Stepping into the room and, getting a good look at Jenessa, Ruby squealed, “OMG! Love your hair!”
“Thank you.” The energy the girl radiated was like a small bomb going off. Jenessa wondered how long Ruby would be able to maintain it.
Ruby leaned in close, gazing at Jenessa’ golden twisted coil like she was examining a work of art. Or judging an Afghan wolfhound at a dog show. “Is it natural? Did you dye it? Did you do it yourself? Did you use one of those kit things? Did you do it in the shower?”
“Ruby . . .” Cooper sounded a soft warning
“No, I didn’t do it myself.” Jenessa laughed at the idea. She wondered how her pernickety colorist, Romero, would have reacted to the suggestion that his glowing, multi-toned masterpiece could be a bathroom dye job. “I have a very nice man who works his magic on it every few weeks.”
“Killa! You look like that mutant X-chick. Storm!”
“I get that all the time. Can’t stir up whirlwinds, though.”
“Have you tried?” the girl asked, like she was already making plans for what she’d do with a mutant under her roof.
As much as she wasn’t used to bearing the brunt of an adolescent third-degree, there was something about Ruby that appealed to her. Her love of clothes and color, her utter disregard for what anybody thought about what she wore or said. It was like coming face to face with an alternate-universe version of the teenager Jenessa could have been—if her girlhood had been happier and less troubled.
Mitch interrupted again, sounding stern. “First of all, Ruby, I’m not too sure Jenessa enjoys getting the third degree about her haircare routine.”
“Oh, it’s perfectly—” Jenessa began.
“Second, I expected you here half an hour ago. You were supposed to get cleaned up for our guest.”
“Sorry, Uncle Mitch,” she trilled, not looking very sorry at all. She tore her admiring eyes away from Jenessa’s crowning glory long enough to plant a kiss on his cheek. He softened like ice cream on a warm day. “But it’s Christmas! Brianna got cool new games. And a phone, and a scooter. . . . ”
“I’m very happy for Brianna,” he said dryly, rubbing the kissed cheek like he could still feel it.
“You didn’t really, really think I could drag myself away from that, did you?”
“Since I told you to, yeah, I really, really did. You planning to have dinner in that?” He gestured her outfit.
“Aw man! What’s wrong with this?”
He made an elaborate show of looking at his watch. “How much time you got?”
“Seriously? You don’t like this?” She looked down at herself, perplexed. Her long, wooly corkscrew curls flopped over her face. “Brianna thinks it’s awesome. And I love ducks. You know how much I love ducks.”
He folded his arms, skeptical. “Since when do you love ducks?”
“Since I got this sweatshirt.” She patted the cartoon duck and gave it a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry,” she cooed, “Bad Uncle isn’t going to make me take you off. Even Bad Uncle knows I look fine.”
He rolled his eyes.
Ruby twirled toward Jenessa and struck a pose. “Don’t I look fine?”
“You look great,” she reassured, and wondered if it were possible to be struck by lightning from inside a house.
Cooper grunted. “Females. Ganging up on me.” He let the matter of Ruby’s attire die a natural death. “Okay, ladies. Maybe we should head to the table?”
Ruby darted into the next room, her feet light after her little triumph. Jenessa prepared to follow Cooper in, but he slipped behind her, putting a hand at her back, and ushered her forward. His touch made her go rigid, like an enlisted soldier caught goofing off by an officer. She was sure he felt her flinch, but he didn’t take his hand away.
The dining room was as well laid out and compact as everything else. The solid wood table stood on the far side of the buttery yellow room. The walls were graced by framed collages made of dried autumn leaves, which brought an orangey glow to everything. They absorbed and then threw back out the soft, golden light that poured out from the sconce fixtures.
The only artwork that wasn’t a collage was a drawing rendered in sepia pencil and framed in wood. It was of a narrow-faced, frail-looking woman, with short, soft curls and deep-set eyes that seemed to be staring past Jenessa’s shoulder, into some misty, indistinct future. The thin lips curved slightly in a smile that was both reassuring and sad. The drawing was hung directly across from the place setting at the head of the table, where Cooper could see it at every meal. Jenessa knew at once who it was.
“That’s my Auntie Wendy,” Ruby offered. “She died.”
“I . . . heard.” She stole a covert glance in Cooper’s direction to see how he was reacting, but he was graciously holding out her chair, unruffled.
“She did those collages, too. She liked Fall best. She liked the idea of the leaves dying and being reborn as something else. Like mulch for the tree they came from, or nests for wild mice.”
Jenessa threw another look at the collages, seeing them in a different light: not just as pretty ornaments, but as silent declarations of immortality by a dying woman.
Cooper sat at her left. His expression was almost serene. He held out both hands across the table, palms up, and it took a second for her to understand he was asking her to clasp hands with him. “Let’s say Grace,” he suggested softly.
The size and warmth of his hand engulfed hers. The bones beneath the skin felt solid and radiated reassurance. Once again, the brief but intimate contact was so distracting she could scarcely focus on their task. And considering that task consisted of thanking the Creator for their meal, she supposed she was racking up more chances in the hit-by-lightning sweepstakes by the minute.
The menu struck the perfect balance between festive and healthy. They started off with pumpkin soup with a hint of nutmeg, served in wooden bowls, and followed with slices of turkey carefully rolled around chestnut stuffing and drizzled with cranberry sauce, creamed sweet potatoes, a dish of snappy snow peas and crunchy glazed carrots, and a salad liberally sprinkled with seedless green grapes and toasted almonds. Mitchell gamely helped himself to a thick slice of her pork roast, in spite of its 101 million grams of saturated fat, and Ruby, taking advantage of the fact the no-pork rule had been suspended temporarily, had two.
She didn’t need to ask to know that Cooper had prepared dinner himself. She shouldn’t have been surprised; after all, the man had been widowed for years. Why shouldn’t he be a good cook? She tried to remember the last time a man had cooked her dinner but drew a blank. The men she went out with weren’t the stay-at-home-and-cook type. They were the spend-a-lot-of-money-in-an-expensive-restaurant-in-order-to-impress-her type. But though this wasn’t four-star restaurant food, she was mighty impressed.
Ruby chattered and chirped, excited to have company. Jenessa let herself be seduced by the family atmosphere, banishing any thought of her own family on the other side of the world, whose Christmas dinner had long been digested and whose presents had long been opened. She could have felt all achy inside, but didn’t. She let her bangs fall forward to dust her cheeks, allowing herself the camouflage through which she could steal glances at her host. He was confident and at ease, joking with his niece, stopping often to draw Jenessa into the conversation.
Better than being at home eating a packaged deli Christmas special, she thought. Much better.
Jenessa had barely put her fork down when Ruby popped up like a Mexican jumping bean. “Dinner’s over, right? You guys don’t want dessert yet, right? So we can open presents?”
Cooper lifted his brows inquiringly. “Jenessa? Can I offer you anything else?”
Jenessa shook her head vigorously. “You’re kidding! I’ve already wolfed down three hours’ worth of work on the treadmill. If I don’t stop now, I’ll be working out until next week.”
His eyes skimmed her trim, well-exercised body, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he gave Ruby an in
dulgent nod. With an excited yelp she rushed back into the living room, and by the time the two old fogies had made it to the Christmas tree, a hailstorm of shredded wrapping paper was already sweeping in from the northeast.
They watched as Ruby tore her way through the packages, squealing with delight as each new treasure was revealed.
“You must be psychic,” Cooper murmured under his breath to Jenessa as Ruby did a little happy dance around the room, holding up the quilted lime green jacket Jenessa had bought her, stretching its empty sleeves out as if it were a waltzing partner. “I love it, love it, love it,” she crooned as she spun.
Jenessa responded with a grin. “I was an expert at being a twelve years old once. And we girls like color.”
“That much color?” he countered dubiously.
“Yup.” She watched as Ruby dragged the jacket on over her red sweatshirt and yanked her two mismatched scarves up through the collar, so that they cascaded down her bony chest like a river gushing from an exploding crayon factory. “But don’t worry,” she said reassuringly. “We get over it. You might like the next phase better.”
“What’s the next phase?” he asked, with a little trepidation.
“The one where we wear all black, all the time. Black clothes, black shoes, black eyeliner, black lipstick. . . . ”
He groaned.
She thought she’d torture him some more. “The silver adds contrast, though.”
“What silver?”
“Silver eyebrow ring, silver nose ring. . . . ”
“God Almighty. Better enjoy the color thing while it lasts.”
“Better,” she agreed congenially.
They watched as Ruby opened all seven of the gifts her uncle had gotten her, including a digital camera, a paint-your-own T-shirt kit, and a new fabric-bound diary with the following year embroidered on the cover. The man was a gift-giving genius. He seemed to know how to shop for a female, whether she was 12 years old or 32.
She looked down at her wrist and realized that she was unconsciously stroking the tennis bracelet he’d slipped into the pocket of her coat. She wondered how much thought he’d put into finding it.
When the Ruby-hailstorm finally blew itself out, she filled her pockets and her arms with loot and announced she was going next door to show Brianna all her cool stuff. She backed toward the door, watching her uncle defiantly, as though she expected him to stop her. His why-the-hell-not nod was all the permission she needed. She was off like a bullet.
“Spends half her life over there,” Cooper commented. He was already bending over and gathering up torn bits of paper. “Brianna has four brothers; the one you met outside earlier’s the eldest. Plus she’s got both a mom and dad, so as far as Ruby’s concerned, it’s like spending time with the Huxtables. Better than being stuck over here with her moldy old uncle.”
Jenessa could have told him he was neither moldy nor old, but, apart from pointing out the obvious, it would also let him know how much she’d been observing him. That was one can of worms she preferred to keep a lid on.
She pushed the door shut behind Ruby, sucked in a deep breath, and held it, imagining the little oxygen molecules racing through her system. Cleansing her of bad stuff, and filling her with good. If she knew any Zen chants, she’d have mumbled them under her breath. Anything to keep her steady and calm.
Because she was alone and lonely on Christmas night in the company of the very attractive, very confident, and very much wrong for her, Mitchell Cooper.
5.
Mitchell watched Jenessa as she stood hugging herself, her arms closing around her biceps, a swathe of hair falling over half her face, making her look like a dusky Veronica Lake. She was nervous.
Good.
He was happy she’d come, happier than he’d let on. On the surface of it, her presence could simply have meant she had nowhere else to go on Christmas night. But her little gestures of nervousness, her covert glances in his direction, and the way she licked her lips each time she caught him staring, well, that said much more. The fact that she was antsy around him, the way she stood with her back to the door, her teeth buried in her bottom lip, nostrils slightly flaring, said she was aware of him, and of the attraction between them.
She was fighting it, sure. He didn’t blame her. They barely knew each other, and although he had plenty enough reason to notice her, she never had much to notice him, even though they crossed paths in the halls most days, he almost invisible in denim, she striding along in her impossible heels.
Of course, there was the fact that her collar was as white as his was blue, and he wasn’t damn fool enough not to know that meant something to her. Mitchell wasn’t the type to let trivialities stand in the way of something he wanted. If there was going to be a problem, the problem would be on her side. It’d be up to her to deal with it.
But still, he was both the host and the man in this scenario. It was his job to put her at ease. He let conversation fill the void. “Kid got more presents than she knows what to do with,” he pretended to grumble as he stacked what was left of Ruby’s loot in an armchair.
She moved forward, relaxing a little. For want of something better to do, she helped him tidy up. “Well, who bought her all this stuff?”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “Guilty.”
“Then you only have yourself to blame,” she said firmly.
He agreed congenially. “I guess constantly having to pick her junk up off the floor is the penalty I pay for being an overindulgent uncle.”
“You trying to make up for her mom not being here?”
He stiffened at the mention of his sister, and debated a second before saying, “I guess. Although, strictly speaking, her mother not being here is the best thing. . . . ” He screwed a torn sheet of shiny golden wrapping paper into a tight ball, squeezing it hard as if he were trying to make it disappear. “You got her some pretty nice stuff yourself. She was thrilled. You have great taste.”
She let him get away with the change of subject. “Thanks.” Then, “She’s quite a talker, though, isn’t she?”
“Not always.” He thought of the times when Ruby’s silence went on for days, when a fog of dark memories from her turbulent childhood overwhelmed her. Those were times when his inability to penetrate her shell of indifference left him frustrated, angry and pained. But he didn’t clarify. He just added, “When she’s overexcited, yeah, she can talk the hind leg off a donkey.”
“That’s Christmas for you.”
“Not to mention the idea of female company. Someone who isn’t the sitter, that is.”
“You don’t usually have women over?”
Maybe he ought to set up a meth lab in the bathroom while he was at it. “No,” he explained carefully. “I’m not usually surrounded by a parade of young lovelies. But when I do . . . date, I don’t think it’s appropriate to expose Ruby to my female companions.”
“Then. . . . ” She trailed off, her confusion visible. He could read her thoughts as though she were beaming them down via satellite. If he wasn’t in the habit of bringing women over, then why’d he ask her?
Instead of tackling that one head-on, he changed subjects on her again, like a stunt driver slamming into fifth gear. “Have you spoken to your family today? Your mother and your sister?”
“You remembered that?”
“I remember pretty much everything people tell me.”
“Oh.” She seemed to roll that around in her mind, then said, “I gave them a call earlier. Although technically it’s already the day after Christmas down under.”
Her pang of loneliness echoed in his memory. He recalled how he’d spent Christmas the year Wendy died: freezing out on the front stoop, finishing off half a bottle of Irish whiskey and two packs of smokes, in violation of the self-imposed health restrictions he’d lived under for so many years.
By next Christmas, Ruby had come to live with him full time. It hadn’t taken all the pain away, but it helped. So he knew: for someone who had no one,
there was no lonelier time than the holidays.
He shifted his attention from picking miscellaneous crap up off the floor and walked over to her, marveling at how small she seemed next to him, given that by herself, her presence was enough to fill a whole room. He let both hands fall onto her shoulders. “I know it’s rough, being on your own at Christmas.”
She shrugged out of his grasp. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”
He didn’t try to touch her again, but didn’t step back, either. “Don’t confuse empathy with pity,” he suggested.
The fine silver line she’d drawn along her lower eyelid glistened as she lifted her eyes to him suspiciously. “Empathy, huh? That why you asked me here?”
He didn’t need to think long before answering, “That, and a desire for your company.”
“Why do you desire my company?”
“I thought we went over that at the party.”
“We did?” she hedged.
Instead of answering, he picked up a palm-sized remote control from the coffee table and aimed it in the general direction of the wall. A mellow, bluesy tune filled the room. He went over to the bar and, without asking, made them each a drink. He pointed toward the couch with his chin. “Sit down and kick your shoes off.”
She mumbled something about keeping her damn shoes on, thanks, but he was sure that wasn’t meant for him to hear. She sat, and that was good enough for him. He held her drink out to her; a neat shot of Baileys Irish Cream with a generous head of whipped cream.
As he sat beside her, she noticed he was having the same. “I thought you didn’t partake in sinful indulgences like whipped cream,” she joked. Her voice held a nervous tremor.
“Not often. Like I said, I make exceptions to my own rules, for special occasions.”
“Like your rule about not bringing women home.”
“Exactly.” His gaze lingered on her face. “I’m flexible. Adventurous. Every now and then I like to partake of something I normally wouldn’t.” He schooled his face into the picture of innocence as he said this. He was glad she didn’t roll her eyes.
The Irresistible Mr Cooper Page 5
