excuse that she’d given it to the nurses to enjoy at the front desk.

  “Don’t know if we can scrounge Chinese out here.”

  “That’s fine. I love Chinese food any other time of year but now. Barbecue will work.”

  He called in an order, and twenty minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of a dive that had a BBQ sign glowing red neon in the front window. Her stomach grumbling, she climbed out of the car and met him by her door before they walked inside. The interior was dimly lit, but a strand of chili-pepper Christmas lights wrapped around the empty hostess station. There were at least two dozen tables and most were filled. A haven for the misplaced at Christmas.

  A blond woman wearing a BBQ T-shirt and a Santa hat moved to the stand and collected two menus. “I’ve a table in the back.”

  “I called ahead for takeout. The name is Cooper. Pork tamales.”

  “Oh right. I think that order just came up.” She moved back toward the kitchen, weaving through the tables. She vanished behind swinging metal doors. Seconds later, she appeared with two large brown bags. She read the ticket and the price and Lucas gave her his credit card.

  Marisa knew enough about a real Texas Christmas to know that pork tamales were a staple. “We ate pork tamales in Merida.”

  “I know.” He smiled. “They make the best.”

  Her skin warmed at he stared an extra beat. In the SUV, the smells of tomatoes and vinegar quickly filled the interior. “How’d you find a place like that?”

  “Rangers are on the road a lot. Most of us learned the best places to eat when we were rookies with DPS.”

  It occurred to her how little she knew about his work. She’d shared a night with him, glimpsed a personal life she imagined he’d shown to few, but she knew little about his career. “How long have you been a Ranger?”

  “About ten years. Before that, eight years with the Department of Public Service and before that a football scholarship to Texas Tech.”

  She could imagine him on the football field shoving his way through the throng of players, football tucked under his arm. His was a warrior’s heart.

  “I will tell you that history was my worst subject.”

  “Really?”

  “I didn’t mind Texas history, but all the goings-on in Europe, well, I just didn’t see how it mattered.”

  “Of course it mattered. We think we’re living life for the first time, but countless others have walked our paths before. We can learn from them. Those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it.”

  “You use that line in class much?”

  She nodded. “Sure. I want to bring the past alive for my students. I want them to know that the dead have lessons to teach. I mean, really, do you think our generation has a lock on dreaming big, greed, or broken hearts?”

  “Suppose not.”

  “We don’t.”

  “So tell me about this discovery of yours. This big find in Mexico.”

  “It’s fascinating.” Just thinking about the work brought a smile to her face. “I’ve found evidence of a lost civilization.”

  “One hell of a win career-wise.”

  Pride warmed her voice. “It’s exciting.”

  “Why were you in Merida in November?”

  “I needed a few days off, and I like the Day of the Dead celebration. Mom loved it, and it was a time to drink a toast to her.”

  “How did Bradley feel about the discovery?”

  “Supportive, I suppose. The day I returned from Mexico, he wanted t
o work with me, but given our history, I refused. He tried to pull rank, but I went to the dean. He told Bradley to back off.”

  “He couldn’t have been happy about that?”

  “No, he wasn’t. That’s why I was surprised to see him smiling and friendly the other night.”

  “Why the change of attitude?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He the type of guy who would run you off the road because he was jealous of your work?”

  “Bradley?” That shocked a laugh. “No. He’s not the brave of heart. He’s a talker, not a doer, a lesson I learned the hard way.”

  “What would happen to his career if you could prove your theories?”

  “He wouldn’t be the star any longer.”

  “He’ll just sit back and watch you climb the ladder of success.”

  “I suppose.”

  “When did you two break up?”

  She frowned, digging again for another unpleasant memory. “A few weeks before I left for Mexico. He said I was leaving him like I’ve left all the men I’ve dated.”

  A heavy silence settled and he asked, “Why’d you leave me?”

  She shifted. “That wasn’t right. I’m sorry.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “I got spooked. I liked you, and it scared me. I have a long history of people I like leaving.”

  He was silent for a moment. “If this find of yours is as big as you think, it’s motivation for murder.”

  She shook her head, unwilling to believe that someone who had once held her in his arms would savagely run her off the road. “I can’t accept that.”

  “You should consider it. Be thinking about all the conversations he’s had with you since that breakup.”

  “More clues from a murky past.”

  He pulled up in front of a blinking motel sign. She cocked her head, suggesting that this might be a joke. “Don’t let the exterior fool you. The place is clean, and the sheets are fresh.”

  “A hot shower would hit the spot. My muscles ache as if I ran a hundred miles.”

  “That’s from the accident. You got knocked around pretty good.”

  She straightened her shoulders. “I’ll be ready to put this memory behind me.” Though this memory wouldn’t go in the same box with the other memories. She needed a new box for memories associated with Lucas. Not only weren’t they all bad, but most were real nice.

  Chapter 13

  Tuesday, December 23, 7 P.M.

  When Lucas returned to the car, he had one key. “They’re booked. They’ve just got one room, but it has two beds.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “You sure?”

  Laughter rumbled in her chest. “As you well know, I’m no blushing virgin.”

  Her words triggered a memory of him pushing into her, watching her eyes close as she called out his name. He cleared his throat.

  “Good.”

  The flinty grate of his voice sparked something within her. “I’ll likely eat and pass out within the hour.”

  “Sleep’s good for you.”

  So is love and human contact. The words echoed as he drove to room number six.

  As the headlights shone on the door, she smiled. “In ancient cultures, six is a lucky number.”

  “That so?”

  “Means prosperity.”

  He grabbed the bags of barbecue, realizing she found the positive in most everything expect Christmas. “Here’s to prosperity.”

  She burrowed into the folds of her coat as he opened the door and switched on the light. The rustic double beds were made with plain light quilts that appeared to be made by hand. A television, not the flat screen kind but the old box kind, dominated the dresser hewn from poplar. Carpets were tan and the curtains a dramatic print that reminded her of another era. “Shower’s in the back if you want to clean up.”

  “That would be great.” She shrugged off her jacket and dropped it on the first bed. Her jeans fit her well, hugging her hips and narrow waist. She tugged off cowboy boots and headed, sock-footed, into the bathroom. “I promise not to take all the hot water.”

  “No worries.” He might not like a cold shower, but it might be exactly what he’d end up with tonight.

  He unpacked the food on a small round table just to the left of the door, setting out and opening the containers. By the time he’d shrugged off his own jacket and tossed it next to hers, the bathroom door opened and, from a fog of steam, she appeared.

  She’d finger-combed her long hair and redressed in her jeans as well as a fresh white T-shirt embossed with the word ARCHAEOLOGY. Her skin was dewy and pink. “Smells delicious.”

  He pulled out a chair for her and when she’d taken her seat, he sat. He watched as she smoothed out a napkin in her lap. “I’ve never seen so much food.”

  “They always load me up. They know I can put away the grub.”

  “You travel a lot for your job?”

  “On the go a good bit of time. Though now that I’m in Austin, the pace might slow.” He unwrapped a tamale. “Promotion.”

  She reached for a soda. “Big promotion?”

  “Of sorts. My work with the cartels, well, it was noticed.”

  She sipped her soda, clearly savoring the cool liquid on her throat. “I’m not sure what you did with the cartels.”

  “In a nutshell, I closed down a major trafficking ring.” It had taken him five years. Lives of key informants had been lost, and he’d distanced himself from his family to protect them.

  “That was why you were in Mexico looking for me.”

  “There is a new drug supplier and some believe he’s associated with the cartels. Word was, you could read the coded message.”

  “You came all that way to find me.”

  “It was important the code be broken.” His level tone gave no hint of what had been a dangerous, difficult operation.

  “And these messages discuss the new drug shipment.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What if the drugs get through?”

  “They’ll bring trouble and violence.” The words carried the weight of worry and frustration.

  A frown furrowed her brow. “I will remember what I figured out about the code. I will.”

  His gaze held no hint of judgment. “Don’t sweat it. You’ll remember.”

  A casual shrug didn’t soften her frustration. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve confidence in you.”

  After they’d eaten, he’d watched her rise and stretch. He imagined running his hand along the curve of her back. Her skin would be soft, supple, and he supposed she tasted sweet. “I better take my shower.”

  “Sure.”

  He vanished into the bathroom, knowing the shower would be cold indeed.

  While Lucas showered, Marisa cleaned up their empty paper dishes, replaced the lids, and placed the leftovers in a small fridge.

  When Lucas emerged ten minutes later from the bathroom, Marisa glanced up automatically. He was dressed in his jeans, and though he’d buttoned his shirt partway, some part of his lean chest was exposed to her view.

  A heat, strong and demanding, shot through her body just as it had that first night in Merida. She’d tried to shove aside the sensation and blame it on . . . well, she wasn’t sure what she could blame it on. In Merida, she’d blamed it on loneliness and frustration over the dig, but now as fresh desire pumped through her veins, she searched for another logical reason why she reacted so strongly to him.

  He’d protected her. Looked out for her. And desire was a natural reaction to feeling safeguarded.

  “You’re staring,” he said.

  She glanced up into amused eyes and realized her mouth was open. She snapped it closed. “I don’t think that I was staring.”

  “You were staring.”

  “I was just thinking . . .” What could she possibly say that would dig her out of this mess?

  “Thinking what?”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and
before she thought about consequences, she said, “I was thinking about Merida and I was trying to figure a reason why I was as affected by you then as I’m now.”

  “How do I make you feel?” He took a couple of steps toward her and she could see the faint mist from the shower still clinging to his skin.

  “Maybe because it’s been a long time.”

  “That’s the reason?” An arched brow called out her lie.

  “That’s the logical explanation.”

  “And you believe it?”

  She shook her head and instead of answering his question, answered the one troubling her. “Lots of men have offered to be with me, but I’ve never felt the same about them as I do you.”

  He took another step closer. “And how’s that?”

  “I can’t quite explain it.” Her voice had grown as rough as sandpaper, and she found her thoughts skittering around her head like a mouse searching for cheese.

  He captured a damp tendril of her hair and twirled it between his calloused fingers. “You have the prettiest hair. You were wearing it down the night I met you in Merida.”

  “I was thinking I needed a change. I’d been in the jungle for months and I’d not had a decent shower.”

  “I liked it.” He traced her jawline with his finger and again the sparks shot off in her head like it was the Fourth of July.

  Impatience nipped at her heels as she longed for a deep, wet kiss. He was letting her set the pace just as he had the other night. And again, he was waiting for her to make the first move.

  Emboldened by her desire, she caught his hand in hers and pulled him through the remaining inches separating them. When his chest bumped against her breasts, her nipples hardened. Too drugged with desire to care about tomorrow, she rose up on tiptoes and kissed him.

  He stood still for a moment as if asking Are you sure? She answered him by wrapping her arms around his neck and deepening the kiss.

  Without hesitation, he hauled her against him. His muscles snapped with the intensity of a man reaching for a lifeline as he kissed her and cupped her breast in his hand. Her pulse beat with the zeal of a madwoman. She arched as a moan rumbled in her chest.

  “Last chance.” His voice, ragged with desire, was barely audible.