Jingle Bell Rock by Linda Winstead Jones Page B

anxiously. There had been invitations, most of them delivered personally and to her alone, but she’d never been to Jimmy’s house. He’d thrown a big Sunday-afternoon barbecue shortly after buying the place, and had invited everyone at Vandiver Records. He threw, she heard tell, quite a party.
    She’d almost gone to that barbecue. Jess couldn’t remember now if it had been laundry or a headache or a really good old movie on TV that had made her change her mind at the last minute. She recognized now that she’d searched for and found an excuse to stay home that Sunday. Maybe Mrs. Courtney was right. Maybe she’d been hiding for a long time.
    His home was a sprawling ranch house north of Nashville, set on forty-five or so acres. There was an old barn, a small bunkhouse, a corral in need of repair, and green, rolling hills that seemed to wave on forever. At least, that was what Lorraine had told her.
    Jimmy planned on starting a horse ranch here, someday, when his career waned and he had the time to devote to an obsession other than his music. He’d told her that much one afternoon shortly after the barbecue she’d missed, as he’d pressed for a decent excuse. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t see Jimmy completely away from the music business. It was too much a part of him.
    They pulled into a circular drive, and he stopped the truck directly in front of his home. Their home. Surrounded by trees, it was a sizable two-story house situated in the middle of nowhere. It was simple and rustic, open and inviting, an oasis not far from the city and yet so distant. There was nothing ostentatious about Jimmy’s ranch house. It suited him.
    Before her there were a few steps, a small porch, and heavy-looking double doors, each sporting a wreath of real pine, gold bows, and lacy angels of cream and white and gold. There was a Christmas tree, bright with tiny red and green lights, in the picture window beside the front door.
    She was still staring at the house when Jimmy appeared at her door and opened it.
    He helped her from the truck, taking her hand and, as she slid down, wrapping an arm around her waist.
    “You’re worried about tomorrow, aren’t you?” Jimmy said as they hurried to the door to escape the bitter wind.
    Jess shook her head.
    “Everything’s planned perfectly. The airport vans will deliver everybody no later than two o’clock.” He unlocked the front door, and together they slipped into a warm, cozy house. “The turkey will be ready by three, and Florence promised that everything else would be ready before she left this afternoon. Stuffing, squash casserole, green beans, pumpkin pies. All we have to do is heat and serve.”
    He kept talking, about congealed salad and fruit compotes, but Jess was only half listening. Jimmy led her through the front door and a wide foyer into a huge room, a great room that was long and tall, with beamed ceilings and a stone fireplace and a collection of mismatched chairs that were somehow harmonious, arranged, as they were, around a long sofa. The room was illuminated only by the soft red and green lights on the Christmas tree.
    “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jess whispered. It was truly magnificent, warm and flawless and... and somehow home.
    The quiet beauty was disrupted when a large black dog burst into the room from the other end. Dog? It looked more like a wolf, with black eyes and pointed ears, and that pink tongue flapping as it ran toward Jess and Jimmy on powerful legs.
    “There’s my Rudy,” Jimmy said, dropping down to greet the frantic animal. Not a wolf, Jess decided, but a dog after all. Maybe a Black Lab.
    Jimmy knelt there and allowed the dog to place its paws on his shoulders and nuzzle against his neck. His hands settled against a silky black coat, to pet the large and beautiful animal in a hearty greeting. Jimmy practically cooed at the dog, who danced on its hind legs and wagged a bushy black tail. In a moment the animal was satisfied,