His Christmas Wish (Holland Springs #3.5)
Chapter One
Joaquin Morales supposed that every small town had its own hero—too bad Holland Springs’ was the biggest horse’s ass on the planet.
Too bad that the horse’s ass was him.
Joaquin waved at the crowd flanking each side of Broad Street. His lips were frozen in a tight smile as his eyes did what they had been trained to do, put into action for the past twelve months—scan for snipers, out of place looking buildings and suicide bombers posing as families.
He didn’t deserve this honor. This back of the Christmas Parade position by the Snow Queen with Old Saint Nick trailing behind them. No, there had been others more worthy. But instead of a ride in a convertible, they had a one-way ticket home in a casket draped with an American Flag in the underbelly of a plane.
Festive decorations lined the street. Garland wrapped around light posts while wreaths with dark red bows swayed with each gust of wind. Dirty slush lined the sides of the street, a strange sight to see in North Carolina, since the coldest part of winter tended not to hit until about February.
Eyes blurring, he blinked and exhaustion hit him hard. Twenty-six hours ago, he’d turned in his weapons and gear, given his landlord notice, packed up his truck and driven straight home.
Or rather the place he used to call home.
Not much had changed in the years Joaquin had been gone.
The corner drugstore still served vanilla cokes and grilled cheese sandwiches at its lunch counter. The only movie theater in town still played movies two months after their release for discount prices. Tetterton’s Hardware still had the same two rocking chairs being rocked by the same two men arguing over the same game of checkers.
A loud popping noise made him dive for cover in the back seat as he shouted, “Get down.” Adrenaline infused his bloodstream. His heart beat a sharp staccato.
Time seemed to freeze and speed up all at once. He heard every beat of Holland Springs High School’s drum line as they marched down Broad Street while the screams of the crowd become one long roar.
“Let me up,” a voice screeched in his ear, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. In fact he shoved the head belonging to that voice into the floor mats.
The popping noise went off again, followed by the sound of children’s laughter. Firecrackers. Firecrackers. Dammit.
He looked down.
This year’s Snow Queen, Ella Swanson, lay pinned under him, murder gleaming in her perfectly made-up eyes.
Oh, shit.
He scrambled off of Ella, grabbing her arm to pull her up to a sitting position. Her crown was askew, hair halfway out of its perfect bun and her dress had a rip. Frowning, she patted her hair into place and looked down, then smacked her hand over her mouth. Unfortunately, it didn’t completely muffle the scream of fury and he winced.
“What’s your problem?” she hissed, her frown giving way to the biggest fake smile he’d ever seen.
“Sorry, it…I—” What was he supposed to say—that he saved her from kids messing around with a bag of Snap Pops? Inspiration struck. “There was a bird getting ready to er, poop in your hair.” Never mind it was December and too cold for even the birds to venture out.
Tears filled her eyes as she quickly fixed her hair. “You really are a hero.” She whipped out a pair of scissors from a bag in the floor and began working on her dress.
Joaquin didn’t know what impressed him more—her acting skills or how quickly she pulled herself together. “You’re welcome.”
One that scared the ever-loving hell out of him.
“Smile bigger, sugar. Maybe put your arm around me,” the perky brunette beside him whispered. He glanced at her, watching in morbid fascination as her glossy red mouth barely moved as she spoke. “I’ve been waiting two years to beat Hannah Jane Simpson, and you’re not gonna ruin my moment.”
He really didn’t want to put his arm anywhere near her. Hell, he really hadn’t wanted to be in the Christmas Parade in the first place, but saying no to Pastor Mike was unthinkable. Especially since Pastor Mike was also the newly elected Mayor of Holland Springs. All Joaquin had wanted was a steaming mug of decaf and some sleep. But all he’d gotten was a cold cup of obligation.
Exhaling, he forced a smile as well as his arm around Ella, barely touching her back.
“Want to be my date to the Lighting of the Christmas Tree Ceremony?”she asked, executing a pageant wave.
His brows shot up. “How old are you?”
“Nineteen.” She snuggled up to him, then wrinkled her nose and edged away. “What’s that smell?”
Thank God and three cheers for wearing old ACL’s, ones that he’d dug out of one of his duffle bags. Pastor Mike had insisted on it. Besides, barely legal wasn’t remotely appealing to him, not even if he were single. “It’s the smell of ‘I’m way too old for you’.” And war. He still smelled of sand, sorrow and violence. There wasn’t enough detergent on the planet to get it out of his clothes. Not enough soap to scrub it from his skin. And there was nothing that could rip it out of his soul.
Ella started talking again, but he’d already tuned her out and looked at the clock tower sitting on top of the courthouse. Only ten more minutes and he’d be free.
Sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. The small of his back itched. Jesus, he needed a shower. He rubbed at his jaw, bristles scratching his skin, and a shave.
Auburn hair glinted in the morning sun and his heart sped up. The crowd shifted to the left, obscuring his view. He craned his neck and pushed up on his hands, searching for another glimpse.
“Would you sit down,” Ella said, tugging on his uniform. “What are you looking at?”
Miraculously, the crowd parted and there she was—just as beautiful as he remembered. Pretty grey eyes framed with black square glasses and curves that made his mouth water and his hands itch to caress. The beginnings of a smile crept on his face.
The vision before his eyes crossed her arms and glared back at him.
“Sage Caswell?” Ella asked, her voice incredulous. “But y’all’s parents hate each other. Oh! So, that’s why you won’t go out with me.” She sighed dreamily. “Like Romeo and Juliet.”
Sage waved a piece of paper at him, and the tips of his ears grew hot.
“Something like that.” But only if Juliet had woken up and stabbed Romeo.
Sage knew.
Of course, she knew, he rationalized. Sage was one of the most intelligent people he knew. Maybe she would understand why he’d done what he’d done. That he’d been a coward, but ultimately, he had wanted to make it up to her, to earn her forgiveness…and love.
Sage had always had a soft spot for dumbasses. Hell, she’d fallen for him hadn’t she? Hard and fast. Bright as the summer sun before he’d left town. Without her.
Sage tore his letter into pieces and he cursed under his breath. She threw them into the air, turned on her heel and stormed away. White confetti trailed behind her as it was tossed around by bodies and small gusts of wind.
Chapter Two
“Hi, I’m the Snow Queen. Let me bat my eyelashes and pout my trouty lips while you eat it up,” Sage cooed in a falsetto, then lowered her voice to a husky baritone. “As soon as this parade is over, I’m going to show you just what you can do with those lips.”
Rolling her eyes at the childish conversation that was most definitely not caused by jealousy, Sage made a sharp right on Oak, walking as fast as she could to her family’s car dealership.
Waving at Eddie and Fred as they washed inventory, she ducked through the open side door, and made her way to the back office.
Pressing trembling hands to her cheeks, she tried to get a grip on her volatile emotions. Emotions that hadn’t gotten the best of her in years. And it was all his fault. Joaquin Morales, looking all irresistible with his muscles and soulful brown eyes. And hands. Good Lord, his hands….and mouth. That kissable mouth that could form the sexiest of smiles.
She unwound her scarf from her neck and pulled off her knit hat, hanging both on a hook near the door. Breathe and get back to work, she told herself.
“Thought you were going to the parade,” a voice boomed, making Sage almost jump out of her skin.
“It’s over.” She moved to the file cabinet and began sorting through the manila folders on top. “I’m yours until closing.” Her dad made a noise and she turned around. “Something you need?”
“Morales has a Twelve Days of Christmas deal going on and we’re gonna price match.” Charles Caswell grimaced, then gulped down his coffee and threw the paper cup in the trash. “I’m sick of losing business to that underhanded son of a bitch.”
Sage turned back to her work and bit back a sigh. Same story, different day. Caswell versus Morales. Morales versus Caswell. It had been that way for the past fifteen years and would most likely be that way for fifteen more. Usually, she made a quick exit when her dad got all riled up, but today, she needed the distraction he could provide.
“He’s getting all the construction crews from Jacksonville, and the soldiers coming home,” Charles complained.
“Maybe because Mr. Morales has the cars they want,” Sage said, but she knew he wasn’t listening. Their family’s car business depended on repeat customers, but they were ageing, and a young veteran returning from war didn’t want a Cadillac. Neither did those constructions crews. They wanted minivans, trucks or sports cars.
“I got in two minivans and three SUVs last month.” He pointed to the lot in front of the store. “And they’re still sitting there.”
“You put them on the left side, toward the back. No one can see them, and you didn’t tell Fred to push them,” she pointed out, then opened the second file drawer.
The desk chair creaked as her dad sat down and back. “Fine, I’ll have Eddie drive them to the front and put some balloons on the antenna. People love balloons.”
Sage turned as Eddie entered the office and said, “Hey, boss. Morales is cooking and giving away hotdogs and hamburgers—just started.”
“What the hell for?” Charles asked, brow creasing.
“Joaquin is home from Afghanistan, for good, I heard,” Eddie said. “It’s a celebration.”
Sage mentally braced herself for her dad’s reaction.
Charles’s face turned red, but remarkably he held his temper. “Go put the minivans up front and tie on some balloons, add some garland. Make it look festive.”
“Yes, sir,” Eddie said, then left.
Her heart was in her throat but she managed to speak around it. “Why would I?”
“With all those letters he wrote you, I figured you might have some insider information.”
She blinked. “Momma told you?”
“Said she was worried, is all.” He pulled at his collared shirt. “So was I.”
Face flaming, she started to give her dad a smile. “I’m fine.”
“Well?” He pulled out a pen and a yellow legal pad. “What did the Morales boy tell you?”
“That’s all that concerns you? Not my feelings, not…” She hit the file cabinet drawer with her hip, closing it.
“You just said you were fine.”
She grabbed her purse and fished her keys out of it, fury and disappointment making her hands shake as she yelled over her shoulder, “This is the south: it’s what you’re supposed to say.”
Three hours and a pint of Cherry Garcia later, Sage texted her best friend, Mandy Little, to let her know that she would not be going to the Lighting of the Christmas Tree Ceremony tonight.
Of course Mandy texted her right back to let Sage know that she would be over in a couple of hours for them to talk. And by talk Mandy meant drink margaritas until they couldn’t form coherent sentences and passed out laughing—or crying.
Which was fine with her, because there was no way in hell she’d chance another encounter with Joaquin. In the meantime, she could work on lesson plans.
Sage threw the empty ice cream container in the trash and washed her hands.
Although she would miss the change of pace that working at her parents’ dealership had been providing over winter break, she was ready to get back to what she loved—teaching fourth graders. But she wasn’t too proud to admit she would miss the extra cash once school started in January. This past summer, she had insisted on getting paid and her dad had agreed without too much fussing.
Usually, she didn’t rock the boat, and did what everyone expected of her, no matter what her heart was telling her. Her heart couldn’t be depended upon anyway. It made her think and do things that her brain would have logically concluded were extremely bad for her well-being.
Like get romantically involved with a man like Joaquin Morales.
After drying off her hands, she moved into her bedroom. On the dresser she kept a small jewelry box, the top engraved with her initials. Opening it, some silly love song played. She picked up the diamond ring hidden in a side chamber.
Sliding it on, she held it up and splayed her fingers to examine the tiny jewel in the center. This was dumb. They had been dumb. Shaking her head, she pulled at the ring, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Oh, come on,” she muttered, then walked to the bathroom.