A Weaver Christmas Gift Read online

  He harrumphed and expertly flipped the eggs he was frying. “Then whatcha doing in my kitchen?”

  It was her kitchen, actually. She owned it, after all. But pointing that out would likely make her cook quit on what she expected would be one of her busiest weekends of the year.

  “Just wanted to see your smiling face, Jer. Make sure you have everything you need for this weekend.”

  “You saying I don’t know how to plan for a big crowd?”

  She tossed up her hands, giving up. “Keep your apron on, all right? I’m leaving your sacred space.” She backed out through the swinging doors.

  About a third of the tables in the restaurant were occupied, mostly by unfamiliar faces.

  Townies almost always went to Ruby’s. And even though the café was her competition, she could hardly blame them. Not when it came to breakfast.

  But for lunch? She was in a dead heat with Ruby’s. And dinner was a no-brainer since the other restaurant closed after lunch and didn’t even offer it.

  There wasn’t a single thing she could do in the bar to ready it more than it already was, so she pulled on her jacket and went back outside. Merilee was busy hanging red-and-white Christmas balls on the trees and Jane went to help.

  Before long, they had dolled up the half-dozen trees. Soon after, the first of the players started arriving, so Jane went over to get them checked in while Merilee made sure the outdoor heaters were keeping the area beneath the tent comfortable.

  The first players were quickly followed by more, and before long, Jane was neck-deep in checking people in, taking registration money from those who still owed it and handing out copies of the rules.

  It was only a matter of time before one member or another of the Clay family showed up.

  She was just glad that it wasn’t Casey who did so first. She hadn’t seen him since that afternoon at the Harvest Festival.

  Five weeks ago. He hadn’t been to Colbys once in five weeks. Not to play pool with his family, though they’d made regular appearances. Not to eat in the restaurant.

  She knew he hadn’t been out of town again either, because she’d seen his familiar black pickup more than once on the street.

  The message was clear. She’d told him they were done, and despite their missteps along the way, ever since the Harvest Festival, he’d obviously decided he agreed.

  Now, after she’d told herself day in and day out that it was all for the best, the idea of being face-to-face with him again had her in knots.

  She checked in his cousin Sarah, who was married to the sheriff and taught over at the elementary school. She checked in his sister J.D. She checked in Erik. And Axel. More cousins. Even his father, Daniel, who looked so much like a future version of Casey that it was painful.

  Along with the portable heaters in the parking lot, they’d also rigged up speakers from the bar’s jukebox. They’d turn the volume down some as soon as the tournament started, but for now, country music blared, alternating with Christmas carols. To this accompaniment, for ninety minutes she registered people she knew and people she didn’t know. By noon she’d handed out almost every packet she’d prepared for the players and there was still no sign of him.

  Were things so irrevocably ruined that he’d blow off the tournament?

  She was ready to give up and head inside when she saw him. Striding down the street alongside Tristan, and her heart climbed right into her throat.

  He stopped in front of the table. She handed him the packet.

  And that was it.

  He silently took the envelope without touching her fingers and went inside.

  She swallowed hard, schooling her expression, and looked up at his uncle as she passed him the last envelope. Whether Casey had wanted her to or not, she had mailed Tristan Clay a thank-you note weeks ago for the use of his plane when Althea died. But there was another matter that she had never addressed. “I was sorry to hear about the two employees you lost a few months ago,” she said now.

  The tall man’s vivid blue gaze settled on her face, making her feel oddly uncomfortable. As if she’d treaded in waters she shouldn’t have.

  “Casey told me,” she added quickly. “Not, uh, not what happened. An accident, I assume, but—”

  “Thank you,” Tristan cut off her awkward words. He didn’t smile exactly, but something in his eyes softened. “Casey’s taking what happened pretty hard.”

  Her discomfort rose to new heights, since she had no idea at all what had happened. She just knew he was right; the effect of the accident on Casey had been severe.

  “Anyway, I wanted to tell you I was sorry.” She had no more registrants coming, so she hopped to her feet and yanked open the door for him, anxious to go inside, where it was warmer.

  “Thanks.” He started to go in but hesitated. “Are you going to be tied up here all weekend?”

  “Until the winners are decided.” She pinned on a smile. “On which note I should wish you good luck at the tables. Seems like half the players are relatives of yours. I’m glad none of you minds some healthy competition with each other, or I’d only have half the players that I do.”

  He smiled faintly. “Healthy might be overstating it. But judging by the crowd you’ve got, I think we’d need another generation of kids before there’d be enough of us to make up half.”

  Her insides squeezed, but she kept her smile in place.

  “We’ll all be over at the park for the tree lighting tomorrow evening. Come and join us if you can. My brother Matt insists it’s finally going to snow and he’s almost always right when it comes to snow.”

  It was a casual invitation. Surely nothing more than what he would extend to anyone. But her gaze still flicked past him, searching out Casey. The pool tables were numbered for the tournament. She’d assigned the players to each one herself. It was easy to find him. She started to shake her head. “That’s nice of you, but I—”

  “Don’t give up on him,” Tristan interrupted quietly.

  Her mouth went a little dry. He obviously knew about loaning them his own company plane. But beyond that? Did he know only what the rest of the town thought they knew about her and Casey?

  Did he know that a person couldn’t give up on something that never existed in the first place?

  “I—” She broke off and cleared the constriction from her throat with a soft cough. “It’s complicated.”

  The older man’s lips twitched. “It always is.” He touched her elbow lightly as he passed. “Say you’ll think about it at least.”

  Despite knowing it was the last thing she should do, she nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Good girl.” He actually gave her a wink, so quick she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it, and headed into the crowd packed inside the bar, hailing people along the way.

  She watched his progress for a moment, then couldn’t keep from looking Casey’s way.

  He was looking at her.

  But as soon as their gazes collided, he turned his back.

  She inhaled slowly, then forced herself to go inside.

  Casey or no Casey, she had a pool tournament to run.

  * * *

  Casey lost his first game, much to the hoots and hollers of his supposedly loyal family.

  Worse, he lost to a high school kid who was still wet behind his ears.

  He shook the kid’s hand and left the table, pool cue metaphorically tucked between his legs as he headed to the corner of the bar where some of his family was clustered. “Yeah, yeah. No comments from the peanut gallery,” he said when he joined them.

  “Didn’t look like your mind was where it needed to be, son.” His father, Daniel, was at a high-top table with Casey’s uncles and their father, Squire. He was nursing a longneck beer and looking gleeful. Probably because his name was al
ready ahead of Casey’s on the brackets, since he’d won his first time out.

  In fact, when Casey looked over at the big chart that Jane was constantly updating as the tournament progressed, he could see that all of the Clays who’d played so far had won their games.

  “Might’ve helped if you’d been studying the table and not that pretty girl’s rear view,” Squire added.

  Despite himself, Casey looked toward Jane.

  In honor of the season she had on snug white jeans and a red turtleneck that clung to every curve she possessed.

  He wasn’t the only one who’d been noticing her.

  Every time she climbed up on her ladder to write in the latest results on the brackets, some fool—like him—managed to blow his shot. One guy at the table next to him had even jumped the cue ball right over the side rail.

  “Though she does have a real pretty...er...view,” Squire added, watching Jane climb up the short ladder. She had a notepad in her hand that she consulted before she uncapped her thick black marker and added another line of perfectly printed letters to the chart.

  There was just something unnatural about a person who printed so neatly. It was freakish in comparison to his own scrawl.

  He dragged his gaze away from the way her butt filled out her jeans and propped his cue stick against his dad’s table. “Gonna go see how Erik and Ax are doing,” he muttered.

  They were somewhere outside at the pool tables under the tent. Casey wished he were, too. Merilee was keeping track of the scores outside, and she wouldn’t have posed a distraction to him at all.

  He worked his way around the congested room, thinking it was probably a good thing the sheriff was participating in the tournament, too, since Jane was definitely over the maximum occupancy. Max wasn’t likely to give her a ticket for the infraction when he was part of the reason.

  Before Casey made it to the exit, he saw her step back down the ladder and move behind the bar.

  She had four bartenders there already. As far as he could tell, they hadn’t stopped to breathe since the pool playing commenced a good three hours earlier. That didn’t stop her from getting in there, mixing a few and—if he knew her—telling them how to do what they were already doing.

  Jane liked things the way Jane liked things.

  He made it through the door into the cold afternoon and headed down the sidewalk toward the parking lot.

  The space between Jane’s building and Lucy’s dance studio was more congested with players and onlookers than the bar had been, and with the portable heaters, it seemed even warmer.

  He was no more in the mood to wade through the melee here than he had been to show up for the tournament at all.

  The only reason he had was because it gave him an excuse to see Janie.

  Didn’t matter that it was pointless.

  She was through with him. She was seeing Arlo.

  For the past month, everywhere he turned, he heard ad nauseam about how Arlo’d taken to having lunch every day at Colbys. How they’d spent Thanksgiving together and his car was parked in front of her condo all the time now.

  Whether Casey liked it or not, Arlo was the kind of man she wanted. Openly. Publicly.

  He was the kind whose work never called him away at inopportune moments. Whose work was exactly what Arlo said it was. He wouldn’t do what her ex-husband had done—constantly put her second. And he would do what Casey couldn’t—give her the baby she wanted.

  Every day he woke, he expected to hear they were making it official. And every night when he went to bed without hearing it, he hated the selfish relief he felt.

  With his mood growing even more sour, he turned and headed across the street to the park instead. There were already preparations under way for tomorrow’s tree lighting. Tables had been set up for the covered dishes everyone brought for the potluck supper—nothing more than big sheets of plywood propped over barrels that would get sheets of red-and-green plastic for tablecloths. There were tall propane heaters to hold the cold at bay and folding chairs set out near the pavilion for the bands that would play. Nobody bothered putting up a dance floor. If people had a mind to dance, they would, right there on the frost-browned grass, among the dozens of Christmas trees that were being strung with lights.

  The world kept ticking along whether he liked it or not.

  He scrubbed his cold hand over his face and wandered around the pavilion. It was almost funny to see the couple in a clinch in the shadows behind the circular structure. For as long as he could remember, kids had used that spot to make out.

  He’d been guilty of it a time or two himself back when he’d been in school.

  But as he turned away before they noticed him, he recognized the man. And it was no longer funny.

  Arlo Bellamy was playing tonsil hockey with a woman very clearly not Jane.

  Casey cleared his throat and the couple sprang apart. He didn’t know her name, but he recognized the woman—dark haired and young—from Shop-World, where she was a clerk. Her identity didn’t mean diddly to Casey, except to know she wasn’t Jane. “Couldn’t find a spot that offered a little more privacy?”

  The other man didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed. He kept his arm slung over the girl’s shoulder. “You know how it is, Casey.” His tone was easy. Friendly. As if they’d run into each other outside the hardware store and had stopped to shoot the breeze. “When the moment strikes and all.”

  Casey saw red and his fist balled, flashing out to plant square in Arlo’s face. Arlo’s head bounced back, blood spurting from his nose.

  The girl screamed and raced away, running hell-bent for leather across the street.

  Casey didn’t give her a thought. “You know how it is,” he told Arlo through his teeth. “When the moment strikes and all.”

  Arlo had covered his face with his hand and was sidling sideways away from Casey. “Are you crazy? What the hell’s wrong with you? I’m bleeding like a stuck pig!”

  Casey sidestepped along with him. They were toe to toe. “If the shoe fits. What the hell’s wrong with you? You think you can treat her like this?”

  “Amber? She’s—”

  “Jane,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m talking about Jane.”

  Blood was dripping down Arlo’s chin. Onto his coat. He eyed Casey over his hand as if he’d lost his mind.

  Maybe he had. He hadn’t punched someone since he was fifteen and full of teenage bravado and stupidity.

  “She’s got nothing to do with this,” Arlo said.

  Fresh fury coursed through Casey, and his fist curled again, but someone grabbed his shoulder from behind before he could do more than that. “Hold on there, hoss.”

  Casey jerked around to find Max. The girl, Amber, had obviously run him down from the tournament. She was panting, holding her side, as she warily circled Casey to get to Arlo’s side.

  “This doesn’t concern you, Max.”

  His cousin-in-law gave him a hard look. “That remains to be seen,” he said evenly, and transferred his gaze to Arlo. “We gonna all go to our corners here, Arlo, or what?”

  “He assaulted him,” Amber insisted. Her hands fluttered around Arlo’s hands, only succeeding in smearing the blood farther. “I was right here and saw it all!”

  “Mischief I break up behind the pavilion usually involves kids,” Max muttered. “Not grown men old enough to know better. Arlo, you want me to take you over to the hospital? You want to file charges? What?”

  “Charges.” Casey nearly choked on the word. “He’s cheating on Janie. A bloody nose is the least of his worries.”

  “You hear that?” Amber pointed her finger accusingly. “He just threatened you, Arlo! Sheriff, do something about him!”

  Arlo lifted his hand. “Let’s just all calb down,” he said thickly. “Nobod
y’s cheating and nobody’s charging.”

  “You had your tongue down her throat,” Casey snapped.

  “What is going on here?”

  They all turned to see Jane storming toward them, looking furious. Her gaze swept over Casey, then Arlo, and she paled. “Good Lord.”

  “Broke by dose,” Arlo said. His eyes were already looking swollen and bruised as his voice turned even more nasal. “Nudding fadal.”

  “He needs a doctor,” Amber yelled at Max. “Why aren’t you getting him to a doctor?”

  Arlo patted the air again. “Calb down.”

  “She’s right,” Jane said, looking determined. “You should see a doctor, Arlo.” Giving Casey a sideways look, she brushed between them and slid her arm around the other man’s waist. “I have at least four of them playing pool across the street. Come on.”

  Amber’s jaw dropped. She obviously didn’t like being displaced quite so easily. She skipped along with them, doing her best to put her arm around Arlo, too.

  Feeling dark inside, Casey watched them go.

  “Looks like your knuckles are bleeding, too,” Max observed after a moment.

  Not as badly as Arlo’s nose. Casey swiped them over his jeans. “You going to arrest me or something?”

  “I could.” Max studied him. “Don’t even need Arlo to file a charge against you. Public brawling?” He shrugged. “Good enough cause. That what you want? Spend a little time in my jail cell?”

  Casey grimaced. What he wanted had just walked away from him, tenderly yet bossily tending to a man who, it turned out, also didn’t deserve her. “No,” he answered.

  “Want to tell me what happened?”

  “No.” He flexed his fingers. They were stiff.

  “Okay.” Max rubbed his chin. “So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go home. You’re not going back to the tournament today. Last thing I want is that crowd over there picking up sides if that little girl, Amber, succeeds in stirring them up. Stay away from Arlo for a few days. Then apologize.”

  Casey spit out an oath. “He’s a cheat. I’m not apologizing.”