Once Upon a Christmas Carol Page 2

  At the edge of the lawn, steam continued to plume from the crumpled hood of the silver vehicle. It was an older car: a classic, built decades before airbags.

  She ran to the driver’s side window. In the distance, a siren wailed. Someone had called 911. She looked across the street to see Missy Jones staring out the front window of Curl Up & Dye with her cordless phone pressed against her ear.

  Celia tried the car’s door handle. It was locked. She knocked on the window. “Are you all right?”

  A sandy blond head swiveled her way. The ground dropped out from beneath her feet.

  Oh my God. Trey Janssen. Here? In Welcome?

  She would know that handsome face anywhere. But he hadn’t been back to town in more than ten years. No, twelve. Twelve years, six months. Three days, fourteen hours.

  “Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

  A rattle sounded from the car, and the door popped open. It stuck, and he forced it wide with a loud squeak from the damaged frame. Celia helped pull it open. The expensive little car was a total wreck.

  “I’m all right.”

  Oh yes, that was definitely Trey Janssen. The suddenly familiar low resonance of his voice sent her tumbling back through time, as if she’d heard it yesterday. It struck her as odd that in all the times over all the years that she’d thought of gorgeous Trey, she hadn’t remembered the unique, heavy timbre of his deep, masculine voice.

  And there had been many times she’d thought of him—even after she’d gotten over her infatuation. No, strike that. She thought she’d gotten over it, but one glance at his face, and his unique blue eyes, and she realized you never truly get over Trey Janssen.

  A hot shiver rolled through her as she thought back to the night they’d shared together: she, mousy nobody-knows-you Celia and the golden boy from next door who’d never looked twice at her before that last, drunken night of the Autumn Festival.

  The night before he’d left town for good.

  A mental image flashed as vivid and bright as a lightning strike. She saw the rickety tree house perched over the unidentifiable boundary of their fenceless backyards. Remembered how his hair had gleamed like gold even in the dim light of the three-quarter moon. How his eyes had glittered with mischief as she’d enticed him to the oversized sleeping bag she’d laid on top of the foam camping pad with the melted corner where once a hot rock from a campfire had rolled against it. It had been too hot for blankets that September night, but the unzipped sleeping bag had made a wide, silky playground...

  She forced away the memory as a police cruiser pulled to a stop across the driveway. An ambulance pulled up behind it and killed its siren. The officer stepped out, one finger pressed to the button on the radio clipped to his shoulder. “Is anyone hurt?”

  “Enrique.” She swallowed. “He fell off the ladder.”

  Across the lawn, her maintenance man had climbed to his feet, but he leaned back against the tree, favoring his ankle. He stared down at it, gingerly trying to rotate his foot.

  The ambulance driver hurried over while two more EMTs pulled a gurney from the ambulance. Celia stood back as Trey climbed out of the car. She jerked back a step and gulped as he towered over her, taller and more broad-shouldered than she remembered.

  Sweet mercy, how could I forget that?

  Celia went to Enrique while the EMT checked Trey.

  “Are you all right? Sit down. Don’t try to walk on it.” She knelt beside him.

  “My ankle. I landed wrong.” He pulled on the laces of his boot, but she stopped him.

  “Don’t untie it yet. Wait for the EMT.”

  She suppressed a twinge of irritation as they focused their attention on the obviously moneyed owner of the expensive classic car while ignoring the Hispanic maintenance worker. It irritated her almost as much as her sudden retreat to the shy, nervous girl she’d vowed she’d never be again.

  “Have you been drinking today, sir?” the officer asked in a no-nonsense tone.

  That got her attention.

  “Oh, no way.” The red haze tinting her vision grew brighter by two degrees. She stalked back over to the wrecked car in long, angry strides.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “You haven’t had anything to drink?”

  “I...”

  He glanced at her, and Celia wondered if he remembered her. Her cheeks flamed, but at this point she didn’t care. In fact, if he didn’t remember, that would only add insult to injury. She stopped a few paces away and narrowed her eyes.

  “I had a small nip, but just to warm my coffee. I’m fine.”

  “I’m going to need you to step over here for me.”

  The EMTs hiked up the lawn to Enrique, leaving Celia alone with the officer and Trey. A small crowd of gawkers had gathered, but thankfully they kept an appropriate distance. She imagined they could all see straight through her, and knew she had done things with him no teenager should ever do with a boy.

  “I’m not drunk, officer,” Trey insisted, but he looked at her as he said it.

  “You better not be,” she threw back.

  “All right, sir. We’re just going to do an easy field sobriety test. Stand over here, please.”

  Trey clenched his jaw, obviously irritated, and her anger jumped another notch. How dare he act like the victim here? He’d just plowed through a sign that had recently undergone expensive restoration—money now down the drain—and would cost a bundle to replace, and broken a massive window that would probably have to be special-ordered. Not to mention injuring poor Enrique, who was her only maintenance personnel on staff until January fifth.

  Things couldn’t get any worse.

  Yes, they could; she could find out he didn’t have insurance. He had to have insurance!

  As if reading her mind, Trey continued to protest. “I am not drunk. I have insurance. I’m sorry about your sign—”

  “And my front window!” she snapped.

  “And your window,” he said in a woe-is-me tone. “But it didn’t happen because I was drunk. A boy rode his bicycle out in front of my car and I had no choice but to swerve. I can pay for the sign, and the window.”

  “Do you think there’s a glass shop between here and Portland that’s going to have a replacement that size? At Christmas?”

  He was looking at her like he’d never seen her before. That was good, and that was...insulting.

  “Sir, I need your attention. Hold your hands out to the sides, like this.” The officer demonstrated.

  “Can’t I just blow into a Breathalyzer?”

  “I don’t have a Breathalyzer. If you’d prefer, we could go down to the station to do a blood test.”

  “No, no. I’ll do whatever test you need right here.” He threw his hands out to the sides with an irritated snort.

  Celia fisted her hands on her hips. He acted like he was the one being massively inconvenienced!

  “Please close your eyes. I need you to tilt your head back for ten seconds.”

  The officer waited while he did. So far, Trey was steady.

  “Keep your eyes closed, and bring your left hand to your nose. Count to three.”

  He did.

  “Now remove your hand. Bring your right hand to your nose. Count to three.”

  He wobbled, and lost his balance. His right hand never made it to his nose.

  “I bumped my head on the steering wheel,” Trey explained.

  “Okay, Mr. Janssen. Place your heels together. You can drop your arms.” He waited while Trey did it. “Now lift your right foot six inches off the ground, and hold it up for thirty seconds.”

  He lifted his foot, but then had to step to the side to maintain his balance.

  Celia watched with a mixture of pity and anger. Trey Janssen was exactly the type of person to act entitled, conditioned to expect special treatment by the very people who had handed it to him his whole life. He was the football star of Jordan High, all around Most Popular Boy and honor student, who’d been granted his winning ticket
out of Welcome in the form of a scholarship to Ohio State, where he’d quarterbacked for the Buckeyes and earned a degree in business.

  Not that she would admit to anyone she knew all this.

  “All right, sir, at this time I’m going to place you under arrest for DWI. Please turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

  “Are you kidding me? This is outrageous.”

  “You’ll be able to take a blood test at the station. If you’re under the legal limit, you’ll be released without charges.”

  “What about my car?”

  “What about my sign?” she snapped. “My window? My maintenance man?” She felt ashamed for listing Enrique last.

  “I’ll pay for your damned window, Celia!”

  She nearly swallowed her tongue. He did remember her.

  That meant he remembered...everything.

  The night repeated in her mind’s eye, and she could almost feel his strong arms pushing her down in the darkness, his broad chest hard against hers, his muscular knee urging her legs apart. Her laugh of joy as she eagerly opened herself for him, finally—finally—him. How the old nylon sleeping bag had felt like expensive silk at her back. She swallowed again and tried to straighten her shoulders, but it just wouldn’t happen. She wished she could shrink into a ball and disappear.

  “My damned insurance information is in the damned glove compartment. I give you permission to fish it out before they tow my damned car.”

  He then turned his back and allowed himself to be perp-walked to the back of the squad car and didn’t look at her again as he was driven away.

  Chapter Three

  Hank tore off the estimate and handed it to her. “Here you go, Ms. Brown. Sorry I don’t have better news for you. With the holidays and all, it’ll be two weeks at the very least.”

  She smiled as she took the receipt, even as her disappointment tripled. “I didn’t expect you’d have a replacement. It’s just one of those things.” Maybe she should open a window replacement store. In a town dominated by Victorian and Craftsman style homes, it was outrageous that no one had glass replacements for the windows.

  Not only would the front of the B&B have an ugly plywood face during the busiest season of the year, but when the window came in, the nail holes securing the wood to the sills would have to be puttied, sanded, and repainted. At least by then Raymond would be back from vacation. Heaven only knew how long Enrique would be out.

  Hank left her alone in the empty parlor. She swept the floor in front of the now-blocked window for the fourth time, agonizing over the possibility of even a tiny sliver of glass left behind on the polished oak.

  Her brother’s Camaro rumbled up the drive, and a minute later he emerged through the hall leading to the service area with a plastic super-size drink cup in hand. “What the hell happened?”

  She swept the last of the dust into the dustpan before standing to face him.

  “Geez, Ceel. We leave you alone for a little while, and all hell breaks loose.”

  She stared at him, hovering between cold rage and hot tears. Words would not come. She decided that was better, and simply turned and headed toward the hallway to the utility area.

  “Oh come on, I know you didn’t do this, but seriously, the place is a wreck. What happened?”

  She stopped and shot him a deadly look. “It took you four hours to go to the post office?”

  “The place is a madhouse! It’s eight days before Christmas—”

  “But you didn’t go over to Randy’s house, right?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Where were you this morning? You didn’t help with prep.”

  “I slept in for once. Give me a break.”

  “You can’t sleep in when you run a bed and breakfast, Josh.”

  His body language shifted. “Yeah, well, who says I want to run a bed and breakfast?”

  She swiveled toward him, stunned. “Your spending habits do. That shiny Camaro you drive around town does. The fact that you’re twenty-four years old and have never had a job outside the family business does.”

  He grumbled and started to turn away, but she continued before he could.

  “When you asked me to come back here and help, it was with the promise I wouldn’t get dumped on.” She was on the verge of a full-force gale of tears and sobbing and foot stomping, and Trey Janssen’s appearance had been like a squirt of lighter fluid on a smoldering campfire.

  Unfortunately, Josh was now her outlet.

  “I just poured my life savings into this place to keep it out of foreclosure, while you’re driving around in a new forty thousand dollar car.”

  “Thirty-six,” he corrected in a petulant voice.

  She crossed the room and lowered her voice so none of the guests would overhear. Airing the family’s personal dirt was about as unprofessional as walking around in her panties.

  “From now on, you’re going to get your ass out of bed at five a.m. with me and pull your weight, and you’re going to do it without complaining. And you’re not going to give me shit when some drunk driver plows through our sign, injures our maintenance man, and smashes our front window. Got it?”

  Josh deflated. “Enrique was hurt?”

  “He jammed his ankle when he fell off the ladder.” She didn’t add that he was fixing the burned-out strand of Christmas lights because Josh was a no-show this afternoon. “Nice of you to ask about Dad, seeing as this kind of thing could make him have another stroke.”

  “Is Dad okay?”

  “He’s not happy. I’m not happy.” And you won’t be happy if I ask you to sell that car. “So we both need you to help us get happy again.”

  He held up his hands, rattling the ice in his nearly empty cup. “Hey, whatever you need, Ceel. Just tell me what I can do.”

  As flakey as her brother had always been, at least he was agreeable and non-confrontational. But she was the one who’d dragged the heavy chunks of what was left of their sign to the back garage, and she was the one who had called every window contractor in town before she found one who could come out immediately, and she was the one who had swept the floor four times to make sure no guests stepped on a sliver of glass, so his generosity was too little, too late.

  “I’m going to take a shower before I go to the courthouse to check on our drunk driver. Go work the desk, okay? Romina is here if one of the guests needs something.”

  * * * * *

  Celia was surprised to learn Trey hadn’t bailed out immediately. Olivia Hastings stood at the small police department’s main counter, tsking and shaking her head as if it were Celia’s fault the former town hero was in jail.

  “That poor man only came back to Welcome to bury his mother, and he winds up in jail. And right before Christmas, no less!”

  This she hadn’t known. Olivia’s attempt at guilt worked, and the bile churning in Celia’s stomach grew hotter. “I’m going to speak to Judge Grant, if he’ll see me,” Celia said. She fought to keep the defensive edge out of her tone. “I’ll make sure he understands I don’t intend to press charges. I just want to be reimbursed for the damages.”

  “It’s a shame you don’t have insurance.”

  That was all it took to lose the twinge of guilt. “We do have insurance, Olivia. Trey was at fault, drunk or not.” The other woman picked up on her irritation and opened her mouth, but Celia spoke first. “May I see him, please?”

  Olivia’s brows pinched. “You know this is a jail, not a prison. Arrestees don’t have visiting privileges unless you’re family, representation, or his bond agent.”

  “I suppose I’ll just have his car impounded, then. I wouldn’t want to keep it at the B&B without his permission.”

  The other woman sighed. “Sign in here, and I’ll buzz you in. Understand this is a special circumstance, though.”

  Celia clipped the visitor’s badge to her cardigan and went through the security door when Olivia released the lock. She passed several officers on her way to the long, brightl
y lit hallway of holding cells. It felt odd looking in through each window, like a visitor to a pet shelter looking for a suitable animal to adopt. All but three of the rooms were empty. A group of sullen teenagers pouted in one room, and an old woman Celia had seen pushing a shopping cart piled high with recyclable cans sat in another.

  Trey had the last room to himself. He sat on the bunk with one foot propped on the edge and his arm resting over his knee, looking more like a model in a Polo by Ralph Lauren advertisement than a drunk arrested for DWI.

  His gaze snapped to hers and held. She resisted the urge to squirm, imagining he was thinking about her naked body and the inexperienced sounds she’d made when he’d taken her virginity. Get a grip, Celia.

  One corner of his mouth twitched in a wry smile. “I suppose you’re the first spirit. The ghost from my past.”

  “What?”

  Trey shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “I’m surprised you’re still here,” she said. “I thought the blood test was supposed to prove your sobriety.”

  He shrugged. “Turns out it didn’t.”

  “So you really were drunk, then.”

  He shifted forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “If I say I wasn’t, it won’t matter in court because the blood test says I was. So you’re in the clear, Ms. Brown. I’ll be paying all the damages, plus a hefty sum for your maintenance worker’s pain and suffering.”

  “Was there some question you’d take responsibility?”

  He sat back and looked away, looking tired. “No, of course not.” When he glanced back, his gaze was sharp. “I am truly sorry for the damage to your property. It wasn’t intentional. Nobody seems to believe me, but there really was a boy on a bike.”

  “I didn’t see... I probably just didn’t notice him,” she stammered. She felt like a nervous teenager, once again a nerd in the presence of the most popular boy. “Um, I didn’t get your insurance information from your car.”

  She’d felt strange about rifling through his glove compartment, and now she even felt a twinge guilty for lying about keeping it from being impounded, even though he didn’t know she’d said as much to Olivia.