Sandra Hill - [Vikings II 02]

by Madly Viking Truly

  The kid just shook his head, speechless.

  Joe dropped him unceremoniously to his feet.

  “Apologize at once,” Maggie told Joe in an undertone, “or else we’re going to have police here, arresting you for assault.”

  “Assault? That was no assault.” He blinked at her in incomprehension. “An assault would be a blood eagle to his back, or sword dew spilled. This youthling is unharmed.” He turned his attention back to said youthling. “Is that not true?”

  Orvis nodded his head like a dashboard doll.

  Joe reached out a hand then and shook Orvis’s hand vigorously. “I am Jorund Ericsson. How do you do?”

  Orvis shook his hand back, but under his breath Maggie heard him mutter, “Holy shit!”

  Joe glared at the ogling shoppers who still stood about, till they finally slunk away, figuring he might start on them next. Then he turned his gaze to the storefront. “Ah! A body-piercing market stall. Mayhap I should have one of my body parts pierced, too.”

  Maggie inhaled sharply, and the air went down the wrong tube. She began to cough uncontrollably.

  Joe just blathered on: “I can think of one body part that deserves particular homage after all of last night’s bedsport. What think you of—”

  “No!” He barely had time to gather up the shopping bags before she grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the store and down the unique street, with its high curbs and overhanging canopies. Horse-drawn carriages passed by slowly, contributing to the Victorian ambience of the place. A Viking in Dickens’s world, she thought with a shake of her head. But actually, anything went on the Strand. Even the occasional oddball shops, selling body piercing, kites, and army surplus gear, somehow seemed to fit in with those carrying fine antiques, gourmet chocolates, imported cigars, and designer clothing.

  “I was jesting, Mag-he. Dost really think I would mar such perfection? Or sustain such pain for the sake of vanity?” He winced and pretended to cross his legs.

  Where had this playfulness and sense of humor come from? Joe had been such a grim fellow when she’d first met him. Hmmm. Maybe she was a good influence on him. But she couldn’t let his outlandish statement stand. “Perfection, huh? A little full of yourself today, aren’t you?”

  “With good cause, m’lady,” he bragged, pointing out, “You would know that best of all.”

  Maggie couldn’t stop her face from heating with embarrassment.

  “Mayhap I should get a tattoo, then,” Joe offered, stopping in his tracks and resisting her efforts to move him along the sidewalk.

  “No!”

  “I could purchase a tattoo of a killer whale,” he suggested. “Mayhap that would be a good thing to do, Mag-he, like an offering to the gods to appease their wrath.”

  “The gods of orcas?” she inquired with raised eyebrows.

  He shrugged. “’Twould appear anything is possible.” His forehead creased with thought. “Yea, I could put a drawing of a whale on my arse. Thora has a fondness for my arse, you know.”

  “You are impossible,” she said with a laugh, shoving him into the Old Strand Emporium, where they soon ordered deli sandwiches and mugs of draft beer. From the back could be heard a cacophony of musical sounds coming from the Wurlitzer Band Organ, player pianos, and old-time banjo-player jukeboxes.

  “Mayhap I will buy one of those music machines for Sue-zee for Christmas,” Joe suggested as he took a long swallow of beer.

  “Are you crazy?” she asked, then immediately ducked her head with shame. What a question for a psychologist to be asking…especially of a former patient. “I mean…do you know how much those jukeboxes cost? At least five thousand dollars.”

  He pulled out a wad of bills from his back pocket and laid them out on the table. “Don’t I have five thousand dollars?” Joe hadn’t yet mastered the currency system.

  She motioned for him to put the money away before the bug-eyed diners at the other tables decided to help themselves. “Joe, you have sixty thousand dollars left. That’s not the issue. You can’t be buying such expensive gifts for people.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you already bought a laptop computer for Beth and a pricey video-game system with a dozen cartridges for Suzy, both against my protests.”

  “You wouldn’t let me buy that word-shert that proclaimed, I Love Cats. They Taste Just Like Chicken.”

  “Get real,” she commented. “Rita would never forgive me.”

  He raised his chin stubbornly. “Viking people love to give gifts, and to receive them, too.” He was back to the subject of expensive gifts. “Why is it wrong to purchase items that might please someone?”

  “Because sometimes your generosity goes too far.”

  “Mag-he,” he said with a long sigh, “generosity is when a person gives something till it hurts. Spending a few thousand dollars on people I care about is not going to affect me at all. Furthermore—I do not care how much you resist—I intend to buy gifts for Steve, Hair-vee, Chuck, Fur-red, Rosalyn, Not-a-lie, and Norse Hatch-her, as well.”

  Maggie put her face in her hands. The man just would not listen to her. The hospital gave Christmas gifts—small items, to be sure—to all its patients. It wasn’t a good idea to get too personal with the patients.

  Or was it?

  Maggie had seen on more than one occasion how Joe’s relationship with the therapy group, even though he was no longer a patient, had helped everyone. Treating them as friends, rather than sick people, had raised their self-esteem, and jump-started some real mental-health progress.

  “Okay,” she agreed, “but we have to work together on this. You’re not going to go off the deep end buying extravagant presents.”

  “Who? Me?” he asked. Then, out of the clear blue sky, he commented, “I am picturing you naked right now. Do you like that?”

  The man had a one-track mind. And frankly, she did like it. A lot. But she couldn’t tell him that.

  He winked at her. Oh, my. Could he read her mind now? Then he stretched his long legs out, crossing them at the ankles. The whole time he sipped at his beer, which he continued to refer to as mead.

  A lot of men and women in the restaurant took note of Joe with surreptitious glances his way, even a gray-haired lady with a sweatshirt saying, Forget Youth. How about a Fountain of Smart? And it was no wonder. He stood out in any crowd with his height, good looks, and the proud way he carried himself. Today he was dressed in a long-sleeved plaid shirt tucked into jeans. On his big feet he wore the same athletic shoes he’d been given at the hospital. His long blond hair was bound into a queue with a rubber band. But it wouldn’t matter how he was dressed. Joe would draw stares even if he wore rags.

  “Well, we could buy Natalie a Patsy Cline greatest-hits CD.”

  Joe nodded. He was familiar with CDs, since Suzy and Beth often forced him to listen to their music, especially Ricky Martin, for whom Joe had developed a particular aversion. And he had to recognize the name of Patsy Cline, because Natalie was always belting out her tunes.

  “Maybe we could buy Suzy another Ricky Martin CD. Perhaps there’s one she doesn’t have.”

  “I want to go back to that military surplus store and purchase that Navy SEALs jacket for Steve.”

  Maggie bit her tongue to stop herself from pointing out that it was a hundred dollars…too much for a friendly gift, especially since he’d already bought a baseball card of Steve’s at a memorabilia store earlier today for a whopping fifty dollars, and it wasn’t even in mint condition.

  “Ooh, I thought of something else. We should buy one of those hats we saw in the cow-man store for Dock-whore Sea-bold.”

  Maggie smiled. “You mean the cowboy store?”

  “Is that not what I said?” Sometimes Joe got exasperated when she corrected his language mistakes. “We should buy him one of those big-ass black hats we saw in the window…that’s a word Steve taught me, by the by. With a hat like that, Dock-whore Hairy wouldn’t have to worry about his hair drape blowin
g in the wind.”

  “The Stetson?”

  “Yea, that’s the one. The stepson.”

  Oh, good Lord. What would Harry think of such a gift? Then she giggled, trying to picture her boss in the big-ass thing. Though cowboy hats were not uncommon on a Texas man—or woman—she had a hard time picturing Harry, noted psychiatrist, wearing a cowboy hat. But then, his hair comb-over was out of character, too.

  A mischievous grin appeared on Joe’s face then. “And I have thought of the perfect gift for Glad-ass Hatch-her,” he announced. “A whip.”

  “That’s not funny,” she said. But it was, kind of. Once again Maggie was surprised by Joe’s sense of humor. Maybe he was beginning to put his guilt over his children’s death behind him.

  “On the other hand, mayhap we will give Glad-ass some scented skin creams to soften her up.”

  Yep, he was developing a super sense of humor.

  They discussed what to buy for the other members of his group, then went out to make their purchases. In addition, there were a few more impulse buys, like the kaleidoscope that Joe just had to buy for Suzy. Maggie would have thought the Viking man was a little boy as he oohed and aahed over all the objects in the kaleidoscope store, finally settling on a brass-plated scope of fine quality. He’d also found a cuddly stuffed Keiko to add to Beth’s collection. And he’d picked out colorful kites for both of them.

  This was going to be some spectacular Christmas for her daughters. While Maggie wasn’t stingy, she had never gone overboard with Christmas gifts, not wanting her daughters to become spoiled, or to take away from the true meaning of the season. She didn’t think it would matter if this year was a little excessive, though. Besides, it might be the only Christmas they had with Joe, and she couldn’t begrudge his making it memorable for them.

  It was late afternoon, and each of them were carrying two shopping bags, when Joe said, “Do you know what I really want?”

  “A Big Mac and french fries.”

  He made a tsking noise at her. “No, I want to go home.”

  Maggie closed her eyes for a brief second, savoring the sound of home on his tongue. She suspected what he had in mind, and suddenly even the slight abrasion of her light clothing was like an erotic caress. “Your wish is my command, oh Viking leader.”

  He gave her a look that translated to, Since when?

  They had almost reached her car when he remarked, “Do you know what I want when we get home?”

  The sultry lowering of his eyelids and the husky tone of his voice were certainly big clues. She felt her breasts peak and begin to ache. The man was turning her into a world-class bimbo. “Surprise, surprise!” she responded in a choked voice. Am I really up to another marathon of sex? she questioned, then immediately replied: Absolutely.

  “Not that, Mag-he,” he corrected. “I mean, of course I want to make love after this long day of deprivation.” He flashed her a slow grin, then added, “Nay, it is something else I yearn for, and have ne’er done afore.”

  Uh-oh! Maggie couldn’t imagine anything sensual Joe hadn’t done, and that smoky look in his gray eyes certainly bespoke sex with a capital S. The ache in her breasts dropped lower. She waited for him to continue.

  “A bubble bath.”

  It was Sunday night, Christmas Eve, and they were attending the choir recital in the church.

  Maggie was wearing a new white silk pantsuit, trimmed with gold cording, over a glittery gold lamé shell, just right for the season. There was something about Christmas that called for a new outfit, or a special outfit pulled out only at this time each year to fit the occasion.

  Tears filled her eyes as she watched her daughters in small gold choir robes, with wreaths of holly in their hair, singing in harmony with their peers. “Silent Night.” “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing.” “Oh, Holy Night.” “It Came upon a Mid-night Clear.” “The First Noel.” But actually, tears seemed to be the norm for Maggie the past few days as one poignant event after another took place.

  Since Christmas fell on a Monday this year, they’d held the Christmas party at the hospital this afternoon, even though many staff members were off on Sunday and outpatients were not usually on the premises. The clinic’s standardized gifts were doled out—chocolate Santas and rainbow plaques with motivational poems on them. Then Joe and Maggie distributed their individualized gifts, as well.

  All of the patients from their group seemed stunned by the particular care taken in choosing their presents, but Steve…oh, the moment when Steve opened the gift wrap revealing his baseball card…well, Maggie would never forget it. And neither would anyone else who had been there. Steve had been overcome that Joe—and everyone knew, without being told, that Joe was at the bottom of these special gifts—cared enough about him to buy that particular memento. In the end, he had just stared at him hopelessly and said, “Oh, man. Oh, man. You’re gonna force me to straighten out, aren’t you?” He’d liked the SEALs jacket, too, and made a big deal of putting it on for everyone to see how it fit, but it was the card that had hit home hardest.

  How had Joe known it would mean so much to his friend? She never would have thought of it herself.

  The refreshments included homemade Christmas cookies made by the staff and sickeningly sweet cherry punch, which they enjoyed while watching tapes of all the Christmas episodes on the afternoon soap operas. It turned out that some of the nurses and attendants were hooked on the soaps, too. When the different shows brought out flashbacks to Christmas past as far back as twenty years ago, there were tears in some of the eyes watching.

  After that, Joe had put Maggie in a most awkward position. He’d invited everyone to attend the church choir recital tonight. Since it was open to the public, Maggie couldn’t very well object.

  He was sitting beside her now in a blue oxford shirt, khaki pants, a navy blazer, and cowboy boots…yes, cowboy boots, of all things. They had been a gift from Steve, who had shown up at their house unexpectedly just before they’d left for the church. The boots had touched Joe almost as much as Joe’s gift had touched Steve earlier that day. And he didn’t even seem to mind that they pinched his toes and made him wobble a bit when he walked. “I’m a true Texan now,” he’d boasted.

  “The Lone Star Viking?” she’d quipped.

  “Aw, shucks, darlin’,” Joe had drawled in response.

  Sitting on her other side were Harry and Martie. Harry’s new hat, which he appeared to love, was sitting on the bench between them. Harry claimed that he would have to wear the hat, since it had been given to him by a former patient, but she could tell that he was delighted every time he plopped the thing on his head.

  On Joe’s other side was Steve Askey in a conservative gray suit and tie, with cowboy boots. He was staring with serious concentration at the altar where the choir was singing, as if the music was filling some important void in his life. But perhaps it was just being back in a church after so many years.

  Natalie Blue was there with her parents, dressed in her usual cowgirl attire, but this time it was an outfit in the seasonal colors of red and green, with glittery tinsel taking the place of fringe. Her parents had wished Maggie a merry Christmas before the recital began, and whispered a quick thank-you in an aside for all of their daughter’s recent progress. It was a sign of Natalie’s improvement that she was even able to sit in a crowded church. Maggie hadn’t said anything at the time, but she’d really thought it was Joe they should be thanking.

  Chuck Belammy was looking very normal tonight in a Polo shirt and blue chinos, though his gaze kept drifting back to the Nativity scene. Maggie thought she heard an intermittent “baa-baa” come from his direction, though he kept it very low.

  Harvey Lutz was straining his neck this way and that, obviously counting the stained-glass windows. He didn’t count aloud, but his lips were moving.

  Fred Bernstein came dressed as Santa, so for once he blended in with everyone else. The audience probably thought he’d just gotten off work at the mall. Sitting n
ext to Fred was Gladys Hatcher, dressed in a bright flame-colored dress with a reindeer appliquéd on the front. There must have been a battery under the bodice, because every couple of seconds the reindeers nose blinked bright red.

  The biggest surprise was Rosalyn Harris, who’d arrived late in a burgundy sheath dress. Her hair was still pulled back straight off her face into a spinsterish bun, she wore no makeup, and the dress was not immodest by any means…high-necked, long-sleeved, and calf-length. But holy cow! Who knew she had such a wonderful figure? She was tall, svelte, and curved in just the right places. More than one male head turned in her direction during the recital, and not just those who knew of her sexual desires.

  Christmas had always been a special time to Maggie. This year every little nuance and tradition and smell and sound seemed to resonate inside her soul. She was creating memories…memories that she feared would have to last her a lifetime.

  Jorund surveyed the little church, took a deep whiff of the pungent scents of evergreen boughs and bayberry candles, flexed his fingers where they were twined with Mag-he’s, and sighed. My mother would be so proud of me, he thought ruefully. All those years she’d tried to preach her Christian dogmas, while he went hither and yon, practicing his warrior skills. Oh, he, his father, his brothers, and his sister had all been baptized in the Christian rites to satisfy her wishes, but it was only a token action. They still practiced the old Norse religions, as well. But tonight, as the sounds of the Christian music flowed in his ears, Jorund felt a sense of peace with the One-God…as if finally he were forgiven—that with the birth of the Christ child, he could be reborn, too. It was a heady thought.

  “I’m glad I came,” he whispered in Mag-he’s ear. She smelled of some light floral scent—lilacs again, perhaps—and of her own distinctive woman essence.

  “Me, too,” she said and squeezed his hand.

  There were tears in her eyes, and Jorund knew they were tears of pride for Sue-zee and Beth, who were performing at the church altar. It was one of the things he admired most about Mag-he—the ferocious devotion she showed her daughters. If he ever had children again, he would accept no less in a wife.