Chapter 13
13
Carter
C arter had really stepped in it this time.
The sun was setting, and a cold front was moving in. Snow was forecasted for the next couple of days. Bailey’s tires had finally been repaired, but they weren’t going to do her any good if the weatherman was right about the six inches they were supposed to get in one night.
He could hear the clank of dishes in the house behind him. Bailey insisted on fixing him supper after he’d taken care of her car tires. The repair barely cost him anything. It would be the money he pulled to help her out during the holidays that would set him back.
Carter’s chest tightened further as his thoughts shifted to Dirk’s cronies. If he didn’t give them what he owed, he knew something bad would happen—more than likely to the little family in the house behind him.
He got to his feet and paced the porch. He couldn’t let that happen. But he also couldn’t let Bailey down. Never in his life had he been so stuck.
“Carter?” Anya’s little voice filtered through the air, and he spun to see her standing in the doorway with the light at her back. “Dinner’s ready.”
He couldn’t help but smile at the kid. The more time he spent with her, the more he knew he would do anything to protect her—and she wasn’t even his.
She emerged in her nightgown and bare feet, holding out her hand to him. “Come on. Mom says it’s getting cold.”
Carter quickly scooped up the girl. “You’re going to catch a cold out here without shoes on. What are you thinking?”
She giggled, her arms coming around his neck. One week was all it had taken for her to start treating him like he’d been a part of her life from the start. It was getting to the point that he could say the same thing.
He pushed through the door and set her on her feet. “So, what did you do at school today?”
Without warning, she slipped her hand in his and swung it side to side as they moved through the living space toward the kitchen. Bailey’s back was turned as she pulled fresh rolls from the oven. Anya tilted her head, and her lips pouted. “We wrote a list to Santa.”
At that, the tray of rolls clattered to the counter, causing both Carter and Anya to jump. Bailey glanced back at them with a chagrined expression. “Sorry, guys. Guess it was a little hot.” The look she sent Carter’s way made it clear that it was a blatant lie. She’d argued with him on the way back from the city at the beginning of the week about taking his charity—and he’d argued right back.
There was no way he was going to let Anya lose her sense of Christmas spirit the first Christmas after her father passed away.
“Oh yeah?” He turned his attention back to Anya. “And what did you put on your list?”
Anya shrugged.
He frowned, dropping to a crouch. “What’s that look for?”
She shrugged again, glancing at her mother briefly, a look that, thankfully, Bailey didn’t notice. Then Anya put a hand to the side of her mouth and whispered, “Some of the kids said that Santa isn’t real.”
Carter’s stomach bottomed out. “They did?”
Anya nodded. “They said I shouldn’t write what I want in my letter because my mom will just get it for me. They said I should keep it a secret because if Santa was real, I’d still get it.”
His brows creased and he shot a quick look in Bailey’s direction to make sure she was still distracted. “So, what did you do?”
“I didn’t write it.”
Carter felt sick to his stomach. “You don’t believe anymore?”
Anya frowned. “I do… but…” She sighed. “I don’t want my mom to get me anything big.”
“Why not?”
She sighed again. “Because.” The way she said it made it perfectly clear that Anya had been paying more attention to her family’s financial situation than she had been letting on.
“You don’t want your mom to worry about paying for it,” Carter said quietly.
Anya looked up at him, then away.
“What are we talking about?” Bailey’s voice was laced with suspicion as she came to the table. “I hear lots of whispers.”
Her daughter smiled up at her mom. “I was just telling Carter what I wrote to Santa.”
“Oh?” Bailey looked between Carter and Anya. “What did you write?”
“Snow,” Anya said simply. “Lots and lots of snow.”
Bailey attempted to hide her frown, but Carter noticed the way her body tensed. “But what else do you want? Santa can’t put snow under the Christmas tree.”
Anya glanced toward the living room, and Carter became painfully aware of what exactly wasn’t there. The kid was smart as a whip. She shrugged. “I don’t want anything else. Just snow.”
“Sweetheart,” Bailey tried again, “I thought you said you wanted a pair of ice skates a few months ago.”
Another shrug. The kid wasn’t giving her anything.
The look of desperation in Bailey’s eyes wasn’t hard to miss either. Her gaze shifted to Carter, pleading with him for something he wasn’t sure he would be able to give her. Carter turned to Anya and thought really hard about how he could get her to spill what she would have written if the kids in her class hadn’t ruined everything.
He cleared his throat and chuckled. “Did you know that I have a niece about your age?”
Anya’s curiosity manifested. “You do?”
Carter nodded. “Yep. And she told me what she’s going to write to Santa about.”
“Really? What did she say?” Anya asked.
He grinned. “How about we play a game? You give me five things you think she might have asked for. She’s a lot like you. I bet you’ll guess it in the first three.”
Anya didn’t hesitate. “Does she want ice skates? Or maybe she wants an art set. Lots of girls in my class want one.”
Carter bit back a grin, avoiding the look he could feel from Bailey across the room. “You’re so smart. I knew you’d figure it out.” He winked at her, and she grinned broadly. Throughout dinner, he caught Bailey looking in his direction. Each and every time he did, she would look away.
He had to fight the smile that threatened to materialize on his face all the way up until Bailey put Anya to bed. He made up his room and then dug through his suitcase for the money he’d managed to get from his stash back home.
He’d scrounged up eighty-five hundred so far. That allowed him enough to help Bailey with her heating bills and the Christmas gifts she wanted to get for Anya. He’d pulled fifteen hundred from that total, and he was going to give Bailey half of it tonight.
Carter stared at the money in his hands. This was the right thing to do. It didn’t matter that he had a bookie breathing down his neck. Even as he told himself this, he couldn’t help but second-guess what he was doing here. He cared for the people under this roof more than he’d expected to.
Somehow, Bailey and Anya had captured his heart and made him want to be a better man. He couldn’t bear to see either one of them struggling. He knew he wasn’t any good for them. Eventually he would have to move on—but not until they were safe. At least he could say he hadn’t stolen any more money from Wade. Everything he had since meeting Bailey had been earned the right way.
A quiet knock on his bedroom door drew his attention and he glanced up. “Come in.”
Bailey nudged the door open and poked her head inside. “You sure?”
He stood, folding the bills in half and shoving them into his back pocket. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Me first.” She moved into the room and shut the door quietly behind her. “I need to thank you—for what you did at dinner. I never would have thought about doing that. I don’t know why she wasn’t willing to tell me what she really wanted.”
He frowned but quickly attempted to cover it up. Unfortunately, she noticed.
“What?” she demanded.
Carter shook his head. With how touchy she’d been about the financial help he wanted to give her, she wouldn’t like knowing her daughter had been told about Santa at school that day.
Bailey moved farther into the room. “What is it? Carter, you have to tell me if you know something.”
His gut twisted, and he folded his arms as he dropped his eyes. But not looking her in the face didn’t do a lick of good. She moved right up to him and scowled. “She’s my daughter. If you know something?—”
“She’s worried,” Carter said.
“Worried? What is she worried about?” Her voice was soft, sad even. She probably already knew the answer to her own question. Worry lined her features. She slumped down on the edge of the bed. “She doesn’t believe in Santa anymore, does she?”
“That might be a part of it,” Carter whispered, sitting beside her. He wanted to place his hand on her back, to comfort her, but he didn’t know how she would take it.
Bailey shook her head in disbelief. “I thought I had more time.”
“It might not be a complete loss, though,” Carter offered. “There’s still a chance. You weren’t the one who read her letter or asked her about gift ideas.” He shifted and pulled the money out of his pocket. “Here.”
Her eyes landed on the eight hundred dollars he held, and she gasped. “Carter, that’s too much.”
He pushed it toward her. Giving it to Bailey and her daughter would be far better than handing it over to Dirk. “Just take it. Use it to help with those unexpected financial issues.”
Bailey attempted to push it away from her once again. “I can’t,” her voice rasped.
“I told you. This isn’t negotiable. Call it rent.” He flashed her a smile, not surprised to see the hesitation from beneath that impenetrable exterior she worked so hard to erect. Carter took her hand in his, then placed the folded bills into her hand. “And I’ve got some more for Christmas.”
Her wide eyes met his, but before she could argue, he cut her off.
“You’re not going to convince me that you don’t need it. Let me do this.” He hated the pleading in his own voice. He needed this just as much as she did, only she didn’t know it. “I’ll get her a tree. And some skates. And anything else you think she might like. Santa’s going to exist for at least one more year.”
Tears filled her eyes, and she swiped at them before they even made it halfway down her cheeks. “Thank you, Carter.”