Christmas Wishes

by Debbie Macomber

  “It was kind of you to offer.”

  Susannah thought it best to correct this impression. “Trust me, I didn’t volunteer. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not very maternal.”

  “You’ve got to support her back a little more,” he said, watching Michelle.

  Susannah tried, but it felt awkward to hold on to her niece and the bottle.

  “You’re doing fine.”

  “Sure,” Susannah muttered. She felt like someone with two left feet who’d been unexpectedly ushered onto center stage and told to perform the lead in Swan Lake.

  “Relax, will you?” Nate encouraged.

  “I told you already I’m not into this motherhood business,” she snapped. “If you think you can do better, you feed her.”

  “You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

  She wasn’t doing great at all, and she knew it, but this was as good as she got.

  “When’s the last time you had anything to eat?” he asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You sound hungry to me.”

  “Well, I’m not,” Susannah said irritably.

  “I think you are, but don’t worry, I’ll take care of that.” He walked boldly into her kitchen and paused in front of the refrigerator. “Your mood will improve once you have something in your stomach.”

  Shifting Michelle higher, Susannah stood and followed him. “You can’t just walk in here and—”

  “I’ll say I can’t,” he murmured, his head inside her fridge. “Do you realize there’s nothing in here except an open box of baking soda and a jar full of pickle juice?”

  “I eat out a lot,” Susannah said defensively.

  “I can see that.”

  Michelle had finished the bottle and made a slurping sound that prompted Susannah to remove the nipple from her mouth. The baby’s eyes were closed. Little wonder, Susannah thought. She was probably exhausted. Certainly Susannah was, and it was barely seven on Friday evening. The weekend was just beginning.

  Setting the empty bottle on the kitchen counter, Susannah awkwardly lifted Michelle onto her shoulder and patted her back until she produced a tiny burp. Feeling a real sense of accomplishment, Susannah smiled proudly.

  Nate chuckled and when Susannah glanced in his direction, she discovered him watching her, his grin warm and appraising. “You’re going to be fine.”

  Flustered, Susannah lowered her gaze. She always disliked it when a man looked at her that way, examining her features and forming a judgment about her by the size of her nose, or the direction in which her eyebrows grew. Most men seemed to believe they’d been granted a rare gift of insight and could determine a woman’s entire character just by looking at her face. Unfortunately, Susannah’s was too austere by conventional standards to be classified as beautiful. Her eyes were deep-set and dark, her cheekbones high. Her nose came almost straight from her forehead and together with her full mouth made her look like a classic Greek sculpture. Not pretty, she thought. Interesting perhaps.

  It was during Susannah’s beleaguered self-evaluation that Michelle stirred and started jabbering cheerfully, reaching one hand toward a strand of Susannah’s dark hair.

  Without her realizing it, her chignon had come undone. Michelle had somehow managed to loosen the pins and now the long dark tresses fell haphazardly over Susannah’s shoulder. If there was one thing Susannah was meticulous about, and actually there were several, it was her appearance. She must look a rare sight, in an expensive business suit with a stained white blouse and her hair tumbling over her shoulder.

  “Actually I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to introduce myself,” Nate said, leaning against the counter. “But after the first couple of times we saw each other, our paths didn’t seem to cross again.”

  “I’ve been working a lot of overtime lately.” If the truth be known, Susannah almost always put in extra hours. Often she brought work home with her. She was dedicated, committed and hardworking. Her neighbor, however, didn’t seem to possess any of those qualities. She strongly suspected that everything in life had come much too easily for Nate Townsend. She’d never seen him without his baseball cap or his T-shirt. Somehow she doubted he even owned a suit. And if he did, it probably wouldn’t look right on him. Nate Townsend was definitely a football-jersey type of guy.

  He seemed likable—friendly and outgoing—but from what she’d seen, he lacked ambition. Apparently there’d never been anything he’d wanted badly enough to really strive for.

  “I’m glad we had the chance to introduce ourselves,” Susannah added, walking back into the living room and toward her front door. “I appreciate the help, but as you said, Michelle and I are going to be fine.”

  “It didn’t sound that way when I arrived.”

  “I was just getting my feet wet,” she returned, defending herself, “and why are you arguing with me? You’re the one who said I was doing all right.”

  “I lied.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  Nate shrugged nonchalantly. “I thought a little self-confidence would do you good, so I offered it.”

  Susannah glared at him, resenting his attitude. So much for the nice-guy-who-lives-next-door image she’d had of him. “I don’t need any favors from you.”

  “You may not,” he agreed, “but unfortunately Michelle does. The poor kid was starving and you didn’t so much as suspect.”

  “I would’ve figured it out.”

  Nate gave her a look that seemed to cast doubt on her intelligence, and Susannah frowned right back. She opened the door with far more force than necessary and flipped her hair over her shoulder with flair a Paris model would have envied. “Thanks for stopping in,” she said stiffly, “but as you can see everything’s under control.”

  “If you say so.” He grinned at her and without another word was gone.

  Susannah banged the door shut with her hip, feeling a rush of satisfaction as she did so. She knew this was petty, but her neighbor had annoyed her in more ways than one.

  Soon afterward Susannah heard the soft strains of an Italian opera drifting from Nate’s condominium. At least she thought it was Italian, which was unfortunate because that made her think of spaghetti and how hungry she actually was.

  “Okay, Michelle,” she said, smiling down on her niece. “It’s time to feed your auntie.” Without too much trouble, Susannah assembled the high chair and set her niece in that while she scanned the contents of her freezer.

  The best she could come up with was a frozen Mexican entrée. She gazed at the picture on the front of the package, shook her head and tossed it back inside the freezer.

  Michelle seemed to approve and vigorously slapped the tray on her high chair.

  Crossing her arms and leaning against the freezer door, Susannah paused. “Did you hear what he said?” she asked, still irate. “I guess he was right, but he didn’t have to be so superior about it.”

  Michelle slapped her hands in approval once again. The music was muted by the thick walls, and wanting to hear a little more, Susannah cracked open the sliding glass door to her balcony, which was separated from Nate’s by a concrete partition. It bestowed privacy, but didn’t muffle the beautiful voices raised in triumphant song.

  Susannah opened the glass door completely and stepped outside. The evening was cool, but pleasantly so. The sun had just started to set and had cast a wash of golden shadows over the picturesque waterfront.

  “Michelle,” she muttered when she came back in, “he’s cooking something that smells like lasagna or spaghetti.” Her stomach growled and she returned to the freezer, taking out the same Mexican entrée she’d rejected earlier. It didn’t seem any more appetizing than it had the first time.

  A faint scent of garlic wafted into her kitchen. Susannah turned her classic Greek nose in that direction, then followed the aroma to the open door like a puppet drawn there by a string. She sniffed loudly and turned eagerly back to her niece. “It’s definitely Italian, and it
smells divine.”

  Michelle pounded the tray again.

  “It’s garlic bread,” Susannah announced and whirled around to face her niece, who clearly wasn’t impressed. But then, thought Susannah, she wouldn’t be. She’d eaten.

  Under normal conditions, Susannah would’ve reached for her jacket and headed to Mama Mataloni’s, a fabulous Italian restaurant within easy walking distance. Unfortunately Mama Mataloni’s didn’t deliver.

  Against her better judgment, Susannah stuck the frozen entrée into her microwave and set the timer. When there was another knock on her door, she stiffened and looked at Michelle as if the nine-month-old would sit up and tell Susannah who’d come by this time.

  It was Nate again, holding a plate of spaghetti and a glass of red wine. “Did you fix yourself something to eat?” he asked.

  For the life of her Susannah couldn’t tear her gaze away from the oversize plate, heaped high with steaming pasta smothered in a thick red sauce. Nothing had ever looked—or smelled—more appetizing. The fresh Parmesan cheese he’d grated over the top had melted onto the rich sauce. A generous slice of garlic bread was balanced on the side.

  “I, ah, was just heating up a…microwave dinner.” She pointed behind her toward the kitchen as if that would explain what she was trying to say. Her tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  “I shouldn’t have acted like such a know-it-all earlier,” he said, pushing the plate toward her. “I’m bringing you a peace offering.”

  “This…is for me?” She raised her eyes from the plate, wondering if he knew how hungry she felt and was toying with her.

  He handed her the meal and the wine. “The sauce has been simmering most of the afternoon. I like to pretend I’m a bit of a gourmet chef. Every once in a while I get creative in the kitchen.”

  “How…nice.” She conjured up a picture of Nate standing in his kitchen stirring sauce while the rest of the world struggled to make a living. Her attitude wasn’t at all gracious and she mentally apologized. Without further ado, she marched into her kitchen, reached for a fork and plopped herself down at the table. She might as well eat this feast while it was hot!

  One sample told her everything she needed to know. “This is great.” She took another bite, pointed her fork in his direction and rolled her eyes. “Marvelous. Wonderful.”

  Nate pulled a bread stick out of his shirt pocket and gave it to Michelle. “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

  As Michelle chewed contentedly on the bread stick, Nate pulled out a chair and sat across from Susannah, who was too busy enjoying her dinner to notice anything out of the ordinary until Nate’s eyes narrowed.

  “What’s wrong?” Susannah asked. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and sampled the wine.

  “I smell something.”

  Judging by his expression, whatever it was apparently wasn’t pleasant. “It might be the microwave dinner,” she suggested hopefully, already knowing better.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Susannah carefully set the fork beside her plate as uneasiness settled over her.

  “It seems,” Nate said, covering his nose with one hand, “that someone needs to change Michelle’s diaper.”

  Chapter

  2

  Holding a freshly diapered Michelle on her hip, Susannah rushed out of the bathroom into the narrow hallway and gasped for breath.

  “Are you all right?” Nate asked, his brow creased with a concerned frown.

  She nodded and sagged against the wall, feeling light-headed. Once she’d dragged several clean breaths through her lungs, she straightened and even managed a weak smile.

  “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

  Susannah glared at him. “I should’ve been wearing an oxygen mask.”

  Nate’s responding chuckle did little to improve her mood.

  “In light of what I just experienced,” she muttered, “I can’t understand why the population continues to grow.” To be on the safe side, she opened the hall linen closet and took out a large can of disinfectant spray. Sticking her arm inside the bathroom, she gave a generous squirt.

  “While you were busy I assembled the crib,” Nate told her, still revealing far too much amusement to suit Susannah. “Where would you like me to put it?”

  “The living room will be fine.” His action had been thoughtful, but Susannah wasn’t accustomed to depending on others, so when she thanked him, the words were forced.

  Susannah followed him into the living room and found the bed ready. She laid Michelle down on her stomach and covered her with a handknit blanket. The baby settled down immediately, without fussing.

  Nate walked toward the door. “You’re sure everything’s okay?” he said softly.

  “Positive.” Susannah wasn’t, but Michelle was her niece and their problems weren’t his. Nate had done more than enough already. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Anytime.” He paused at the door and turned back. “I left my phone number on the kitchen counter. Call if you need me.”

  “Thanks.”

  He favored her with a grin on his way out the door, and Susannah stood a few moments after he’d left the apartment, thinking about him. Her feelings were decidedly mixed.

  She began sorting through the various bags her sister had brought, depositing the jars of baby food in the cupboard and putting the bottles of formula in the fridge. As Nate had pointed out, there was plenty of room—all she had to do was scoot the empty pickle jar aside.

  She supposed she should toss the jar in the garbage, but one of the guys from the office had talked about making pickled eggs. It sounded so simple—all she had to do was peel a few hard-boiled eggs and keep them refrigerated in the jar for a week or so. Susannah had been meaning to try it ever since. But she was afraid that when the mood struck her, she wouldn’t have any pickle juice around, so she’d decided to keep it on hand.

  Once she’d finished in the kitchen, Susannah soaked in a hot bath, leaving the door ajar in case Michelle woke and needed her. She felt far more relaxed afterward.

  Walking back into the living room on the tips of her toes, she brought out her briefcase and removed a file. She glanced down at her sleeping niece and gently patted her back. The little girl looked so angelic, so content.

  Suddenly a powerful yearning stirred within Susannah. She felt real affection for Michelle, but the feeling was more than that. This time alone with her niece had evoked a longing buried deep in Susannah’s heart, a longing she’d never taken the time to fully examine. And with it came an aching restless sensation that she promptly submerged.

  When Susannah had chosen a career in business, she’d realized she was giving up the part of herself that hungered for husband and children. There was nothing that said she couldn’t marry, couldn’t raise a child, but she knew herself too well. From the time she was in high school it had been painfully apparent that she was completely inadequate in the domestic arena. Especially when she compared herself to Emily, who seemed to have been born with a dust rag in one hand and a cookbook in the other.

  Susannah had never regretted the decision she’d made to dedicate herself to her career, but then she was more fortunate than some. She had Emily, who was determined to supply her with numerous nieces and nephews. For Susannah, Michelle and the little ones who were sure to follow would have to be enough.

  Reminding herself that she was comfortable with her choices, Susannah quietly stepped away from the crib. For the next hour, she sat on her bed reading the details of the proposed marketing program the department had sent her. The full presentation was scheduled for Monday morning and she wanted to be informed and prepared.

  When she finished reading the report, she tiptoed back to her desk, situated in the far corner of the living room, and replaced the file in her briefcase.

  Once more she paused to check on her niece. Feeling just a little cocky, she returned to the bedroom convinced this babysitting business wasn’t going to be so bad after all.


  Susannah changed her mind at one-thirty when a piercing wail startled her out of a sound sleep. Not knowing how long Michelle had been at it, Susannah nearly fell out of bed in her rush to reach her niece.

  “Michelle,” she cried, stumbling blindly across the floor, her arms stretched out in front of her. “I’m coming…. There’s no need to panic.”

  Michelle disagreed vehemently.

  Turning on a light only made matters worse. Squinting to protect her eyes from the glare, Susannah groped her way to the crib, then let out a cry herself when she stubbed her toe on the leg of the coffee table.

  Michelle was standing, holding on to the bars and looking as if she didn’t have a friend in the world.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Susannah asked softly, lifting the baby into her arms.

  A wet bottom told part of the story. And the poor kid had probably woken and, finding herself in a strange place, felt scared. Susannah couldn’t blame her.

  “All right, we’ll try this diapering business again.”

  Susannah spread a thick towel on the bathroom counter, then gently placed Michelle on it. She was halfway through the changing process when the phone rang. Straightening, Susannah glanced around her, wondering what she should do. She couldn’t leave Michelle, and picking her up and carrying her into the kitchen would be difficult. Whoever was calling at this time of night should know better! If it was important they could leave a message on her answering machine.

  But after three rings, the phone stopped, followed almost immediately by a firm knock at her door.

  Hauling Michelle, newly diapered, Susannah squinted and checked the peephole to discover a disgruntled Nate on the other side.

  “Nate,” she said in surprise as she opened the door. She couldn’t even guess what he wanted. And she wasn’t too keen about letting him into her apartment at this hour.

  He stood just inside the condo, barefoot and dressed in a red plaid housecoat. His hair was mussed, which made Susannah wonder about her own disheveled appearance. She suspected she looked like someone who’d walked out of a swamp.