Take Me Home for Christmas

“You’re not still upset about my mother, are you?” he asked in the quiet aftermath.

“What?”

He pressed his lips to her neck. “That run-in with my mother. You’re not letting it bother you....”

“I’m embarrassed that she walked in on us, but I’m not dwelling on it. I knew she didn’t like me.”

He kissed her neck. “Do you have to be so frank?”

She laughed. “The truth is the truth.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re not the type to hold a grudge.”

She rolled over to face him. “That’s your department. And you can hold one for a really long time.”

She was referring to what he’d felt about her before she’d started to work for him.

“What did you want me to do, carry you off in the middle of the night? You were another man’s wife.” He had to admit it had been hard to forgive her for marrying Skip. He’d wanted her every day for so many years.

“That would’ve been nice,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “We could’ve run away together. Except...you’d never want to leave Whiskey Creek.”

He was drifting off to sleep, so he didn’t answer until she prodded him.

“Am I right?”

“About what?”

“Would you ever be willing to leave this town?”

“It’s home. And I just got my house the way I like it. So...I wouldn’t be thrilled about leaving. I want you to stay here with me.”

She didn’t respond. She was probably falling asleep, too, so he was content to leave that discussion for another night. It would take her quite a while to save the money she needed, he told himself, so he had nothing to worry about.

* * *

Sophia borrowed Ted’s car under the guise of going Christmas shopping while he finished his book. She promised she’d only be gone for the morning and would work late to make up for it, but he didn’t seem to care one way or the other. He said she’d already worked plenty of extra hours, that it was Christmastime and she could take the whole day if she wanted.

She was grateful for his generosity, because if she’d had to wait until quitting time to drive clear over to Sacramento, S. Hoover Fine Jewelry would likely be closed. And if she waited until tomorrow, Alexa would be home.

Just in case Mr. Hoover still had possession of her ring and could conceivably give it back—or finish the sale and provide her with the money—she took Skip’s death certificate, as well as a copy of his will and her ID. Then she dressed up in a Versace dress with matching coat, Jimmy Choo pumps and a Gucci handbag. She wasn’t the one who’d dropped off the ring, so she needed to look like a woman who might own such an expensive piece of jewelry. No doubt Mr. Hoover had to be extra careful about handing over something so valuable.

She put a picture of herself wearing the ring, taken the night Skip had given it to her, in her purse for good measure. Then she walked through the side yard instead of going through the house so Ted wouldn’t see her and wonder why she’d gotten dressed up for a visit to the mall.

Her nerves were getting the best of her an hour and a half later when she pulled into the parking lot at the jeweler’s. Two hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money. It would release her from the terrible panic she felt when she went over her finances. It would also enable her to get a car, cover the security deposit plus first and last month’s rent on a nice condo somewhere. She and Alexa could move just about anywhere they wanted to go. She’d finally have the means to escape Whiskey Creek and would no longer have to face the people Skip had cheated, including Chief Stacy.

But it meant she’d have to leave Ted. That thought made her sick—and yet how could she miss this opportunity? Nothing like it would ever come again.

And what if Ted’s interest in her lasted only a few weeks, like it had with Eve? He could decide that she wasn’t what he wanted, after all, especially with his mother trying so hard to pry them apart. So she’d be foolish to depend on him. This was her chance to leave the past behind and start over.

The bell jingled over the door as she walked in. The store was small and carried only high-end jewelry. She could tell that from a glance at the cases as she approached the saleswoman who’d looked up when she walked in and now asked if she needed any help.

“I’m Sophia DeBussi,” she said. “I’m here to pick up my wedding ring.”

The woman threaded her fingers together, showing off her lacquered nails and a gorgeous tennis bracelet and opal ring. “Do you have the claim check?”

“I’m afraid not. My husband dropped it off for an appraisal at least four months ago—” she lowered her voice as if this was painful to get out “—and then he passed away.”

“I’m so sorry.” If she recognized Sophia’s name, she was too polite to let on.

Sophia managed a grateful smile. Anxiety tempted her to speak too fast, to push too hard, but she had to ease into this, act the part. “Thank you. Anyway, I didn’t know where he’d sent my ring, so I thought I’d lost that, too. Imagine my surprise and excitement when I came across this letter in a pile of discarded mail.” She showed the young woman what Mr. Hoover had sent her.

“Oh,” she murmured after reading it. “We’ve been wondering about this piece.” So she hadn’t recognized Sophia’s name, but the letter had reminded her. “Just a moment.”

Taking the letter with her, she went into the far corner where a man who seemed to be about sixty was working with a loupe. After she murmured in his ear, he lifted the loupe and looked over. Then he got out of his chair to come and speak with her.

“I’m Sam Hoover,” he said. “And you are...”

“Sophia DeBussi.”

“I’m sorry about your husband, Mrs. DeBussi. I remember hearing about what happened on the news. I’m sure it was tragic for you and your daughter, and it probably hasn’t gotten any easier since.”

“Truer words were never spoken.”

“To be honest, I thought I might be hearing from the FBI. But...they haven’t called. Maybe it’s because this is your wedding ring.”

Sophia was willing to bet they just hadn’t known where to find it. How would they if she didn’t?

“I’ll admit I have no knowledge of how a probe works,” he added.

“Neither do I, really,” she said. “Except they froze all my credit cards and bank accounts and took every other asset my husband and I owned. It’s been difficult to get by.”

“I bet.”

“Is my ring here?” she asked.

“Indeed.”

She let her breath seep out. “Then I’d like to claim it.”

“Of course. But...your husband wanted to sell it. I don’t suppose you have any interest in that.”

She cleared her throat. No doubt Mr. Hoover would receive a handsome commission for brokering the deal, which was probably why he hadn’t called the FBI. If he’d seen the news, it was odd that he’d sent a letter addressed to Skip. The one she’d received was dated two weeks after his death. But she didn’t mention that. Perhaps he’d been hoping to reach her—as, in fact, he had.

“Actually, I would be interested,” she said. “Like I told you, I’m in a very precarious situation.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. I understand. I’ll contact my buyer, let him know the deal’s back on.”

“Can you tell me how long that might take?”

“A day, two at the most, provided I can reach him during the holidays.”

“So I might hear from you before Friday—Christmas Day?”

“It’s possible.”

“That would be wonderful since it would allow me to get a few gifts for my daughter.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I’ve received the funds, and you can come in and pick up a certified check.