Carol Arens - A Texas Christmas Reunion

Plenty of time to make a plan to renovate her hotel.

The trouble was, being in this room—which had not changed since she’d been a student—made her look more at the past than the future.

All of her memories, good and bad, led to one thought.

What had become of Trea Culverson? He was coming home. She knew that, but not a single thing more.

Wherever she glanced in this room she saw him—a boy discounted by the teacher, flirted with by infatuated girls and resented by the other boys—even as they envied him.

And Juliette...she remembered a day...

Looking up from her work, she gazed out the window. Snow drifted softly past, very much like it had that day.

The teacher had sent her students outside to get fresh air even though the weather was bad.

Juliette stood with a circle of girls and boys who considered themselves to be wooing. Juliette believed them to be silly, since no one was of an age for courting.

The room around her faded, giving way to a vivid vision of things past.

Trea stood next to Juliette, all the while holding the hand of his current sweetheart, Nannie Breene. The name Nannie Preen would have suited her better—Juliette remembered thinking that very clearly. She was awfully proud to be holding the hand of the handsome bad boy.

Nannie had looked at Juliette with a sneer so genuine that one would not know they were friends. At least she had always thought they were, but the scorn in her expression took her aback.

“You need a beau,” Nannie had suddenly declared in front of everyone.

Indeed, Juliette was the only girl in the circle without one. And no wonder. She was not like the other girls. She was too tall, quite gangly and she dressed in homemade clothes rather than the fashionable outfits her classmates enjoyed.

“Juliette Moreland, why don’t you just go away?”

Nannie’s words had slashed her to the heart. They were so hurtful and embarrassing, she’d wished the ground would open and she could slip away—never to be seen again.

Her cheeks had burned hotter than any fever.

She’d been certain she could never face anyone again. But then—she could scarce believe it—Trea dropped Nannie’s hand and slipped his arm around Juliette’s shoulder.

“She can stay,” he’d said with a slight squeeze. “I want her to stay.”

A day and a half later, Trea’s attention had shifted from Nannie to another girl.

After all this time, she could not even recall who it was.

In the end, she was glad he’d never chosen to flirt with her. If he had, her life might have turned out very differently because there had been something, a sense of belonging, between them, a feeling that they were meant to be together. At least, that is what her romantic young heart had believed.

A silly fancy, she had come to see as time went on.

In the end, she had married Steven and never regretted it. How could she, with those two precious babies asleep on the blanket? And there was the café that had taught her how to stand on her own. And now? Well—she certainly did not regret the new venture she was taking on. It frightened her, but she would not go back from the choice she made.

Things worked out the way they were supposed to in the end.

Mostly.

* * *

When he got off the train, Trea was hungry. Seemed like half a dozen other folks were, as well.

He’d wait a bit to eat. Maybe head on over to the café he’d just spotted for dinner. The place hadn’t been here when he was a kid but it looked respectable.

Picking up his valises, he tucked one under each arm then scooped up two more, one in each fist. All he had in the world fit in the four small cases. A circumstance that suited him just fine.

Anything he needed he could purchase when he received his first pay. Since his house on the outskirts of town came with furniture, he would not need much.

Glancing about, he was sorry to see the town so ragged. Seemed like no one cared about it anymore. The Beaumont he remembered had been a pretty place.

Blame it if his own father wasn’t responsible for much of the blight. He imagined his pa was even less scrupulous as a saloon owner than he’d been as a teamster.

He had the sad feeling that Pa’d had Trea’s mother in mind when he named one of his saloons The Fickle Dog—probably The Saucy Goose, as well.

Growing up he’d never heard a complimentary thing about his mother. Absence—death, as it was—had not made his father’s heart grow fonder.

In the distance he spotted the small red schoolhouse with a bell tower on top. He’d go there before he went to his new house. It was closer, and smoke was curling out of the chimney.

With the weather turning ever colder, the wind and snow swirling, close was better.

He balanced his valises, tucked them tighter under his arms and picked up his pace. Through one of the windows he saw the stove’s orange glow. It cast a welcome through the dim afternoon light.

He’d say a heartfelt prayer of thanks for whoever had had the foresight to warm the place up.

It was curious that anyone had, though, given he’d been vague about the time of his arrival.

After bounding up the steps, he set his valises on the porch then opened the door.

A woman was on her knees, facing away from him. Her slim back moved in time with her vigorous scrubbing. The skirt draped across her hips swayed with the effort she exerted.

A black braid with a pink ribbon entwined in the strands bounced between her shoulder blades.

She hadn’t heard him come in because she was singing to herself.

He wasn’t aware of breathing or his heartbeat because when she turned and saw him, what would her expression be? How would she look at him?

Why, after all this time, did it matter so much?

“Hello, Beautiful,” he said, surprised his voice croaked past the lump in his throat.

Chapter Four

Juliette clenched the rag in her fingers then let it drop on the floor near her knees. Slowly straightening, she dug her damp, sudsy hands into her skirt.

Trea’s voice was familiar and different at the same time. For some reason, it came as shock to hear it even though she knew he was coming back to Beaumont Spur.

Slowly she pivoted her head. Her gaze collided with a pair of pants, gray wool damp at the cuffs. She raised her eyes. Her line of vision slid up, over thighs that had grown muscular over the years—she noted it even under the cover of wool.

He gazed down at her, arms folded across his ribs. The coat he wore was bulky so she could not tell if his chest had filled out like his long legs had.

But of course it would have. No one stayed seventeen forever. The boy she had been smitten with had quite clearly become a man, and she scarce knew what to think or how to feel about it.

From her position on the floor it seemed that his hat touched the ceiling.

Then, for a heartbeat only, she did see the boy. The expression of vulnerability that she remembered all too well flashed across his face before he smiled.

The way his mouth curved up at one corner was instantly familiar, except, of course, for the dark mustache that had been trimmed within half an inch of a subtle dimple.

She well remembered that flirtatious dimple, having dreamed of it night after night for a good three years when she was a girl.

He grinned and the impression of vulnerability vanished.

“Trea Culverson. I imagine you still say that to all the girls.” Slowly she rose, grateful that her skirt hid the way her knees quaked.

She flipped her braid over her shoulder by habit, striving to look casual and unshaken by his sudden appearance. Because why should she be shaken? He was a ghost of her past and nothing more.

“I only ever meant it for you, Juliette.”