It’s as hard to forget good times as much as bad. I know, because I’ve really tried.
CHRISTOPHER HART
As Chris gazed at Beth through half-closed lids, he knew only one thing could be happening: He had to be in the middle of some fever-induced, hazy dream.
He knew the dream well. He’d experienced different variations of it at least a hundred times.
In it, he would feel at peace. He’d feel strangely comforted and hopeful, because he was safe and comfortable.
And in each dream, there was always a beautiful, angelic woman by his side. The air surrounding her would smell vaguely of cotton and lemons, mixed with the faint scent of lavender.
It was every good smell in the world combined with a huge slice of comfort. To him, it never failed to be completely addictive.
At least it felt that way in his dreams.
In his mind, the woman was slim. Her brown hair leaned toward golden and her blue eyes were so dark they could be mistaken for brown. But she would have a graceful way about her that he’d never felt anywhere else in his life.
Her touch was gentle, her voice softly lilting. She’d give him the briefest sliver of happiness, simply because she cared about him.
And then he’d wake up and discover that his reality was the exact opposite of his dreams.
Not this time, though. Now, unbelievably, the woman of his dreams had become his reality. She was sitting next to him and even though he should have every nerve on alert, he kept finding himself dozing off, eased by the comfort of her presence.
It seemed God had a greater sense of humor than he’d even imagined.
“I’m not used to talking about myself. I don’t know where to start,” she said hesitantly.
“Then don’t start. Just talk to me about something easy.” Vaguely, he remembered her mentioning it was almost Christmas. “Talk to me about your Christmas.”
“This year?” she squeaked.
“Any year. What do you usually do?” Through the fog in his brain, he tried to recall what men gave to their girlfriends for Christmas gifts. A pain shot through his heart as he recalled the gifts his older brothers had given their girlfriends and wives. He’d never had the chance to get close enough to someone to bring them something special during the most magical time of year.
“Do you have a boyfriend who brings you roses and candy?”
“Nee!”
She sounded so shocked, he found himself chuckling. “Is that not what Amish boys bring to girls they fancy?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Finally, you filled me in on your status. I was beginning to wonder if you ever would.”
“Chris, you shouldn’t tease.”
“I’m not teasing,” he murmured, making sure he didn’t add a single trace of humor in his voice. And it was true—he was completely serious when it came to Beth. “You’re so pretty, I can’t imagine you not having a man at your heels, waiting for a smile.”
“Well, I do not. But if I did, he wouldn’t be bringing me roses in the winter. No one gets those!”
She sounded positively scandalized. He loved it. Privately, he thought if he were her man he’d find a way to bring her red roses every chance he got—even if he had to pay a small fortune for them at the florist. Only red roses would complement the way her cheeks burned when she was flustered.
“So . . . what would a proper Amish man bring you, Bethy? If you had one of those in your life.”
“It’s Beth,” she corrected primly. “And, um, it’s the Amish way to give each other gifts that would be far more useful.”
“Such as?”
“Such as . . . fabric. Or a sweater or coat.”
He couldn’t resist egging her on. “I’m no woman in love, but I’d rather receive chocolate and red roses than a bolt of fabric.”
“I would, too,” she whispered, before wincing. “I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly.
He let that pass because they both knew differently. “So . . .”
She shifted primly in her chair. “So . . . this is all beside the point. Because it doesn’t look as if either of us is going to be getting roses and chocolate on Christmas Day. No man is at my heels, and no woman besides me knows you’re here.”
Still anxious to learn more about her life, he asked, “What have you done in the past on Christmas Day?”
“Once, when I was younger, we went hiking in the woods while the turkey was cooking. It was great fun. Both my parents went. My mamm was healthy then,” she explained, her tone wistful. “Another time, I visited all my friends. A few of us went ice skating. Sometimes now we all get together at each other’s houses and have a Christmas potluck.”
“Hmm.”
“What about you, Chris? What did you used to do on Christmas Day. Before . . .”
“Before I couldn’t go home? Well, most Christmases my brothers and I received too much and played too hard. We used to love to get Hot Wheels—those are little metal cars. We’d race them around the house.”
“And who would win?”
“My oldest brother, of course. That’s how it goes with brothers, Beth. The oldest always wins.”
Because she was there, he gave himself permission to think about things that he usually made himself forget. “My mom makes a beef tenderloin for Christmas dinner. And some kind of potato casserole that probably has about a thousand calories in it, which is so good. And green beans. And squash.”
She chuckled. “You wrinkled your nose at the squash.”
“I don’t care for it. At least I didn’t use to.” Now, though, he imagined that he’d probably lick his plate clean, he’d be so grateful for the comfort of a familiar meal. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a meal like that. A homemade Christmas meal served on china.
“What else?”
Since Beth seemed so interested, Chris continued, his voice warming at the fond memories in spite of his best intentions to forget his past. “My mother gets out her fancy wedding china and we eat at the dining room table, trying not to break anything or spill gravy on the white linen tablecloth. But of course, we always do.” He chuckled. “My father’s the worst. He can’t keep a tablecloth clean to save his soul. He always apologizes and my mother always looks irritated but pretends it doesn’t matter. We all try to use the manners she taught us, but it all goes out the window about five minutes after we say the blessing. Next thing you know, we’re arguing and giving each other grief.”
“Your Christmas dinner sounds wonderful-gut,” she whispered.
“It is. I mean, it was. I haven’t been there for dinner in a long time. I wish . . .” Hating to sound so weak, he let his voice drift off.
But of course Beth prodded. “What do you wish?”
“I wish I could see it all again one day.” But more than that, he wished he could take her to his parents’ home for Christmas dinner.
He’d be so proud, bringing her in through the front door. Instinctively, he knew she’d love the tree in their living room and the bands of garland wrapped around the banister with wide silver ribbon. She’d love the big marble fireplace decorated with stockings, lights, and yet more garland and ribbons. She’d enjoy his mother’s pecan pie and almond tarts and would no doubt love Beasley, his parents’ old English sheepdog. Beasley was too big and too furry and, worse, he loved to sit on the couch and cuddle and get dog fur and dog slobber all over everyone’s clothes.
He was a wonderful dog.
Just as important, he knew that his parents would love her. After all, who wouldn’t love Beth? And his brothers? Well, they’d probably curb their cussing and become almost gentlemanly. And when she wasn’t in the room, they’d most likely jab him in the ribs and ask how a beautiful woman like her would ever look twice at a guy like him.
Yes, if he brought someone like her home for Christmas? He would feel like he had finally done something right. Getting a woman like her to love him would mean as much as bringing down a whole gang of criminals.
She leaned forward. “You should call your parents, Chris.”
Just like that, his daydream bubble burst. “Beth, I can’t—”
“All you have to do is call and let them know that you’re okay. You don’t have to tell them where you are.”
Her naïveté about how modern technology worked made him wish that things really were so simple. “It’s not that easy.”
“I know! You could call them on your cell phone.”
“Cell phones can be easily tracked. Besides, I don’t have one. I dumped mine hours before I got here.” He didn’t want to scare her, but he was pretty sure that his parents’ phone lines were being tapped. “I promise, what we’re doing right now? It’s enough. Even talking about my family is more than I’ve let myself do in years.”
“But I’m sure they’re worried about you. I’m sure your mamm would want to know if you were sick and in bed. Covered with bruises and fighting off a fever. At Christmas, no less!”
“I doubt they even think about me much anymore.” He didn’t want to sound so maudlin, but the simple truth was that she probably had no concept of what it was like to be so alone. Tempering his voice, he said, “Beth, at the moment, I’m tucked away in a lovely inn, sitting next to a beautiful woman.” After debating for a bit, he tried to smile. “If this is the best thing that happens this Christmas I’ll count myself lucky.”
He was just about to say something else. About to say too much, about to tell her something she wouldn’t be able to handle—like that he loved her—when a sharp rap at the front door startled them both.
Beth jumped to her feet. Eyes wide, she whispered, “What should I do? Do you think someone’s found you?”
“Um, I don’t think they’d be knocking at the door if they had. At least, not like that. We’d better go find out.”
Her hands clenched and it was obvious she was attempting to hide her fear.
He hated that. A thousand recriminations hit him hard. “I’m sorry, Beth, but you’re going to have to go answer it. I’ll be right behind you, though.” Then he tried his best to concentrate only on his gun and his quick inspection of it.
Pulling on a shirt that she’d left on the end of the bed sometime during the night, he followed her downstairs in his bare feet.
Just as the knock came again. This time much, much harder.
“Beth?” Mose Kramer called out.
“It’s the sheriff,” she whispered to Chris. “What should we do?”
If the sheriff was here, Chris knew he couldn’t embroil her into his mess any further. “You don’t need to do a thing. Go sit down in the kitchen. I’ll deal with him.”
“I’m staying,” she said obstinately.
“Beth? Hello?” the sheriff called out again, this time accompanying his call with a jangle of the doorknob.
He was out of time. “Suit yourself,” Chris murmured as he turned the dead bolt to the right and finally opened the door with a new, desperate feeling of doom. “Hello, Sheriff,” he said.
“You,” Mose said, staring at him with a healthy look of disdain. “I should have known.”
The frigid air burst into the entryway and onto his bare feet. It was so cold he immediately felt the chill. “Want to come in?”
Mose stepped right through the door, not sparing Chris a second glance. Instead his gaze seemed to be fastened on Beth. “Are you all right?” he asked as he walked toward her, bringing salt and ice onto the wood floor with him.
“Mose, take off your boots,” Chris said.
“My boots are the least of your worries, pup.”
“You’re tracking snow and ice onto Beth’s clean floor.” To Chris’s pleasure, the sheriff immediately hunched over and started unlacing his boots.
“Chris?” Beth mouthed.
He attempted to smile, glad the little task was buying them both some time. Beth looked like she was about to faint from worry. And him? Well, he needed to decide just how much to tell the sheriff.
Once his feet were clad in only white socks, Mose turned to Chris. “Looks like I’m staying for a while. Have a seat and tell me what in the world you’re doing here. And by the way, you look like you were on the losing end of a good fistfight.”
“I was,” Chris said dryly.
Beth was hovering by his side. “He should be in bed, Sheriff. He has stitches. And a fever.”
Mose raised his eyebrows. “Stitches?”
Chris was thankful that he’d let Beth’s fever comment slide. “They’re nothing to worry about.”
“Not now. But they were before I stitched him up.”
Mentally, Chris shook his head. Now she was happy about the stitches?
“If you’ve got Beth stitching you up, I’m guessing you didn’t go to the hospital. Care to tell me why?”
“I couldn’t risk it.”
Mose leaned back, like he was settling in for the afternoon. “Hmm. It looks like I got here just in time. You’d best start talking.”
Chris made his decision. He was going to have to trust Mose. “My cover was blown two days ago.”
“Which is why you’re looking like you do.” Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, he said, “Keep talking. I’m confused as to why you’re here instead of somewhere safer. I would have thought you fancy DEA agents would have had a better system for trouble.”
“We do, but I’ve been ordered to stay in the area until after Christmas.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “They wanted me out of the way so they could pursue all the leads without me being there. I’m a liability now.”
“You still haven’t told me why you came here and not someplace else.”
Chris hated revealing how weak he felt—and how alone he was. “I could barely drive. As you can see, I was beaten up pretty good. This place, it’s just about in the middle of nowhere, Mose. At least to most outsiders.”
“These people you’ve been dealing with, are they working around here? ’Cause if they are, I need to know.”
“They’re not. They’re farther south. Near Tennessee.”
Mose stared at him, then at Beth. “Beth, surely this isn’t what you expected when you agreed to look after the place for Frannie and Luke. Are you afraid? Do you want me to get him out of here for you?”
Chris felt like closing his eyes in despair. Of course she was afraid. Anyone who looked at her could tell she was. And of course it would be best for her if he agreed to leave with Mose.
But though all of that made sense, something inside him rejected the idea. Quite simply, he didn’t want to leave Beth. Their time together was going to be short enough. Selfishly, he wanted to stay by her side as long as possible.
“I’m not afraid with Chris here.”
“He’s the reason you should be afraid,” Mose said gently. “I don’t want to scare ya, but this man attracts some of the worst folks you can imagine. They’re desperate, and not a one of them has anything to lose.”
“He has a gun.”
The sheriff turned to him and glared. “Well, of course you do. Why wouldn’t you be armed in a country bed-and-breakfast?” Looking irritated enough to spit nails, Mose got to his feet. “Mr. Ellis—or whatever your name is—I think it would be best for everyone if you came along with me. I can put you up at my place. There’s a room up in my attic that you can have until you can be on your way.”
Wearily, Chris got to his feet, too. “I’ll get my gear.”
Beth stepped in between them. “Nee. I want him to stay.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, Beth,” Mose warned. “This man is dangerous.”
“Not to me.” She looked at him beseechingly. “Tell him, Chris. Tell him that you’d never hurt me.”
He ached to reach out to her, to take her into his arms and soothe her fears. “Of course, I’d never hurt you,” he said quietly. “But I can’t promise that no harm will come to you. There’s a difference.”
To his amazement, tears formed in her eyes. “Please, don’t leave me alone.” Turning to Mose, she said, “There’s a chance those men, those drug dealers might already know he’s here, jah?”
“Yes.”
“Then there’s a chance that they could come here. I don’t want to be alone if they show up.”
Mose stared at her. “What else is going on, Beth? What are you not telling me?”
“Nothing is going on. It’s just that I simply know what I need to be doing—and that is taking care of Chris. He can take care of me if something happens.”
Mose sat back down. “Beth, what is your mother going to say?”
“Nothing, because I’m not going to tell her.”
“This will come out sooner or later. You know it will.”
Beth looked at Mose with a schoolteacher glare. “Nothing good will come from telling my mother about Chris, Mose. You know that as certainly as I do. Besides, in a few days this will only be a memory.”
The sheriff stared at her hard before glancing his way. “Chris, I hope you know what havoc you’ve created.”
“Believe me, if I felt like I had a choice, I would have stayed far away from here.” Knowing that some things had to be shared, he turned to Beth. “Would you please get me a sheet of paper and a pen? I need to write some names and numbers down for the sheriff.”
When she left, Chris turned to Mose. “You have every right to ask me to go, but I’m asking you to let me stay until the twenty-sixth. By then I’ll be well enough to get around better and my boss will have been able to send someone out to run interference.”
“Interference my foot. You’ve got a terrible problem here.”
“I swear, I don’t think anyone will find me here. I wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
Mose shook his head slowly. “I ain’t talking about your drug-dealing buddies, Chris Ellis.” He looked at him meaningfully. “She’s a good woman with a kind heart. I’d hate for you to stoop so low as to start taking advantage of an Amish woman’s kindness. Or make her think that something could ever be possible between the two of you.”
Beth’s return prevented him from replying. Instead, he took the paper, and wrote down two names. “If something does happen, call Taylor King. She’s my partner. Or, you can call Ryan Holditch; he’s my direct report and is in the Chicago office.”
Mose took the paper, studied the names for a minute, then stood up with great reluctance. “I can’t say I’m real pleased about this, but since it’s out of my jurisdiction and no crime has been committed, I guess it don’t matter much what I think.” Turning to Beth, he waved a finger. “Don’t forget to visit your mother. And don’t forget to use Frannie’s cell phone and call me if you change your mind about things.”
“I won’t forget.”
After he slipped on his boots and tied the laces, Mose glanced at Chris one more time. “You really do look poorly, Chris. You might consider taking a long rest.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
Mose tipped his hat, scowled at him one more time, then let himself out.
When the door closed behind Mose, Beth heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, Chris, I was so worried that he was going to make you leave.”
Before he could reply, she sat down next to him and treated him to a perfectly beautiful smile of triumph. “Everything is going to be just fine now. I know it.”
She would stay safe. He would do anything it took to make sure of that.
But as he counted the hours until he left her forever, nothing felt “just fine.” Of course, what did it matter if his heart was breaking?
Needing some time to collect himself, he said, “Beth, why don’t you go see your mother for a little bit? Mose was right. You should probably reassure her. We don’t want her sending anyone else over here to check up on you.”
“I don’t want to leave you alone. Your fever could get worse.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I took some ibuprofen. And all I’m going to do is take a nap. I really do think a visit to your mom is a good idea. When you get back, I’ll make us a fire and we can sit here on the couch. How about that?”
“I think that sounds gut. But don’t you start thinking you got anything over on me, Chris. I’m still intent on looking out for you.”
“I’m planning on it,” he murmured. When she hopped up, he followed, only much more slowly. His body was exhausted and his brain felt like mush. He wasn’t going to be able to do another single thing until he got some sleep.
“See you in a bit,” he said as he headed toward the stairs. And, he hoped, sweet oblivion.