Christmas Lone-Star Style

by Linda Turner

  Just the thought of her worrying herself sick over how she was going to manage made him want to snatch her up into his arms and assure her she had nothing to worry about. He could pay for a whole roomful of toys from Santa, and he’d do it in a heartbeat if she’d let him. But she wouldn’t. She had too much pride to take anything from him, especially after the way he’d botched things between them when he’d asked her to move in with him. He could try to give her a raise, but she wasn’t stupid and would no doubt know immediately what he was up to.

  No, she wouldn’t take money from him, not even for the kids, so he would just have to find another way to help her. He didn’t fool himself into thinking it would be easy. The lady was nothing if not sharp. If she thought that he was in any way, shape, or form responsible for any sudden good fortune that.came her way, she’d reject it in an instant.

  Unless it was something so wonderful, so close to her heart, that she couldn’t possibly turn her back on it. And he could think of only one thing besides the kids that meant that much to her. Her writing.

  He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it sooner, he thought, as the kids announced that they were hungry and pulled Phoebe into the kitchen to make them a snack. Quinn Thompson, one of his best friends from college, was a senior editor with Hudson Publishing in New York. He was always looking for new talent, and Mitch knew he would be more than happy to look at Phoebe’s work if he asked him. The trick was getting something to him without Phoebe being aware of it. Because if she had even an inkling that he was pulling strings for her, she’d never go for it.

  That immediately ruled out the murder mystery she was currently working on. And her other manuscript, the first one she’d written, was in the mail, probably sitting in a slush pile somewhere waiting for a junior editor to get around to reading it. He didn’t doubt that both manuscripts were good, but he hadn’t read either of them; and it was really Professor Rat and the Case of the Missing Glasses that he wanted Quinn to see. If he didn’t snap it up the second he read it, Mitch would be shocked. He wasn’t an expert on what appealed to children, of course, but he knew when he liked something, and he’d been damned impressed with that little book. Now all he had to do was get his hands on it when Phoebe wasn’t looking and send it off to New York without her knowing it.

  The opportunity presented itself the next morning when she took the kids to school. Mitch sometimes took them for her, but he used the excuse that he had to make an important business call, so Phoebe drove them instead. Becky and Robby gave him quick hugs, then they were rushing out the door with Phoebe right behind them. Seconds later, Mitch was hunting through the bookcase in the hallway for Professor Rat.

  When he couldn’t find it, he swore softly and had no choice but to search Phoebe and the kids’ bedroom.

  If Phoebe had walked in then, he would have been hard-pressed to explain what he was doing, but she didn’t, and he finally found the book at the bottom of a stack piled on the nightstand next to the bunk beds. Quickly packaging it up, he slipped out of the apartment to the post office around the corner and mailed it before Phoebe got back.

  He’d already called Quinn to tell him he was sending it, and he’d definitely been interested in looking at it. Quinn couldn’t, of course, make any promises except to give the book a fair reading, and that was all Mitch could ask for. If it sold, Phoebe might not have the money before Christmas, but just knowing it was coming would make it possible for her to use her credit cards without worry about how she was going to pay the bills when they came in. And if Professor Rat didn’t sell, then he’d have to come up with another way to help her without her knowing it. Either way, he wasn’t letting her or the kids miss Christmas.

  When Phoebe returned from taking the kids to school, she expected to find Mitch packing to leave again. He’d only come back from his business trip because he’d promised the kids he’d be there for the holiday, and now that that was past, she’d assumed he had more pressing issues to get back to in West Texas. It was, she told herself, for the best. By unspoken agreement, they’d both tried to act as if nothing was wrong in front of the kids, but it was a pretense that she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep up for long. Not when her heart ached every time her eyes met his.

  Steeling herself to tell him goodbye—possibly for the last time—she walked into the apartment and wouldn’t have been surprised to find him already gone. Instead, he was at his desk, still dressed in the jeans and sweatshirt he’d had on when she left to take the kids to school, hammering out a deal on the phone with someone in El Paso.

  “You don’t have to tell me about Applebee, Mr. Scarsdale,” he said into the phone. “I know how the old warhorse works. He’ll throw numbers at you and double-talk you until you don’t even know what you’re agreeing to. That’s not the way I operate. You’ve got my numbers in writing, and I won’t try to change them on you. If you want to deal, we can do it right now. Just sign the contract and fax it to me here in San Antonio. Sure, you can think about it. If you’ve got any questions, just call me.”

  Surprised, Phoebe felt her heart lurch in her breast. For a man who could have easily come up with an excuse to be somewhere else, he didn’t sound like he was going anywhere.

  When he hung up, he quirked an eyebrow at her when he found her frowning at him in confusion. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I thought you still had business you had to get back to in West Texas,” she blurted out.

  “And you were hoping I was leaving?”

  She was, of course, but she had no intention of telling him that. “It makes no difference to me one way or the other,” she said stiffly. “But Kurt Elkins is starting the remodeling of the attic this morning, and he and his crew should be here any second to start work again. It could get pretty noisy, even down here, and at some point, the electricity will have to be turned off, so you won’t be able to use the computer. You probably won’t be able to get much work done.”

  If he needed an excuse to leave, she’d just given him one, but he only said, “Then maybe I should use this time to wrap up the rest of the oil leases in person. I’ll think about it and let you know.”

  But he didn’t leave that day or the next. And when the middle of the week came and went and he was still there, Phoebe began to suspect that he wasn’t going anywhere. Every time she turned around, he was right there, watching her, making her aware of his presence. And, try as she might, she couldn’t forget the feel of his arms around her, the heat of his mouth on hers, the way he’d made love to her, as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

  But a man didn’t offer to make a cash settlement on a woman he held dear, she reminded herself every night when she lay alone in her empty bed. She’d done the right thing by breaking things off with him. But knowing she was right offered little comfort when she ached for him in the dark of the night.

  And still, he stayed. Frustrated, she’d never been so confused in her life. Why was he still there? What did he want from her? He hadn’t tried to so much as touch her since she’d turned down his unflattering proposal. In fact, he seemed to have completely lost interest in having any kind of a physical relationship with her. He teased and joked with her, and generally treated her like a big brother, and it was driving her crazy. Didn’t he know that they’d gone way past the point where she could just be friends with him now?

  She wanted, needed him to leave. Not only for her sake, but for the kids’. They’d become so close to him, and she knew he was genuinely fond of them. But it couldn’t last. He had to see that, had to realize that they would be devastated when he walked out of their lives. Which was why when they pressed her to buy a Christmas tree, she put them off with the excuse that it was too soon—Christmas was still weeks away, and anything they bought now would dry out long before Santa slid down the chimney.

  That wasn’t a complete fabrication, but it wasn’t the real reason why she didn’t want to get a tree right now. She knew the kids would wa
nt Mitch to go along, and she couldn’t let that happen. Picking out the perfect Christmas tree was a family affair, something special that was a lot more involved than going to a lot and buying the first fir that crossed your path. If Mitch went with her and the kids, she knew that memory would be with her every Christmas for the rest of her life. And she already had too many memories of him as it was.

  So she put the kids off—again—and waited for Mitch to leave on another business trip. He wouldn’t stick around long, she assured herself. He couldn’t afford to, not with Applebee stirring up trouble for him every time he got the chance. Any day now, he would get a call from his secretary about a new crisis that required his personal attention, and before she could blink, he’d be gone.

  But Jennifer never called, and by the time the weekend rolled around, Mitch was still there. And the kids, counting the days until Christmas, refused to be put off any longer about a tree. “All right, we’ll go Saturday morning,” she said, giving in, and secretly prayed that it would rain. It didn’t.

  Mitch not only went with them, he drove. And it was a beautiful morning, perfect for looking at Christmas trees. The sky was crystal clear, the scent of firs and Scotch pine heavenly on the cool air. The kids, however, wouldn’t have cared if it was overcast and dreary. The second Mitch pulled into the tree lot parking lot and cut the engine, they were out of the car and rushing into the trees.

  “Look at this one. It’s huge!”

  “I like this one better. It’s bigger than Mitch!”

  “Can we have this one, Aunt Phoebe? Please?”

  “No, this one! Please, Mitch? Tell Aunt Phoebe this is the best one.”

  Laughing, Mitch held up a hand. “Hey, guys, slow down a little. We just got here. We don’t have to make a decision right this second. Let’s look over here.”

  He coaxed them over to a row of smaller trees, and Phoebe let out a silent sigh of relief. When she’d told the kids they could get the tree, she’d pictured a Charlie Brown tree, something small and cheap that could be decorated with popcorn and construction paper decorations. But that didn’t seem to exist—at least not on this lot. Most of the trees were huge, well over six feet, with price tags that were staggering. And the few that were smaller weren’t that much cheaper.

  Mentally counting the cash in her wallet, she winced. She had just enough for one of the smaller trees, but it would take part of the money she’d planned to use for decorations. They could, she supposed, skimp on the lights and use more homemade ornaments. The tree would probably still look a little bare, but at least the kids would have one that was theirs, and that was what was important.

  “Aunt Phoebe, come quick! We found it!” Robby called out suddenly from the trees one row over.

  “It’s beeeutiful!” Becky added excitedly as Phoebe pushed through the trees to join them. “Mitch says it has our names all over it, but I don’t see them.”

  Grinning, Phoebe said, “He means it’s just perfect for you, sweetie. So where is it?”

  “Right here,” Mitch said, and stepped aside to reveal a blue spruce that was a foot taller than he was.

  There was no question that it was, indeed, beautiful. Full and healthy, it had nice thick, evenly spaced branches that would easily support a ton of ornaments. Phoebe could see it set up in the bay window of Alice’s living room, glittering with lights that sparkled like diamonds.

  There was only one problem. It carried a price tag that rivaled the national debt.

  She took one look at it and felt her heart sink. “It’s gorgeous,” she began regretfully, “but—”

  “Then we’re all in agreement,” Mitch cut in smoothly. “This one’s on me.”

  Startled, her eyes flew to his. “Oh, no! You can’t—”

  “Of course I can. It’s my treat to the rug rats.” The kids let out a cheer at that, and with a grin, Mitch said, “Why don’t you guys go get us a cart so we can get this monster back up to the front and pay for it? Watch where you’re going,” he called after them as they took off like a shot. “Don’t run into anybody.”

  Neatly outmaneuvered, Phoebe frowned, miffed, as the kids disappeared into the trees. “Dammit, Mitch, I can’t let you do this!” she hissed. “It’s too expensive.”

  Not the least disturbed by the price, he drawled, “One Christmas tree isn’t going to break me, sweetheart. It’s a gift. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that when someone gives you something, you’re just supposed to smile sweetly and say thank you? It’s the polite thing to do.”

  “I don’t think a Christmas tree qualifies as a gift—”

  “Sure it does. It’s a plant, isn’t it? So technically, it’s not any different than if I gave you flowers.”

  Frustrated, she seriously considered strangling him. “It’s not the same thing at all and you know it.”

  “So sue me,” he said, grinning. “It’s a done deal. Say thank you.”

  Her lips twitched, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of smiling. Giving him a withering look, she retorted, “I wouldn’t push my luck if I were you. You’re skating on thin ice as it is.”

  It was the wrong thing to say to a man who liked a challenge. “I always did like living on the edge,” he murmured, and swept her into his arms.

  “Mitch! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Just accepting your invitation, sweetheart.” Devilment dancing in his eyes, he motioned for her to look up. “From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re just begging to be kissed.”

  Too late, Phoebe realized she was standing directly under one of the sprigs of mistletoe that had been strategically hung around the Christmas tree lot. Her heart starting to pound with traitorous anticipation, she stiffened. “Oh, no you don’t, Mitch Ryan! Don’t you even think about—”

  “Too late,” he growled, and covered her mouth with his.

  He just meant to tease her, to give her a playful smack that would bring the color to her cheeks and make her laugh. But the second his lips touched hers, he completely forgot his good intentions. Gathering her closer, uncaring that they were right out in the open and anyone could chance upon them, he indulged himself and took the kiss deeper.

  He might have kept his head if she hadn’t kissed him back. But she melted against him and met his passion with her own, and just that quickly, he was as caught up in the moment as she was. Vaguely, he heard what sounded like a metal cart coming toward them, but it could have been an invading army and he still wouldn’t have been able to let her go.

  Then he heard the kids giggle.

  He laughed—he couldn’t help it—and set a dazed Phoebe away from him. “That mistletoe’s powerful stuff,” he teased huskily, grinning down at the kids. “Every time I see somebody standing under it, I’ve just got to kiss them. Oops, you two are in the danger zone. Watch out!” And with no more warning than that, he scooped down, wrapped his arms around both of them for a fierce bear hug, and nuzzled their necks, making them squirm and laugh.

  Her pulse racing, her head still spinning, Phoebe watched Mitch with the kids and felt her heart swell with emotion. If she wasn’t very, very careful, she warned herself, he was going to destroy her. Oh, he wouldn’t mean to, but it would happen just the same. Because she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from getting caught up in the season, in passionate kisses under the mistletoe that stole her breath and left her aching for something she couldn’t have.

  She tried. But how was she supposed to resist the man when he not only paid for the tree and lugged it inside once they got back to the social club, but also dug out Alice’s decorations when he realized that she didn’t have enough of her own to decorate the monster fir properly? Becky wanted to put the star on the top, so he lifted her up, making her giggle, and soon, he was knee-deep in tinsel and ornaments with the rest of them.

  Later, she didn’t know how she would have gotten along without his help. When she started stringing the lights, he was right there with the ladder, holding her steady
while she climbed to the fourth rung and carefully leaned over to drape the lights around the uppermost branches. If his hands lingered longer than they should have, she told herself it was just because he was afraid she was going to fall. He released her quickly enough when she stepped down from the ladder, then moved back to give her room to do the bottom half of the tree. The limbs were very large, though, and she didn’t want the lights just on the end of the branches, so she needed help getting the long string of lights deep inside the thick bows. Once again, Mitch was there to help her.

  This time when his fingers brushed hers, it seemed almost too deliberate to be an accident. Suspicious, she shot him a quick look, but he glanced away just then to tease Robby about something, and she convinced herself she was just imagining things. When it happened again a few minutes later, she was on to the man.

  Waiting until she got him alone on the opposite side of the tree from the kids, she turned on him, her eyes sparking fire. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hissed.

  As innocent as a five-year-old up to mischief, he gave her a guileless look he’d probably perfected at his mother’s knee. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, don’t give me that,” she snapped in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to the kids. “You know very well what I’m talking about, and you’d better stop it right now, Mitch Ryan. You keep your paws to yourself!”

  He didn’t, of course. He took every opportunity to touch her, to accidentally brush up against her, to ever-so-slightly bring his body into contact with hers. Like some kind of animal mating dance, he swayed and dipped and feinted as they decorated the tree, moving counterpoint to her, yet still somehow always finding a way to caress her without seeming to touch her at all.

  And every time his fingers trailed across her skin, every time a hip gently nudged hers, her breath would catch in her lungs and her heart would skip a beat. He was slowly seducing her right in front of the kids, and there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it. Oh, she could have gotten angry and told him off, but anger was the last thing she was feeling. She was bewitched and captivated and more frustrated than she had ever been in her life, but angry? No. How could she be angry when the wicked amusement in his eyes dared her to give him back a taste of his own?