Christmas At Cade Ranch

“Michael Irvin.”

“The Playmaker.” She whistled. “Three Super Bowl titles.”

“And three All-Pro selections. The man was a legend.”

“A Hall of Famer.” She lifted her chin slightly. “Caught seven hundred and fifty passes.”

“Sixty-five touchdowns.”

“He was Jesse’s favorite, too.” An appalled silence descended. “I’m sorry.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her reach out, as if to touch his arm, and stop. His body tensed. The sudden wish for that touch staggered him.

He cleared his throat. “Right. Just me and Jesse. Otherwise it’s all about the Broncos. My brother Jared, you probably know, was their starting wide receiver until he tore his ACL six months ago.”

“Which one is Jared again?”

James puzzled over how best to distinguish among his dark-haired siblings and went for the obvious. “The handsome one.”

She spread her hands. “That doesn’t help. You’re all good-looking. Genetic mutants, really.”

“Ha,” he scoffed. At her continued silence, he glanced at her, taken aback by her serious face. “Everyone says he looks like Orlando Bloom.”

She flicked a graceful hand. “Pretty boy, then. I prefer a Jon Snow, personally.”

He felt, rather than saw, her eyes land on him and it did something funny to his gut.

A roar sounded through the speakers, and he gripped the wheel. Sofia dropped her feet to the mat and leaned forward. “Come on, come on. Get to the end zone,” she chanted. Then they both hollered.

“Touchdown!”

“Wooo-hooo!”

“This puts them in playoff contention.”

Despite speaking over each other, he heard every one of her words perfectly, as if they were the keys in some old-fashioned typewriter, pressing into his brain, leaving an indelible mark.

“There’s the bank!” she exclaimed once he’d exited the interstate and onto Main Street. They cruised down the quaint downtown thoroughfare filled with a continuous line of two- and three-story brick and stone facades. Ma claimed many were the original structures built back when Carbondale became a depot town, servicing ranchers and prospectors in 1887.

It certainly had a rustic, Western atmosphere. Boot-and-cowboy-hat-clad residents thronged the wide sidewalks. Overhead, Christmas wreaths bursting with greenery, pinecones and bright red ribbons dangled from black streetlights.

As they parked and exited the truck, he inhaled the tangy scent of barbecue wafting from Shorty’s, a family restaurant run by an old high school friend. A marquee broadcast a country-western concert taking place later that night, Heath Loveland listed as one of the performers, and the Festival of Lights, Carbondale’s holiday season kickoff event set for next week. He hadn’t been to it since Jesse’s passing.

Sofia’s animated face seemed closed now that they’d hit the street. She ducked her head, and her eyes darted left to right, her hands shoved deep into coat pockets. What had happened to his lyric-substituting football enthusiast? Back was the cagey woman who’d raised his suspicions last night. It reminded him not to let down his guard, no matter how easily she disarmed him.

A couple of hours later, after checking various establishments for Sofia’s wallet, James fed another coin into the parking meter, then joined her at Timeless Gifts’ front window.

“Javi would love this.” The wistful note in her voice caught at him, as did the still way that she stood, as if breathing wasn’t a given.

A miniature train rattled by. It barreled through a replica Christmas village.

“We had a set like this when we were kids. We were obsessed with it, especially Jesse. Every birthday and holiday, we’d beg for new tracks, buildings, landscape, accessories until it’d taken up most of the living room. We even changed it up with the seasons, and Christmas used to be our favorite time to transform it into a wonderland.”

Where was it now?

Probably moldering in the attic with the rest of the decorations since Jesse’s passing. He should toss the items. Just thinking about them was like worrying a cavity, his thoughts running over them this time of year automatically, unconsciously, checking to see if the memories still hurt.

They did.

“It sounds amazing.” She dabbed at her red nose with a tissue. “I never had toys like that.”

“How come?” He tucked in the loose end of her scarf, his fingers lingering on her throat’s silken flesh.

Her expression grew guarded. “It’s getting colder,” she said, her silent I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it equally clear.

He squashed down his rising curiosity. “Any other place you might have visited yesterday?”

“No. That’s it.” She shoved her hair off her face and her forehead scrunched as if she had a headache. “I thought we’d find it at the diner. It’s the last place I remember using it.”

“No one turned it in yesterday or today.”

When the driver of a passing pickup honked, he waved, then dropped his hand quick. It was Boyd Loveland and his adopted son, Daryl. They passed by in a beat-up Chevy with the number 812 painted on its doors. Must be entering it in tonight’s smashup derby, he mused. The last of the season. If so, Justin would be gunning for them.

“What am I going to do?” Sofia asked quietly, eyes closed, only speaking to herself.

“Let me pay for the tickets.” It was the perfect solution, one that’d save his mother from becoming more attached the longer Javi and Sofia stayed.

“No.”

“What?” He gaped at her.

“I don’t take handouts.”

“Then pay me back once you’re settled and begin your new job.”

“I—I can’t. You see, I need my wallet.”

Her intensity took him aback. As did her pinched expression. She looked afraid. But of what? Did she have pills in there? Drugs? She’d reassured him of her recovery last night, but this desperation brought back bad memories of Jesse and the frantic lengths he’d go to for his next fix.

“You can get new IDs. I’ll give you money beyond the fares. Enough to help you have your fresh start. Nothing is irreplaceable.”

Except drugs. He would not allow another abuser near his mother.

“Some things are. Please take me back to the ranch.”

“Then let’s at least report it to the police,” he insisted. What was she hiding? “You can send them your Portland information once you’re settled. They’ll let you know if it turns up.”

Her tan skin turned a sickly yellow, and she backed up a step. “No. No cops.” She turned in a small circle, her eyes darting. “Please take me back to the ranch.” She ran a shaking hand through her locks. “I need to think.”

He nodded, resigned, then led the way to the truck, his doubts rising. Based on her erratic behavior, his gut told him she threatened his ranch’s peace. He held open the door and breathed in Sofia’s light vanilla scent as she scooted up onto the seat.