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His eyes widened and he shuffled his feet, practically tearing the carpet loose at the seams. “I couldn’t say. Ijust work here, ma’am.”
“You can’t say, or you won’t?” She gave him her sternest look. “Come on, Jumbo. Spill it. No Christmas? Not ever?”
His eyebrow began twitching nervously. “’Fraid not. Leastwise, not as long as I've known him and that's going on five years. He usually locks himself in his office with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a stack of writing paper and drinks himself into a stupor.”
Chaz whipped his Stetson off his head and slammed it to the floor. “Jumbo!”
The tangle of lights tumbled from his massive arms. “What? What did I say wrong this time?”
“If I want my wife to know about my little fling with JD, I’ll damn well tell her myself.” He jammed his finger into the Dwayne Johnson-like chest. “Don’t forget who signs your paycheck or it’ll be my pleasure to remind you.”
“Shoot, boss. You keep forgettin’ you assigned me to her. Ihave to answer her questions.”
Time to interrupt before blood got spilled, Shayne decided. She rose to stand nose-to-chest with her husband and did a little finger-jabbing of her own. “And my next question is, why do you dislike Christmas so much? Would you care to respond to that or shall I take it up with Jumbo?”
He didn’t want to answer, Shayne could tell. The reason escaped her, though she’d get to the bottom of it eventually. He could be darned closemouthed when he chose. But then, she could be darned stubborn. He glared at Jumbo and jerked his head toward the door. Sounding remarkably similar to a herd of cattle in full stampede, Jumbo bolted from the office.
“Spill it, Chaz. What’s going on?”
“If you have to know the truth, Christmas holds some bad memories for me,” he confessed.
At one point in her life, it had for Shayne, too. All the more reason to replace the bad with some good ones. “Is it anything you can tell me about?” she asked sympathetically.
His jaw set. “I’m sorry, Shayne. I’m not ready to do that.”
She fought to conceal her hurt, reminding herself that the “why” of his refusal wasn’t as important as getting him to change his mind about the decorations. “Chaz, Ican understand your reluctance, but surely you must see that you can’t avoid celebrating Christmas. It’s not fair to Sarita.”
Lines sank into his face and his gaze turned flat and hard. “Don’t bring my daughter into this.”
She wouldn’t give up. Even if it meant suffering his wrath, she’d push him on this to the bitter end. “Do you really think you can simply ignore the season into nonexistence?”
He gave a callous shrug. “Works for me.”
“Well, it doesn’t work for me. Nor will it work for Sarita. And I guarantee it won’t work for Doña Isabella.”
“Considering that the Doña won’t be around come Christmas, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“And me? Will I still be here? Or don’t my wishes count, either?”
“Whether or not you’re still here hasn’t been determined, yet. Are you pregnant?”
His hard-edged question took her breath away, the reminder delivered with all the brutality of a backhanded slap. She fought against the tears burning for release. This wasn’t the man she’d married nine years ago, she tried to tell herself. Circumstances had replaced him with the stranger standing before her, one with a heart as frozen as the peaks outside her bedroom window.
What in the world had happened? What had caused him to become so cold and remote? And what could she do to coax free the Chaz she'd married all those yearsago?
It took a full minute to regain control enough to speak. “I don’t know whether or not I’m pregnant,” shelied.
He held onto his coolness for a moment longer, then seemed to thaw ever so slightly. “I’m sorry, Shayne. That was uncalled for.”
“Is Christmas when Madalena left you?” she asked gently. “Is that why it holds such bad memories?”
She half expected him to freeze her out again. Instead, he shook his head. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Madalena. Idon’t like the season. End of subject.”
“So that’s it? That’s your final word?”
“That’s my final word.”
