Be Mine at Christmas(60)
Author: Brenda Novak

They weren’t really talking about Cierra, or not entirely. They were back to Russ again, the one subject they needed to avoid. So how did he respond? Most of his life he’d spent trying to figure out where caring and helping crossed the line to become detrimental to the recipient—and he still didn’t have all the answers. “Dundee’s fairly small,” he said. “We’ve got to be able to find the place she was supposed to go. Now that I’ve gotten settled, I’ll head to town in the morning and get it sorted out. Want to come along?”

Brent frowned. “I do. But I’ve already arranged with Gabe to paint that extra room in Mom’s photography studio. It’s a surprise for Christmas. Do you think you can handle it alone? Or maybe wait another day?”

Ken didn’t want to wait. There was something about this woman that threatened him in a way he couldn’t define. Maybe it was fear that he’d become even more responsible for her than he already felt. Or that he’d be tempted to enjoy more than her cooking and cleaning… “No, it’s fine.”

Brent stopped him again. “Ken?”

What now? Sometimes, Ken didn’t like seeing himself through his younger brother’s eyes. Brent perceived him as an authority figure, someone who was too old for his years, too disciplined, too unyielding. But Ken had had to be tough to survive, to be what their mother had needed him to be before she met Gabe. Brent had needed him then, too, although he didn’t fully understand the dynamic that had created the differences between them. “What?”

“What if it isn’t possible? What if you can’t find where she belongs?”

“I will.” Russ was enough of a challenge. With any luck Cierra would be staying somewhere else by tomorrow night.

HE FOUND WHAT HE WAS looking for so easily Ken almost couldn’t believe it. Assuming he’d have a long day ahead of him, he’d left Cierra at the cabin where it was warm before dropping Brent off in town, but the search had taken only two hours. For one, thanks to the steepness of the mountain, there hadn’t been as many turnoffs as he’d expected. He’d tried two or three, the ones closet to town, and eventually found the fork in the road someone had mentioned to her. Than, bam, the numbers she’d recited to him were there, affixed to a battered mailbox dangling from a wooden post.

Snow covered the driveway, left so long it’d hardened. Ice crunched beneath his boots as he made his way to the front door. But just because the walks hadn’t been shoveled recently—maybe never?—didn’t mean anything. The cabin was more of a shack, in poor repair, but that could be the very reason the owner needed to hire help. Perhaps he or she planned to clean it up….

Or…maybe this wasn’t the right place, after all.

It fit all the parameters he’d been given, but Ken hoped there was another house in the mountains surrounding Dundee with 11384 in the address because it didn’t appear that anyone was living here. A small, one-car garage leaned into the cabin. Assembled out of various building materials from bricks to corrugated metal to fencing material, it looked like a junkyard creation, a haphazard afterthought. And, judging by the snow piled against it, the door hadn’t been lifted in some time.

Heavy drapes, closed tightly over the windows, made the cabin itself seem dark and empty. There were no Christmas lights, no decorations at all. But it was a remote location, a small outpost built on the same mountain as the property he’d just bought from Gabe. It didn’t really make sense to decorate when there wasn’t anyone around to see the result. He didn’t have any lights up, did he?

As soon as Ken raised his hand to knock, the curtain moved, telling him someone was home. Whoever it was had peeked out at him. But that same someone seemed reluctant to open the door.

Trying to be polite, he waited a minute or two before knocking again. Then he called out, “Hey, I know you’re in there. I’m not here to bother you or cause any trouble. I just need to talk to you about a young Latina woman who’s been looking for this place.”

“What’s her name?” a male voice responded.

Whether or not he’d be admitted seemed to depend on his answer. “Cierra Romero.”

There were several thumps and other noises. When the door eventually opened, Ken realized it’d taken so long because the gaunt, fifty-something man staring out at him had been busy shoving stacks of junk out of the way so he could reach the entry.

What kind of person barricaded himself inside his own house? Ken wondered. Then it dawned on him that he’d met this man before—many times, although he hadn’t paid much attention back then. Mr. Baker had been the janitor when he attended Dundee High School. According to town gossip, he’d been fired several years ago for cornering a female student in the bathroom and trying to feel her up.

Was that true? The question itself was enough to give Ken pause.

“My sister called me, said she was coming.” Deep-set, bloodshot eyes peered out of a skeletal face as Baker craned his neck, searching for Cierra in Ken’s SUV. When he didn’t see her, he did what he could to smooth down his hair, which was standing up as if he’d just rolled out of bed. “Where is she? It’s a cold winter. I could use the company.”

Company… The scents emanating from the cabin threatened to turn Ken’s stomach. Alcohol. Urine. And cats. Lots of cats. “She, um, she—” Somehow Ken couldn’t bring himself to divulge Cierra’s location. Not yet. He had too many questions that needed answering. “You mentioned your sister,” he said, changing gears midsentence. “Where does she live?”

“Vegas. Her ex was going to marry this girl. Brought her all the way from Guatemala. But he croaked the night before the wedding, and then nobody knew what to do with her, so I said I’d take her.”

How magnanimous of you. But what did it mean? She wasn’t a piece of secondhand furniture. “You…you were thinking of…marrying her?” Envisioning Cierra stuck in this cabin with this man created mental pictures Ken did not want to see. Someone so young and beautiful couldn’t possibly be happy here, especially if she had to service this disgusting person.

“Arlene didn’t say that was part of the deal.”

“Arlene?”

“That’s my sister. Charlie’s ex-wife.”

“And Charlie is…”

“The man who was going to marry this girl, then died.”