Our First Christmas (8 page)

 

When Marisa awoke, the bright sun streamed in her window. She glanced at the clock and realized it was late.

She tossed back the covers, shocked and amazed that she'd slept so long. With the rumble of the boys laughing and talking and the television humming in the other room, she got out of bed, showered, and dressed. Purse and overnight bag in hand, she emerged from her room to the smell of coffee and cinnamon. The scents coaxed her to the kitchen, where she found Lucas talking to Sherry.

Sherry greeted her with a cheery good morning. Lucas's nod was casual, but his gaze devoured her as he raised his coffee cup to his lips.

Color warmed her cheeks as she thought about the kiss they'd shared last night. “I can't believe I slept this late.”

Sherry waved away her concern as she plucked a Santa mug from the stand and filled it with coffee. “You needed it.”

Lucas's eyes twinkled as if he'd remembered decrying her inability to sleep.

“So you two are off to the accident site today?” Sherry asked.

“We are.” Marisa shifted her attention to Sherry. “I'm anxious to get to the site now that I'm rested.”

Sherry pushed scones in her direction. “Eat up. It's going to be a big day.”

Marisa's phone rang. She dug it out of her purse and glanced at the number. “That's my father. I better take it.”

“Sure,” Lucas said.

She offered a brisk hello and moved into the living room, away from Lucas and his sister. She couldn't predict what her father would say and didn't want to risk them overhearing.

“Dad.”

“Marisa, where the hell are you?”

She rarely heard her father swear and knew he was upset. “I'm at a friend's house.”

“What does that mean? According to Kyle you're with that Ranger and you're helping him again.”

She lifted her chin, annoyed that he spoke to her as if she were twelve. “Dad, I know what I'm doing.”

“Do you? You've just been in an accident. You're lucky to be alive, and now you're running around with that Ranger.”

“I'm not running around. I'm trying to remember what happened to me.”

“You need to come home and let Susan and me take care of you.”

Home. His house, purchased after the divorce, had never felt like home. When she'd stayed the night she'd been an anxious guest, hesitant to use too many towels or stay more than a night.

“Dad, I'll call you when I have more information. But for now, I have to go.”

“We're not done with this conversation.”

“Yes, we are. I'll talk to you soon.” She hung up and immediately put her phone on silent. Sooner or later she'd have to deal with the outside world, but for now, she needed to shut it out.

 

Lucas watched Marisa hover by the front window, her face tucked forward and her hair draping her face like a thick curtain.

“I like her,” Sherry said.

Lucas let the comment stand and didn't respond.

“So do you,” she prodded.

He sipped his coffee.

“And the fact that you aren't talking is proof enough for me that you
really
like her.”

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

“And how do you know?”

“In all your days, Lucas, I've never known you to bring a woman home over the holidays. You've had your share of dates at barbecues, but the holidays have always been kind of sacred for you. You met her in Mexico, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Something happened?”

“False start. Nothing that can't be overcome.”

She shook her head. “Why bring her here?”

“I could see she needed a break before we headed to the accident site.”

“I'm a good hour out of your way. Makes no sense to detour to my place when you could have gotten a good hotel room in Fredericksburg.”

“Seemed to me, she'd be more comfortable here.”

“I don't mean to give you a hard time. She's more than welcome. And like I said, I like her.”

He set his cup down. “But . . .”

“I just worry for you. You like her. A lot. Whether you admit it or not. And I'd hate to see you get hurt.”

A smile tugged the edges of his lips. “You're looking out for me?”

“Yeah, that's what family does. We look out for one another. I don't want you to get your heart broken.”

He and Marisa were from different worlds. Chemistry in a bedroom didn't mean any kind of commitment. But he knew they were right for each other.

“Right now she needs you. She's hurt and she's scared. But when she gets back on her feet, she'll go scrambling back to her world, and you're going to go back to yours. Like oil and vinegar, they mix when shaken, but after a while they separate and return to where they came from. Sooner or later you're going to get called away. And she's going to end up back on one of her jungle digs.”

“Why don't you stop thinking? Let's see how it plays out.”

“I'm all for letting it play out. Just keep your guard up, big brother.”

 

Marisa and Lucas were both quiet in the car. For a long time, she stared out over the dusty land dotted with scrubby trees that reminded her of an old man's scruffy beard. Texas wasn't a lush or easy land, but it had a beauty that she'd always found hard to resist.

She thought about that night she was driving to her father's house. The sun had set, and she'd been disappointed that her first trip out of the city in over a year had been blanketed in darkness. She'd yearned to see the rolling countryside and the bright sunshine and, for the first time in a long time, she'd realized she needed to push away from her buried ruins and dusty documents and step into life. But, of course, she'd been late because she'd been working. Always working.

Marisa again questioned her choices when she'd stood in Sherry's house last night. The home was full of life. It was a happy place. Connected.

Feeling Lucas's gaze slide from the road to her face, she heard herself saying, “Your sister has a lovely home.”

The sound of her voice eased some of the tension in his body, as if he'd worried she'd slipped away from him for good. “She does. She has a knack for making anyone feel part of the family.”

Her mother had never had stews simmering on the stove or cookies in the oven. “No one can out-Christmas Sherry.”

He smiled. “I told you.”

She thought of her mother's paltry collection of lights and decorations that still remained in the box. She wanted to love Christmas and wanted to embrace the holiday. But each time the season approached, she drew deeper within herself, counting the days to the New Year and the end of the holiday reverie. What kind of person didn't like Christmas?

She closed her eyes and pushed aside questions she could not answer. Her focus shifted to what she could fix. Her memory. The accident and the documents.

As she allowed the tension to seep away like water from a cracked urn, she cleared her mind and collected the broken pieces of the night of the accident. But as much as she stared at the pieces and searched for the missing ones, she could not create a coherent image.

“You're trying to remember?”

“Yes. But no matter how often I assemble or reassemble the pieces, I can't create a recognizable picture.”

The seat leather creaked as he settled back in his seat. “Were you playing music on the radio?”

She opened her eyes and studied his profile. His was not a classically beautiful face. Too many flaws to approach beauty. But there was an energy, a strength that made him far more appealing than the most perfect statue of a Mayan god. And when he smiled . . . well, her knees went just a little weak. “What does that have to do with remembering?”

“It's just a simple question. Music?” When she continued to stare at him, he said, “Close your eyes. Music.”

She closed her eyes and let her mind drift past the broken pieces that refused assembly. In the distance she heard the faint sound of a strumming guitar mingled with the deep melody of a man's voice. A smile tipped the edges of her lips. She'd been listening to country-western music. Despite all her connections to the ancient civilizations, she loved country music. “Willie Nelson.”

“Willie Nelson.”

Laughter rose up in her. “Crazy.”

“I never figured you for a fan.”

“I'm not all dusty documents and dead languages.”

“I know you aren't.”

A vibration under his words hinted at Merida. Color warmed her cheeks. She wanted to open her eyes and see his expression but didn't dare.

After a heavy hesitation, Lucas asked, “Was the sky clear or cloudy?”

Welcoming the question, she allowed her mind to drift, and as she did, thousands of lights twinkled in her mind. She'd been so rushed to get to her father's, she'd not really noticed the night sky full of stars that winked and sparkled like polished gems. It had been a lovely night, but she'd not really seen any of it. She'd barely heard a favorite song on the radio. How much of her life was she missing because of work? “Stars. Lots of stars. And the road was empty. I remember wishing I were making the drive during the day because it's one of my favorite drives.”

“When did you notice the headlights?”

Ah, there was one of the pieces she could not connect to the others. Instead of being afraid, she felt safe cocooned in the car with Lucas. Memories couldn't frighten her here. “I don't think I noticed until shortly after I dialed you. I'm good at getting lost in thought.”

“I've noticed.” A smile softened the coming words. “You called me as the headlights appeared.”

“He could have been following me for a while, but I didn't notice him.”

“When did you notice him?”

“I was near the bend in the road near the creek bed. I remember glancing up from the radio dial and looking in the mirror. I saw the lights, distant at first, and wasn't surprised when they grew closer. I drive slowly when I'm distracted, which is why I assumed the other car was closing ground.”

“The lights were bright.”

“Very bright. He had on his high beams. I had to adjust my mirror because they were too bright. And when I took my hand off the wheel, he bumped me.” A cold chill rushed through her veins.

The memory of scraping metal grated against her mind. The sound grew louder, filling her ears and startling her heart into a gallop.

“You said you had to toss the phone aside.”

“I needed both hands on the wheel.” Fear constricted her throat. “I was so afraid.”

“What happened next?” His voice deepened, soothing her as if she were a wild horse.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don't remember.”

He held back his next question, giving her time to slow her heart and get control. “The music was still playing.”

“Yes. Did you hear it?”

“All I heard was your voice.”

“What do you remember?”

“The excitement in your voice and your promise to see me the next day with a full translation. And then the sound of a crash, and you screaming.” His grip on the wheel tightened until his knuckles were white.

He'd never once frightened her. Not even when she'd seen him sitting alone in the café in Mexico. But in this moment, she knew she'd glimpsed a formidable warrior.

 

They arrived at the accident site a half hour later and Marisa felt tension building in her as they drew closer and closer. Silence wrapped around her like a shroud.

As they approached a bend in the road, she saw the skid marks that cut sharply to the left. Those had been her skid marks.

Lucas slowed the car before pulling off the side of the road onto the dirt shoulder. Marisa moistened her lips. “I used to love this stretch of road. Even at night. Now I'm not sure I can ever drive this again.”

His wrist rested easily on the steering wheel. “I never figured you could be scared off easily.”

The unspoken challenge nipped at her. “I'm not scared. But I had a near-death experience right here.”

“Not the road or land's fault. This is all about a driver who wanted to hurt you.”

“You're being far too logical.”

“Logic has a way of cutting through the fear.”

She looked at him and a half laugh startled from her. “I bet you're never afraid.”

“Only crazy people don't feel fear from time to time. Fear keeps us alive and our senses sharp.”

She unhooked her seat belt. “So I suppose you want me to get out.”

Wide shoulders shrugged under his jacket. “If you want to.”

The fear whispered in her ear. Told her to stay and run from the memories that were sure to bring heartache. “Fine. I'm getting out.”

“I didn't ask.”

“You didn't have to.” She opened the door, burrowed deeper in her coat as the cold air bit and snapped. Her shoes crunched along the dirt as she followed the skid marks marring the road. Like Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road, she walked toe-to-toe, following the black rubber tire marks, hoping they'd lead her to the missing pieces in her life. As she grew closer to the edge of the road, tension tightened around her chest. Memories of the metal tearing and bending accelerated her heartbeat past the safe speed and straight to dangerous.

Lucas hovered close, not speaking but a silent sentinel there to chase away the darkness.

She moved to the ravine where the imprint of her tires remained gouged in the dirt. A trail of flattened brush burrowed down the hillside to the spot at the bottom of the ravine where she'd crashed. The air bag had deployed, smashing her face and jerking her against the seat.

Marisa closed her eyes, remembering that she'd felt suffocated by the bursting bag that had saved her life and left her face bruised. She'd clung to consciousness as she'd heard Lucas's voice still echoing from the cell phone that had been tossed about the car in the fall.

“I'll find you,”
he'd said.
“Hold on.”

She'd clung to bruised and injured thoughts that wanted to scurry into the darkness. Her body ached from the battering. And then there'd been . . .

“A flashlight. At the top of the hill.”

“Who was it?”

“It was the other driver, I think. I don't know if he'd checked to see if I was okay or if he was coming to finish the job. I closed my eyes and didn't move. I barely took a breath.” She raised fingertips to her breastbone. “My heart beat so loudly I thought he'd hear.”

“Did he come down the hill?”

“Partway. I barely lifted my lids, and I could see the light. But he stopped. His phone rang. An odd ringtone.”

“Can you place it?”

Eyes closed, she chased the memory that darted back into the shadows.

“Don't worry about it. What happened next?”

“The light lingered on the car for a long time, and I was sure he'd come the rest of the way and kill me. But he didn't. Finally, he turned and left.”

“Just like that?”

“I heard the rattle of his car as he drove off.”

“He had a busted tire. He stopped at a gas station a few miles from here.”

“Do you think it was an accident? I mean, why not finish the job?”

“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 to 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.”