Merry gave a long-suffering sigh. “Gee, I wonder why that is.”
“Whatever you come up with, I know it’ll be great. It always is.” Patrick tenderly put a hand on her arm. “I’ll just go set up.”
Touched by his show of support and dismayed at her show of cowardice, Merry turned around to thank him—and noticed the shopping bags he held. Francine must have become aware of them at the same moment.
“Give me those bags, and I’ll find a place to store them,” she offered.
The “thank you” died on Merry’s lips. On some level, she’d known what his errands entailed, but she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. “You were shopping? That’s why you didn’t come with me to the truck?”
“It’s the day before Christmas. I had a few things I still needed to pick up.” To Francine, he said, “Thanks, Francy. It’ll save me from walking to my car. I couldn’t find a spot this morning so I’m about a half mile away.”
After he collected his equipment and exited the door of the truck, Merry muttered, “He didn’t hear a word I said.”
“What was that, Merry?” Francine asked. “I didn’t hear you.”
“That was my jitters jittering louder.”
CHAPTER THREE
WITH HER SEGMENT quickly coming to a close, Patrick panned the camera in tight on Merry. A crowd of shoppers in high spirits had formed behind her.
Despite the earlier nonsense she’d spouted, Merry had given an upbeat report. She’d pieced together live material with taped snippets of Kelly discussing her search for the perfect gift, Ronald showing the allowance money he’d used to buy the Snickering Stone for his brother and the cashier talking about working a double shift to help out her coworker.
Merry flashed her even, white teeth at the camera. Because Patrick had watched her on the small screen many times, he knew viewers would think she was smiling specifically at them. He kept the camera trained on her as she finished her report.
“At King’s Mall, where the shoppers have decided it’s better to give than receive, this is Merry Deluca, WZLM-13 news.”
Satisfied with a job well done, Patrick took off his headset and disconnected his camera from the cable drum that linked it to the truck.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Merry deal with the shoppers who approached her with the grace and good humor that were integral parts of her. Only someone who knew her well could tell that she was also frustrated.
“Thank you very much,” she told a grandmotherly woman who complimented her on the message of her piece. “Yes, Christmas is a wonderful time of year.”
He smiled to himself, thinking about how differently the sweet little old lady might have reacted to the story Merry had originally planned. When he was through returning the equipment to the truck, the elderly woman still had Merry cornered. He headed in their direction.
“It doesn’t matter if I get a single present,” he heard the woman tell Merry. “The looks of joy on the faces of my grandchildren when they open all the things I get them are all I need to have a happy holiday.”
Merry suddenly perked up, her voice alive with interest. “Exactly how many presents have you bought your grandchildren?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” The woman’s white head barely came higher than Merry’s chin, making it necessary for her to tip her head way back. “I stopped counting a long time ago. But I can tell you this. The room in the basement where I hide those presents is filling up.”
“If you’ve already bought that much, why are you still at the mall?”
The woman laughed heartily. “The sales, dear. There are such wonderful sales the day before Christmas. I save so much money that way.”
“But isn’t a sale a clever marketing scheme to make a shopper believe she’s saving money when she’s actually spending it?”
The poor woman looked flabbergasted by Merry’s penetrating question. Her white eyebrows drew together. She scratched her head. She stammered. She needed help.
“Shoppers expect to spend a certain amount during the holidays,” Patrick said, interjecting himself into their conversation. “Sales help them to spend a little less.”
Ignoring the censure in Merry’s gaze, he turned to the older woman. “I’m Patrick MacFarland, Merry’s cameraman.”
“And what a fine-looking young man you are. So smart, too.” She was as sweet as she was small, the quintessential grandmother. “What you said about the sales, that’s exactly what I was going to say.”
Grandma, as Patrick had started to think of her, went on to tell them about the children’s mittens she’d found for twenty percent off. When she got to the tins of popcorn she’d bought for a ten percent discount, Merry graciously extracted herself from the conversation. Giving Patrick a tight smile, she walked to the truck.
Grandma and the rest of the crowd were gone when Merry returned. The fire in her green eyes was still there.
“I’d appreciate in the future if you didn’t sabotage my interviews,” she said tightly.
“That’s not what I did.”
She lifted her chin to glare at him. “I finally find someone who fits into the story I’m planning and you give her an easy out. Sounds like sabotage to me.”
Damn, she was mad. And making her angry was not what Patrick had intended. He resorted to reason. “Am I missing something here? Didn’t you just do a piece on how it was better to give than receive?”
“Only because nobody I’d talked to before that grandmother illustrated how commercialism is tarnishing Christmas.”
So they were back to that again. He shook his head in wonder. “Did it occur to you that not many people do illustrate your point?”
“That grandmother did. Before you wrecked things, I was about to ask her to go on camera and talk about how much money she’s spent.”
“Then you weren’t paying attention to what she was telling you.”
“She told me she’s bought dozens of presents with no end in sight,” Merry shot back.
“But she did it to see the looks of joy on her grandchildren’s faces,” he retorted. “That’s hardly the stuff a hard-hitting report about the evils of commercialism is made of.”
Merry didn’t back down, but the tight line of her mouth relaxed. It was barely noticeable, but something he’d said must have gotten through to her. “Maybe she wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but she was close.”
He softened his voice. Not deliberately, but to help her sort through whatever had led to her goal of becoming a television news Scrooge. “What exactly are you looking for, love?”
He gazed deep into her eyes, easily finding the generous, softhearted woman with whom he’d fallen in love. But then that woman turned away from him, breaking the gaze.
“I’ll know it when I see it,” she said. “As the day wears on, the mall won’t be the happy place it seems to be now. Not everybody loves to shop.”
Francine emerged from the truck, carrying her purse and walking as quickly as her pregnancy would allow. “I’ll see you two later. Say, at five o’clock to get ready for the shoot.”
“Wait,” Merry said. “I thought we’d go to lunch together.”
Francine scarcely paused, calling as she walked by them, “Sorry, sweetie, but I had a sandwich in the truck. I have shopping to do.”
“I thought you finished your shopping.”
“There are a few more things I need to get the twins,” she said. “See you later.”
“I can’t believe she’s going shopping.” Merry sounded incredulous, as though a mall built expressly for that purpose wasn’t standing a few feet from them.
“Why not?” Patrick asked. “I’m sure Betsy told Francine she wasn’t needed until later. You know as well as I do that Christmas Eve is always slow. If any news breaks out, they can reach her by cell phone.
“Besides,” he continued and quickly seized the opportunity that presented itself, “I’ll take you to lunch.”
A trapped look came into her eye
s, before she said, “I’m not hungry.”
Her growling stomach took that moment to disagree with her. She looked so guilty for having told him a fib that he laughed.
“Come on,” he said, taking her lightly by the arm. “I’m hungry, too.”
* * *
IF MERRY HADN’T SKIPPED breakfast that morning, she would have refused a lunch break.
Then she wouldn’t be walking through King’s Mall with Patrick’s large, warm hand cupping her arm, supposedly so they didn’t get separated by the tide of shoppers.
She also wouldn’t be afraid that the warmth of his hand would flow through her body and get near her heart.
The ironic part was that she couldn’t wrench away from him. If he had an inkling as to how powerfully she still reacted to his touch, he wouldn’t believe her when she told him at mall closing that the engagement was still off.
Be casual, she told herself. Be cool.
“Do you have to walk so close to me?” she grumbled.
He laughed, displaying the slightly crooked lower tooth that for some reason made him more handsome. When he spoke, his warm breath teased her neck. “The mall’s crowded, love. I don’t want to lose you.”
She picked up on the double entendre but ignored it as he narrowly avoided missing a woman barreling toward the entrance of a kitchen store advertising a sale on snowflake flatware.
The crowd ahead of them thickened, the reason soon apparent. A line of children wound around an elaborate display resembling a winter wonderland. Fake snow, candy canes and an elf-staffed workshop contributed to the fantasy. Some of the children waited to talk to Santa while others lined up for a train ride.
The children’s happy, excited chatter discounted them as story material, even though they were undoubtedly giving Santa an earful about all the things they wanted for Christmas.
Video-game systems, Barbie dolls, in-line skates, remote-controlled cars, electronic train sets…the requests would be endless.
Merry’s gaze zeroed in on the bearded man on the throne. Even from a hundred feet away, she could tell his face was marred by a frown.
“That Santa doesn’t look happy to be here,” Merry said. “Maybe we should get some video of him.”
“You’re wanting video of a scowling Santa?”
“Who better than Santa to know how greedy people can get at Christmas?”
“Maybe later,” Patrick said. Before she could protest, he added, “It’d be hell fighting through that crowd. Besides, I’m taking my fiancée to lunch.”
“Ex-fiancée. And don’t make it sound like a date. We’re going to the food court.”
“I’d rather go to the food court with you than a five-star restaurant with anyone else,” he said in a low, intimate voice that sent shivers dancing up her arms.
She managed to ignore the shivers and rolled her eyes. “Do you have to say things like that?”
He gently squeezed her elbow. “How else will I convince you to come back to me?”
She swallowed. “Compliments won’t do it.”
“Then take pity on a poor Irishman,” he said, thickening his brogue, “and give me some tips on what would do the convincing.”
Despite herself, Merry smiled. When Patrick chose to be charming, which was nearly all the time, he was darn near irresistible. It made her conscious of how much she’d missed him these past months when he was spending so much time at his new job.
“My only need right now is food,” she said. “I’m starving.”
“Then let’s feed you.” Patrick still had hold of her arm as they rounded the corner leading to the food court. They both stopped short at the length of the lines.
“Can you believe how many people are here? Don’t they know about online shopping? And whatever happened to staying home on Christmas Eve and baking cookies?” Merry mused. “Where are their priorities?”
“I’m sure a very many of them have already done their baking. How about you? Have you baked, Miss Crocker?”
“I’ll have you know I baked snowball cookies and cranberry nut bars last night,” she said. “And these wonderful Italian Christmas cookies my neighbor Angie Frencik made every year when I was growing up.”
“Mmm. Sounds good. How about I come over later and have some?”
She was about to agree when she remembered why she shouldn’t. The broken engagement. The breakup. How could those things have slipped her mind?
“No, you can’t come over,” she said, but didn’t sound as convincing as she’d hoped. She quickly changed the subject. “Let’s stick to the problem of the moment, okay? Which line do you think looks the shortest?”
They passed a place selling fast-food chicken, a burger joint and a Chinese eatery before stopping for pizza by the slice. A half-dozen pizzas were already out of the oven, kept warm under the lights on the counter. The line dwindled steadily until a man after Merry’s heart, with a taste for extra cheese, was the only person in front of them.
“Two pieces of pizza and a lemonade,” the teenage cashier said while he rang up the purchase. He was so fresh-faced Merry thought he looked like a singer in a boy band.
The man reached into his back pocket, withdrew his hand, then patted himself down with panicked motions. “My wallet’s gone. How could my wallet be gone? I had it fifteen minutes ago.”
Merry grimaced as her mind immediately conjured up mall pickpockets, searching the crowd for likely targets. This man, although not expensively dressed, had an air of absentmindedness about him that made him fit the bill.
“That’s too bad, man,” the good-looking young cashier said sympathetically. “Tell you what. Just take the pizza. My treat.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think I could eat it.” The man did indeed look sick. “I cashed my paycheck this morning so I wouldn’t be tempted to put anything on credit. I can’t believe I lost all that money.”
“You don’t know that yet, sir.” Patrick stepped up to the counter next to the man, his voice kind. “Why not check the mall office? It’s Christmas. I’m betting someone turned in your wallet.”
While the cashier provided directions to the mall office, Merry watched hope materialize on the face of the man with the missing wallet.
“I sure hope you’re right about someone turning it in,” the man told Patrick before rushing away, stopping to call back over his shoulder, “Thanks for the advice.”
“I hope he gets his wallet back, too,” Merry told Patrick while the cashier put their pizza on paper plates. “But if he does, I’m afraid his money will be gone.”
“Why would you be saying that?”
“Even if somebody didn’t deliberately pick his pocket, most people couldn’t resist a wallet full of cash. Especially at the mall. There’s too much emphasis here on what money can buy.”
“Seems to me a cynical attitude like that is what got you in trouble earlier today,” Patrick remarked. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had to change the slant of your story.”
Merry was still thinking about Patrick’s remark when they sat down at a table for two with their soft drinks and pizza—pepperoni for him, extra cheese for her.
“I’ll see plenty to back up my story before the mall closes,” she told him. “We have a little more than six hours to go.”
“Six hours until we’re back together,” he said and bit into his pizza. When he was through chewing, he asked, “When do you want to make the drive to my parents’ house in Winston-Salem. Tonight or tomorrow?”
He took another bite of pizza, as though he hadn’t said something outrageous.
“I’m not going to your parents’ house for Christmas, Patrick,” she said, even though she had a pang of regret when she made the declaration.
His parents lived in the middle of suburbia in a modest house that filled with relatives over the holidays. She knew that, not from anything Patrick had told her but because she’d witnessed it firsthand at Thanksgiving.
She’d frozen a step inside the MacFarlan
ds’ door when she’d gotten a look at the size of his crowd of relatives—two parents, three sisters, one brother, one brother-in-law, a sister-in-law and six nieces and nephews.
But then Patrick’s hand had been on her back, propelling her forward, and soon she’d been enveloped in an atmosphere of love, laughter and acceptance.
The house would be like that at Christmas, too. Patrick hadn’t talked much about it, but she envisioned a traditional Irish holiday with Celtic Christmas music, stuffed turkey, lots of spirits and plenty of love.
“Why wouldn’t you come?” Patrick asked. “My family can be a bit overbearing, but I thought you liked them.”
Overbearing? His family was wonderful.
“I do like them. But if I go to your parents’ house, everybody will think we’re back together,” she said.
Patrick’s eyes slid away from hers. She narrowed her own. “You haven’t told your family the wedding’s off, have you?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “You know mum and da love you, Merry. I didn’t want to disappoint them.”
Her irritation faded. How could she stay angry at a man who was more solicitous of his parents’ feelings than his own?
“Besides,” he continued, “I didn’t see the point in telling them we’re apart considering we’ll be back together by the time we see them again.”
Her shoulders squared. Good son or not, he could be awfully obstinate. “I am not spending Christmas with your family, Patrick.”
“Would you be preferring that it just be me and you, then?”
“Not me and you. Me.” She made a slashing movement with her hand. “Without you.”
“Come on, love.” His expressive eyes grew pleading. “If you’re not spending Christmas with me, where will you be spending it? You’re not joining your parents in Tahiti, are you?”
“No.” She blocked out the momentary hurt that they hadn’t asked her to accompany them, but then they never did. “But you know I don’t count on them to be around at Christmas so I made other plans.”
“Plans with who?”
“Francine and her family.”
Patrick stroked his chin, drawing her attention to the cleft in the center. She was partial to a man with a cleft, but that could be because Patrick had one. “I suppose that’s better than being alone, but you should be spending such an important day with the people who love you.”
Dashing Through the Mall: Santa, BabyAssignment HumbugDeck the Halls Page 12
