Cactus & Mistletoe

By Emjae Edwards

From the Northeast of England to the Southwest of the United States, a young woman determined to keep a deathbed promise and bring home her only living relative. In her pursuit of her late sister's son, she finds herself spending Christmas surrounded by cactus and strangers in an earthship beneath the Arizona desert.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inknbeans Press
• Release date: Nov 25, 2010
• ISBN: 9781301058983

Emjae Edwards

Emjae considers herself a professional romantic, but don't call her work romantic fiction. Like everyone else around Inknbeans, she prefers the term contemporary relationship fiction. She started writing fiction for her grandmother more than twenty years ago, and only recently decided to pick up quill and ink and begin again, after toiling far too long as a technical writer.She lives in a little castle on a hilltop in Southern California with the demanding and indifferent Lord Mogwollen, her collection of tea pots, crochet hooks and coffees from around the world. She is the last living Dodgers fan.

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Cactus & Mistletoe

Emjae Edwards

Published by Inknbeans Press

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Emjae Edwards

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For my Wonderful Guy, who loves Christmas almost as much as I do

Cactus and Mistletoe

Chapter One

Emma tugged uncomfortably at the collar of her jumper. Yes, this was the great western desert, and yes, she knew it was one of the hottest places on the planet. But, it was November. Even the desert should have the common decency to be a little bit chilly. Fanning herself with the leather gloves clutched in her left hand, she sent a disparaging glance at a woman who could be her twin; mid twenties, shoulder length brownish hair, and upturned nose, but dressed in a billowing sundress of red gingham. November, she muttered to herself.

The twin gave her a return look and a smile of rueful amusement. Girl, you're going to faint in that outfit, she said, cheerfully, coming across the sun scorched street to where Emma stood, trying to stay in the shade of a window awning. It's going to be ninety by noon.

Emma tried to keep the frown from her face. Thank you. I think I'll be all right. Not that I have much choice, she added, silently.

The woman laughed. She had one of those maddening bell like laughs one always reads about. Didn't expect it to be so hot here, did you?

Emma looked down at her gloves. November, she mumbled again.

To her surprise, the woman put a hand on her shoulder. Look out there at those rocks. Looks like the surface of the sun, doesn't it? She swept her free hand toward the backdrop of red plateaus and brilliant blue sky. It does actually cool down here at night, and even snows in December sometimes, she added, as if she was trying to be encouraging. She noticed that Emma was looking at the hand on her shoulder, and she smiled again. Sorry. She dropped her hand. We're a bit too familiar around here, I suppose.

Emma felt a bit contrite. Americans are very friendly, she allowed, politely. It's remarkable.

The bell like laughter returned. Remarkable. There's a word. She stuck out a hand. I'm Lorey Benchley. A transplant from New York City, and I promise, you do get used to this place. You can even grow to love it.

Oh, well… Emma cut off a desire to assure her that she wouldn't be around long enough to get used to it. I'm sure you can. It's a… she glanced up the empty road, friendly place. Belatedly she took the offered hand. And I'm Emma Street.

Well, now that we're friends, Emma, Lorey did not release her hand, how did you ever end up in Holbrook? It’s a pretty enough town, and gateway to the Painted Desert, but you don’t look or sound like the type who appreciates the Old West spirit.

Emma wanted to pull her hand away, but she managed to be still. I'm only visiting for a day or two. A family member- she stopped. It was embarrassing. Distant family member, she amended. I was supposed to come next week, but circumstances changed for me and I had no choice…

That's who you look like. You're the one Sam's waiting for. Lorey broke the grip to point at Emma. Does he even know you're here? He couldn't. He wouldn't leave you standing on a street corner, if he knew.

Emma stepped back from the shaking finger. I beg your pardon, what do you mean; that's who I look like? She was afraid she already knew the answer.

You're Sammy's mother, aren't you? Oh, yes, you can see it…he looks just like you.

Emma shook her head faintly. I… she didn't know what to say next, but she didn't have to have an answer.

Lorey was digging through her bag and coming up with mobile phone. Grabbing Emma's wrist with her other hand, she marched determinedly to the far side of the street. Sam? It's Lorey. She's here. I’m telling you she is. Yes, I found her standing in the middle of the street. Oh, it was easy. She looks just like him. Yes, yes, of course I will. Yes, it's so exciting. See you.

During that entire exchange, Lorey was maneuvering her to a small utility pick up, but when she indicated that Emma should get in, Emma finally balked. My things, she protested, gesturing toward that neon fronted box in the middle of the block, my room.

Don't you worry about it, Lorey insisted, climbing under the wheel. Sam'll send someone for them. Come on.

Emma still might have resisted, but standing in full sun was already unbearable, and she could see that the little truck promised air conditioning. She climbed awkwardly into the seat, and settled in, smoothing her skirt down, primly. How far is it to…er…Sam's house?

Not far. Lorey dismissed it with a wave of one of her expressive hands. Twenty minutes. He’s actually closer to Winslow. We'll stop and grab a Coke on the way.

No, really, that's not- her words were cut off as Lorey put the truck into gear and Emma was slammed back into her seat.

Lorey reached blindly, but deftly, to turn switches, and filled the little cab with cool air and loud music. I hope you don't mind jazz, she said over the noise. It's my one holdover from New York.

Emma nodded politely. She didn't much care for any sort of music, with the exception of, perhaps, Christmas carols. She doubted there was much call for that in this place.

They made a stop at a drive - through, and got large cups of ice flavored with a hint of Coke, and save for the music and the drone of the tires on the hot, endless road, and the slurping sounds Lorey made with her straw, they were silent for a long while. Emma tried to interest herself in the enormous formations of red rock that swelled up and towered over them as they cut through the desert. It was so different from her foggy forestland. It was so stark and arid it made her ache for the sight of just one tree. The only specks of green in the whole horizon were cacti posing in an almost abstract mockery of an evergreen.

Agitated, Emma turned her attention back to the woman at the wheel. She was pretty, there was no denying that. She had an open, pleasant countenance, expressive eyes and a mouth that seemed continually turned up in a smile. She had a polished air about her that must have come from her years in a large city, but it was softened by something she'd found in life in the sand and heat of the Southwest. Tell me about Sam…that is, Mr. Nicholas?

Oh, he's a darling! Lorey crowed, The nicest man. He's the reason I'm out here in this crater.

Emma's eyes narrowed. Oh, yes?

Lorey missed the chill in her voice. My brother works for him. After… for the first time her cheeriness faltered, everything that happened, my brother was worried about me living alone in the City. Sam encouraged him to bring me out here. Oh, I hated it at first, she confessed, her laughter restored. Too hot, too dry, too quiet, borrrrrrring. But you know, she turned enough to give Emma a wink, the place grows on you.

Emma looked out the window to a land that seemed incapable of sustaining growth. How is that possible? she wondered, quietly.

Lorey answered with a laugh and resumed her interest in sucking at her straw in time to the music.

The hot, endless blacktop shimmered ahead of them and Emma wished for perhaps the twentieth time in the last twenty hours that she hadn't let her emotions rule her reason. She shouldn't be in that place, but she hated being told no and Mr. Nicholas, through his attorney, had told her no at just the wrong time.

Here we are, Lorey announced cheerfully, making a sharp turn into the sandy scenery.

Emma sat up straight, looking around curiously. Where? This was the wrong place - it had to be. No one in her family could possibly belong in such a blasted wasteland.

There. Lorey pointed ahead of them to an ornate gate. She pulled up to a much less ornate box on a white wooden post, and rolled down her window to press a button in the center of it.

A voice as rusty and battered as the box itself asked her to identify herself and she called, cheerfully, It's me, you fool. Open the gate.

Emma watched as the gate swung open with a groan of gears and springs. I had no idea there was such a need for security here, she murmured, slightly more alarmed, if that were possible, than when Lorey had forced her into the truck.

You'd be surprised, Lorey said, putting her truck into gear. People are always trying to get through here, but the terrain is so rough, people can get lost or hurt or even die. Sam doesn't want that happening on his property, so he keeps it fenced and gated. It's for everyone else's safety, not his.

She makes this man sound as if he walks on water, Emma observed, assuming one could find water anywhere around here. What is it that Mr. Nicholas does here? She turned to consider the unbroken horizon for a clue. Ranching?

What would he keep here? Lorey laughed. Ground hogs? Rattlesnakes?

S-snakes?

Relax. You won't see any around his place. Sam's an architectural engineer. A pretty famous one, if you know anything about architecture or engineering. He just likes living in the desert. Lorey paused to downshift, and rolled to a stop near a small sod hut.

Emma didn't speak. She was too afraid it would encourage Lorey to confirm her worst fears.

We're here. Lorey pressed on her horn a couple of times. Come on.

Come…where?

You'll see. Lorey pushed her door open and slid out.

Emma had read about women being lured to isolated places to be robbed…or worse. Just as she was desperately trying to form words to convey her lack of material worth, a door in the middle of the hut opened and a tall, striking man with the shoulders, dimples and broad brimmed hat of an old cigarette campaign appeared. There you are! he called and held out his arms to Lorey. He gave her a hearty swing around, lifting her feet from the ground and making her laugh. It's about time you got here. Let's get inside before we melt.

Inside? Emma wondered. If he defined that mud hut as 'inside', there surely couldn't be room for all three of them.

Lorey turned, still in his embrace, and waved Emma nearer. Come on, you need to get out of this sun before you faint.

The cowboy, for he could be nothing else, turned to give her a good look. Come on, he echoed, everyone's dying to meet you.

Typical charmer, Emma thought darkly, just as I suspected. Just the sort to dazzle a girl then abandon her. Well, I hope he doesn't think that sort of foolishness runs in the family. Yes, I'm just coming, she promised, leaning into the cab of the truck to scoop up her gloves and handbag.

The mud hut was a surprise. It wasn't a house, or even a proper room. It was a foyer full of photographs of construction sites and a stairwell for rough hewn steps and rails. I don't understand, Emma murmured. At least it was cooler inside.

Lorey and the cowboy, still linked at the elbows, laughed at her. The house is downstairs, Emma. Underground. Lorey pointed toward the stairs. It's amazing. You'll see.

Emma followed the pair down the stairs, slowly. The risers were sanded flat for safety but everything else was rough and burled. Emma, who had grown up appreciating highly polished, well turned banisters and furniture, thought it looked careless and untidy, but she couldn't help admiring the way it rolled together with the dark clay walls to make something cool and natural looking.

Everyone's so excited you've come, the cowboy enthused as they reached the landing. I would have known you even if Lorey hadn't brought you here herself. You look just like Sammy.

Emma wasn't sure if she should be pleased or not. A family resemblance was all well and good but it could create some awkward situations, especially under the present circumstances. Still, it did seem that his words were intended as a compliment, so she mustered up the will to smile and mumbled something vague in thanks. She'd wait 'til a more opportune time to ask him why he was so excited she'd arrived when he had told her adamantly she could not come.

The steps descended into a blissfully cool and surprisingly bright foyer of white walls, and colorful tiles. Wide arches spanned each wall, offering glimpses into an intimate dining room, a spacious parlor and a dark corridor. The fourth wall supported the staircase and a bank of windows.

Windows? she blurted, unable to contain her surprise. I thought we were underground.

Lorey laughed again, that bell like laughter starting to grate on Emma's nerves. They're not actually windows. She pulled back a panel of gauzy fabric to reveal a backlit shadow box, designed with a window sash and bright desert scene. Clever, isn't it?

Nothing in this place was proving to be what it seemed, and the whole thing was giving Emma a headache. Clever, she repeated, numbly, as she turned to the man at her side. Now, about Samuel…

Of course, he said and tilted his head back to bawl, Saaaa-aaaam.

Emma only just stopped herself from clapping her hands over her ears. Really, Mr. Nicholas, she protested, helplessly, is that absolutely necessary?

Oh, that's not Sam, Lorey said, barely containing laughter that was altogether too irritating to be tolerated, "That's Sawyer Nicholas."

Emma followed the pointing finger beyond the broad shouldered cowboy, to a second man who had entered through the darkened archway. While not what one would call a small man, he did not possess the imposing stature or indecently good looks of the man Emma had previously, and evidently mistakenly, identified as her nemesis. Oh, she said, blushing, I see.

The man with the waves of auburn hair moved toward her, holding out his hand. I'm sorry I was so difficult about all this, Miss Street. I'm glad you came anyway.

Emma gave him her hand, and shrugged faintly. I had no choice, she assured him. After all, he's… her voice caught, my only family.

Her fleeting display of emotion seemed to disconcert him. Yes, of course. Why don't we talk in here? He indicated the corridor again. He turned and directed a comment to the man she had originally identified as Mr. Nicholas, Don, get Miss Street's things. She'll want to freshen up a bit before she sees Sam. Lorey, can you see about some cold drinks?

Like the lord of the manor, Emma thought, eyes narrowing.

We didn't have time to get her things, Sam, Lorey explained, gushing prettily. I was so excited to find her, and I knew you'd want to see her right away, so I just dragged her off a street corner and… she spread her hands, here we are.

Well, then, you'll have to turn right around and get her things, Mr. Nicholas said sternly. He turned toward Emma with a rueful smile. "We're not all pirates and hooligans here. Where are your things, Miss Street? Are you at the hotel? May Lorey and Don have your key?