Christmas on My Mind Read Online Free PDF Page A

appliances and junk cars. Here and there a sign advertised a home business—a backyard welding shop, a beauty salon, a cake decorator. If anybody in Branding Iron had money, they didn’t appear to flaunt it.
    Ben hadn’t tried to get her talking again. He seemed to know that she had a lot to think about, and she did.
    She’d told him she was determined to stay. But she’d be foolish to ignore his warning about Francine’s behavior—and even more foolish to assume that, just by being here, she could heal her mother’s addiction. Alcoholism was a disease, and the only known cure had to spring from a deep motivation to change. Could she foster that motivation in her mother? Did she have the patience to try, fail and try again? If not, maybe Ben was right. Maybe the kindest thing she could do was walk away now, before it was too late.
    â€œHere we are.” Ben slowed down in front of a two-story frame house with white siding and dark green shutters. Gingerbread trim shadowed the wide covered porch. A bare wisteria vine, promising springtime beauty, spiraled up a corner post to creep across the edge of the roof. Set on a quiet street, with a stately sycamore in the well-groomed front yard, the home was the picture of graciousness, respectability and security—all the things that, if she’d ever known them, were missing from Jess’s memory.
    â€œThis is where you grew up?” Jess asked as Ben pulled into the driveway.
    â€œIt is. My great-grandfather built the place after World War One. It’s been in the family ever since.”
    â€œAnd your mother won’t mind having me stay for a couple of nights? I hate to impose on someone who doesn’t even know me.”
    â€œRelax.” Ben gave her a boyish grin. “I called her while you were in the restroom at Buckaroo’s. She said she’d enjoy the company. Knowing her, she’ll treat you like family.”
    â€œBut does she know who I am? Does she know about . . . ?”
    â€œAbout Francine? Sure, I mentioned it to her. You can expect a few questions, but my mother’s never been one to judge. Come on, you’ll be fine.” He climbed out of the vehicle, retrieved her suitcase from the back and strode on around to open her door. A tall, silver-haired woman dressed in gray slacks and a cheery red cardigan came down the steps, one hand gripping the wrought-iron rail for support. She appeared to be in her late sixties at least, maybe older. She must not have been young when Ben was born.
    â€œWelcome, Jessica. I’m Clara.” She was thin and slightly stooped, clearly not strong, but her smile and her sparkling brown eyes lit her face. “Come on inside. My daughter’s old room is set up for guests, so it’s all ready for you. Ben, be a dear and take that suitcase upstairs. I’ve got fresh carrot cake and hot tea in the kitchen. If that sounds good to you, we can sit at the table and visit a little.”
    Jess had just filled up on pizza, but she wanted a chance to know her hostess better. “It sounds wonderful,” she said. “I’ll even serve if you’ll let me.”
    â€œHey, save some cake for me. Then I’ve got to get back to work.” Ben headed up the narrow staircase with Jess’s suitcase. She heard the thump as he set it on the floor. By the time he reappeared in the doorway of the cozy, old-fashioned kitchen, Jess and Clara were seated at the kitchen table with small slices of carrot cake and cups of steaming ginger tea. He grabbed a paper towel and wrapped it around the generous wedge of cake Jess had cut for him. “I’ll take this on the run,” he said. “Just got a call about a drug bust. Couple of middle school girls smoking weed in the Shop Mart parking lot. They need me to show up, give them a good scare and talk to their parents. Thanks for the cake, Mom.”
    He vanished out the front door. A moment later