Page 255 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

CHAPTER SIX

Jack barely had time to shower before he ran right back out the door, grabbing two travel mugs of coffee from the pot he’d started as soon as he got home. He couldn’t afford to get sleepy on the road.

He had a little over two hours to think about his night with Maisie, wondering if she’d read the note yet, hoping she’d text him some smartass reply.

You want more of this? It’s gonna cost you.Or something equally sassy, to which he’d say,I’m open to negotiations.

But his phone stubbornly refused to beep, and he belatedly realized he hadn’t put his number on the note.

What a moron.Maybe she’d find a way to reach out to him anyway. Come by his house. Get his number from Adalia.

But right now he needed to focus on Iris.

He hadn’t been thrilled by his mother’s announcement that she was giving him a sibling, but to be fair, he’d been an eleven-year-old boy, more interested in his new PS2 gaming console than in babies. Besides, his mother barely seemed to notice him. How would she handle a baby? And did the new addition mean he’d get even less attention from her? Even then, he’d known the cold, hard truth. She’d never wanted him for anything otherthan for the large child support check Prescott Buchanan sent her every month.

One afternoon, his grandmother had sat him down at her worn kitchen table with a batch of snickerdoodles—his favorite—giving him herWe’re about to have a serious conversationlook.

“Jacques,” she said slowly, pronouncing his name with her heavy French accent. “For the longest time, it’s only been you and your mother.”

“No, Mémère. It’s been mostly you and me. Mom is too busy with her job and her love life to be bothered.”

Which was a fair assessment. His mother couldn’t seem to live without a man, and following her affair with Jack’s biological father, she’d gotten a taste for men with money. And men with money didn’t want a kid underfoot. As she got older,shedidn’t want a kid underfoot either, for fear it would reveal her real age. Rich men wanted hot younger women, and while Genevieve was still a beautiful woman, she was already fearful of losing her youth. So Jack lived with his grandmother most of the time, and he preferred it that way.

“Yes,” she said slowly with a distant look in her eyes. “It has always been you and me, and you’re the best gift your mother has ever given me. But soon, it won’t just be the two of us. There will be three. And the new baby will be tossed into your mother’s craziness. It will be up to you to make sure he or she feels loved.”

He made a face. “I’m not taking care of a stupid baby.”

She smiled knowingly. “You were once a stupid baby, and I took care of you.”

He sighed. “Okay. I’ll help take care of the baby.”

Even if that was the last thing he wanted. He was biding his time until he turned eighteen and could escape. An infant brother or sister would only tie him down.

Reaching over the small kitchen table nestled into a bowed window, she patted his hand, her eyes brimming with tears.“You’re a good boy, Jacques. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.”

He wished she’d remind his mother of that.

She took a breath, hesitating, then said, “I won’t always be here to protect you and your new brother or sister, so I need you to make me a promise.”

“What?” he exclaimed, dropping his half-eaten cookie onto the old china plate. She’d always used her china, saying beautiful things were meant to be used, not put on a shelf and admired. “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be averyold woman.”

She smiled softly, as though she was keeping a secret. “That is my wish as well, but promise me anyway.”

His mother took promises lightly, but his grandmother had taught him that a man’s ability to keep his word was one of the most important reflections of his character. For him, making a promise, especially to her, was akin to signing an oath in blood. Normally, he wouldn’t agree to a blind promise—she’d taught him that as well—but this was Mémère. He’d literally give her anything she asked for. “Anything.”

A soft smile lifted her lips. “When I am no longer around—hopefully, years from now—I need you to protect this baby. Just like I’ve protected you.”

He stared at her in surprise, realizing what she had said was true. She had spent the entirety of his life protecting him, but he’d just seen it as loving him.

“I won’t need to take care of the baby since you’re going to live to be one hundred and two,” he insisted, “but I’ll help you. I promise.”

Her gray eyes turned serious. “Not just help me, Jacques. If I am gone, I need your assurance that you’ll protect him or her. Your mother’s ten times worse now than when she had you. This child needs us.”

He swallowed, realizing this was a grave matter. “I promise.”

She sat back in her chair, relief flooding her face. “Thank you, Jacques. Youarea good boy. I hope I can see you become a good man.”

But she hadn’t. She’d died the next year, when Iris was just three months old. Later, he found out Mémère had been diagnosed with inoperable cancer right around the time she’d sat him down for their chat. She had been living on borrowed time.

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