“Jeez, Aunt Li—” Davey began.
Travis backhanded him in the stomach. “She’s Mom!” Then he frowned at Liza. “But you don’t have to act like her. I like it better when you’re nice.”
“If you will be nice,” she said, “I will be nice. Now, go to that tree where Jeff is and offer to help.”
Jeff trimmed the bottom boughs off several of the shaggy white pines with their long, slender cones, and each bough was carefully carried back to the truck bed by Travis and Davey, who eventually fell into the routine.
“We could let them stack up,” Jeff said, wielding the saw, “but this keeps them busy.”
“Precisely.” Liza took the branch he handed her and passed it on to Davey, who had run to her from the truck, eager for his next delivery. “The little savages.”
“What are we going to use these for?”
“To decorate the table and to toss around the kitchen to make it look even more festive.” She took a deep whiff of the air. “And it smells so wonderful. It’s too bad we don’t have smell-o-rama or something on television.”
He laughed and sawed off another branch. “Your kitchen would draw every viewer—and nose—across the country. But I guess you manage to do that even without the aroma.”
“Well. I was just lucky,” she said modestly but honestly. “I had the right combination of things at the right time.” Namely, her ability to write and her sister’s expertise in the kitchen.
“Well, that’s the American way. Find a need and fill it and become a happy capitalist.”
Liza waved her cedar bough. “Power to the people.” Travis appeared and relieved her of the bough, running to the truck with it.
“Tell me when we have enough.” He moved on to the next tree. “I don’t want to denude the woods.”
“Oh, they’re Bill’s woods. Doctors get accustomed to nakedness.” She dismissed that danger with a wave of her hand, then realized that his eyes were on her.
They went quickly back to his work, but not before she’d read the hot expression in them. He’d imagined her…denuded! She felt both excitement and alarm. His interest in her had taken a step forward. A giant step.
He’d shed his jacket, and she watched his shoulders move under the thick sweater he wore and saw an image behind her eyes of that back naked. She saw muscles stretch and ripple and imagined the narrowing line of his torso to his waist.
She closed her eyes to erase the image before it could go any further.
When she opened them again, Jeff was facing her, a pine bough held out. And she knew instantly that he knew why she’d closed her eyes.
Then something seemed to snap shut in him. She swore she almost heard the sound.
“Okay, guys,” he said briskly as the boys returned. “Show me where the holly is.”
Travis pointed back toward the house. “It’s about halfway back.”
They piled into the truck, and Jeff suggested Liza wait in it while he and the boys collected the holly. “How much do you want?” The question was polite but completely without animation.
“Enough to fill two pots,” she said, and showed him the width of the openings with her hands. “About this big.”
“All right.” He closed the door on her and headed off for the little cluster of glossy, red-berried holly trees.
The boys followed, talking nonstop while they worked.
Liza watched them, Jeff’s concentration singular and suddenly brick jawed. He smiled at the boys and sent them back to the truck with small armloads of the prickly green, but didn’t look once in Liza’s direction.
She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or upset by his behavior. That little exchange about denuded trees had become something more without either of them intending it, and he seemed to be treating it like a danger signal.
She accepted that as a sign of an honorable man, and felt absolutely certain she was falling in love with Jeffrey James after less than twenty-four hours in his company. That seemed impossible, yet it was happening to her.
The question was, what could she do to cultivate that love in him when he had to continue to believe—at least for another day and a half—that she was a married woman?
Then it came to her. Nothing. She didn’t have to do anything. He was forced to remain until the show was over. And the moment it was over, she could tell him the truth.
The problem would take care of itself.
She realized that might be a little optimistic, but it was Christmas. It was hard to be otherwise.
At least, it was until she and Jeff and the boys walked into the kitchen to find Sherrie screaming at Bill.
“That may be fine with you, but I didn’t sign on to slave like a donkey while everyone else gets to have a high old time, morning, noon and night!” She slapped a tea towel on the counter with a vicious whap. “I’m just trying to make enough money to be independent of anyone else! All I ask is that my feelings be respected!”
Sure the entire scheme was seconds away from revelation, Liza cleared her throat.
Unfortunately Bill chose that moment to shout back. “You want your feelings respected while you stomp all over everyone else’s?”
“And how did I do that?”
“Which time?” Bill demanded.
To Liza’s horror, Whittier appeared in the doorway from the dining room.
“I have done nothing,” Sherrie shrieked, “but cater to everyone’s—”
Liza wasn’t sure what did it, but something distracted Sherrie and she turned in the direction of the back door. At the sight of Liza, Jeff and her boys staring at her, she stiffened, her eyes widening with horror.
Liza watched Bill square his shoulders and step back into character—and take advantage of the moment. “Sherrie,” he said with the calm authority one might use on an employee, “if Liza didn’t value your skill so completely, and need your help so much right now, I’d tell you to find employment elsewhere. But you know we need you, so I suggest you store your grievances until after the show when we’ll all have more time and patience to deal with them.”
He nodded in the direction of their small audience. “Excuse me.” He snatched a parka off the peg near the back door and went out into the snow.
The boys ran to Sherrie. “Mo—” Travis began, then stopped himself. “Aunt Sherrie,” he said, putting his arms around her. “Are you okay?”
Sherrie took them into her arms and kissed each head. Tears had accompanied her outburst and she sniffed, tossing her hair back. “I’m fine. Did you and Jeff and your mom have fun collecting greens?”
“Yeah,” Davey said. “But why was…why was Dad yelling at you?”
“Oh.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Your dad and I fight all the time. We probably always will. Why don’t you find something to do while I get lunch ready?”
“But…” Travis began to protest.
“Come on, guys.” Jeff beckoned them toward him as he opened the back door again. “We’ll get started on a snowman.”
Davey ran off instantly, but Travis followed only after a concerned look back at his mother.
She shooed him away with a smile.
Whittier turned back in the direction of the living room, deciding, apparently, that Sherrie and Liza needed privacy.
The moment he was out of earshot, Sherrie went to the table and sat with her face in her hands. Liza sat beside her, rubbing gently across her shoulders.
“What happened?” Liza asked.
Sherrie dropped her hands to the table, her jaw set but her eyes miserable. “All I did was ask him about last night and he got all huffy.”
“How did you ask?”
Sherrie obviously took offense to the question. “What do you mean, how? I said I thought he owed me an explanation.”
“I had already explained to you.”
“Yes, but he hadn’t.” Sherrie folded her arms stubbornly. “And even after he saw that I was upset, he didn’t even bother to try. He just said
that the two of you were playing the roles of a married couple, and he was finding it more appealing than he’d thought he would.”
“Sherrie.” Liza groaned impatiently. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? You’re not giving him what he wants by admitting that you love him, so he won’t give you what you want by admitting that nothing’s going on behind that closed bedroom door.”
“Well, he can just go to hell.” Sherrie stomped off.
Liza watched her go, thinking that it was entirely possible hell was coming to them.
Chapter Seven
Jeff gave serious thought to leaving the house on the pretext of a late-afternoon walk, and not coming back. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the comfortable home and its volatile people—but that he did.
He’d never felt about a woman the way he felt about Liza De Lane. Even women he’d slept with. Even Sylvia.
Need for Liza was burning a hole in his gut. It was clouding his brain, clogging his thoughts, stealing his air, occupying every waking moment of his time— and many sleeping moments.
His only physical contact with her had been while she was wearing a heavy coat, and then last night when she’d worn flannel pajamas and a robe. Those could hardly be considered erotic moments. And other than that, all they’d done was talk, drive, walk, carry cedar boughs out of the truck to the back door.
Last night he’d blamed his reaction to her on several months of celibacy caused by his kidnap. Someone else might suggest that there was a certain appeal in her unavailability, but he refused to believe that. Her married status didn’t tantalize him, it tortured him.
Whatever the reason, he was going mad with wanting her. And he didn’t just want her body, he wanted every sweet, hospitable, funny, kind, illogical inch of her.
But there was Bill.
He seemed like a loving husband and a devoted father, but something was going on between him and Sherrie that seemed too incendiary to be insignificant. Jeff felt reasonably sure that the argument they’d been having that morning had had less to do with employment than Bill had tried to make them believe.
Liza didn’t seem to see that, however, or if she did, she didn’t seem to care—and he found that difficult to believe.
No. There was some undefinable undercurrent moving in this idyllic home. And judging by the bubbling on the surface that morning, it was all about to explode. If it was going to mean Liza’s freedom, he wanted to be there to catch her—and the boys.
The boys. He liked them. They were lively and bright and basically sweet hearted. That morning when they were giving Liza a hard time, they were, just reacting to the rush of freedom such a pristine day encouraged. But they were the element that made an easy equation impossible.
If it was all going to fall apart between Bill and Liza, Jeff wanted to take Liza away. But the boys had a genuine and visible affection for their father, and Bill’s eyes betrayed love for them and Betsy. So how could he separate father and children?
The only alternative was separating mother and children, and he knew that couldn’t happen. Liza wasn’t much of a disciplinarian, but he could see how much she loved the boys and Betsy.
So a third alternative had been presenting itself, and he didn’t like it. Bill and Liza had to figure out how they’d allowed Sherrie to get between them, and repair the situation.
But where did that leave Jeff?
Held hostage again, he realized. Only this time to his love for a remarkable woman.
So the invitation to a community dance being held that evening in a church hall was not particularly welcome news—to anyone.
The mayor of Rockbury, who also happened to be the pastor of the church hosting the dance, came in person to extend the invitation. He was a rotund little man in a gray overcoat with a sprig of mistletoe on his collar.
“Wonderful!” Whittier said with enthusiasm.
“And we’d be honored,” the mayor said, after Bill had introduced him to Jeff and Whittier, “if you’d all come and join us. And you, Mr. James. You represent for us what the first Christmas was all about—lives rescued from bondage by the courage and generosity of one man.”
Jeff put a hand to his heart. “Please, sir. Don’t compare me to Jesus Christ.”
The mayor smiled and clapped his shoulder. “We’re all called to be like Him, son,” he said. “And we all know how hard it is, so when one of us does a remarkable job of it, it’s time to celebrate. So, you’ll all come?”
Bill turned to Liza. She looked pale. “You can all go ahead,” she said. “I can’t leave the children.”
Dora stepped forward. “I’ll look after them.”
“But Betsy…”
“Is very happy when I put on that Baby Faces video and give her a handful of raisins. Please. Go.”
Liza turned to the minister, obviously trying to create another excuse.
“Good,” he said firmly. “Then we’ll see you there. It’s a potluck. Please bring whatever that is that makes the house smell so wonderful.”
“I can’t go,” Sherrie said the moment the door closed behind the man. She strode purposefully toward the kitchen. “I have too much to prepare for tomorrow. And I still have to finish getting dinner…
“You’ll be fresher,” Whittier cajoled, obviously anxious to take in the dance, “if you have a break. Besides, Liza’s going to do all the work tomorrow, so you can finally relax a little, can’t you? And the mayor said it’s a potluck, so you won’t have to worry about dinner tonight.”
Sherrie swept a hand toward the boys. “The children still have to eat, Mr. Whittier.”
“All right!” Travis said. “We can finally have those dinner-in-a-box things we bought that come with grape soda and chocolate chip pudding!”
Liza remembered that she and Sherrie had bought those to keep the boys happy during long days of food preparation. They had the fat content of a pound of butter, but Travis and Davey were thrilled with all the individual packets of bun, meat, cheese and dressing and the ability to put it all together themselves.
“Please! Please!” Davey joined his hands prayerfully and approached Sherrie. “Please go. If you do, Dora will let us stay up and watch whatever we want Did you know she likes wrestling?”
Travis gave his brother a shove and a scolding look. “Some wheeler-dealer you are.” Then he turned to Sherrie and said gravely, “If you go, we promise to watch only educational television, do some homework so we don’t forget all about school over Christmas vacation and go to bed without complaint at nine-thirty.”
Sherrie put a hand to her eyes. “I think that’s a deal you should probably be making with your mother.”
Travis was silent for an instant, then he cleared his throat. “Right,” he said, and moved to face Liza. “What do you think, Mom? We’ll watch the Discovery Channel.”
She studied him with a grudging smile. “Really. And what’s on the Discovery Channel tonight?”
He got the schedule from the coffee table and ran his finger down the grid until he located the channel.
“Um…sexual habits of the—”
“You know what?” Liza hugged the boys to her. “You can watch wrestling. You’re supposed to be on vacation from education, anyway.”
“Cool, Mom.”
“That’s me.”
SHERRIE WRAPPED UP the chicken pie—whose aroma the mayor had admired—and she and Jeff and Whittier piled into the back of Bill’s Mercedes. Liza pulled down her sun visor and smiled at them through the makeup mirror.
“Everyone comfortable back there?”
Jeff forced himself to return her smile. He was sandwiched in between Whittier and Sherrie, who held the hot pie in its glass pan like a weapon to be used against anyone who got too close.
Whittier talked nonstop about doing the jitterbug as a young man when dancing involved body contact. “Those were the days,” he said dreamily, “when you could hold a woman in your arms on the dance floor, and know by how she felt against you if this was someth
ing that could last a lifetime.”
For Jeff, who’d spent most of the day suppressing a fiery longing and the memory of Liza in his arms, the man’s reminiscences were like being worked over in a dungeon.
Liza looked over her shoulder to take exception to Whittier’s statement, though she did it with a smile.
“That sounds pretty fifties, Mr. Whittier,” she challenged. “You can’t judge your compatibility with a woman for a lifetime by how she feels. You have to know what she thinks. What she believes.”
“I didn’t mean just the physical aspect of touching,” Whittier amended. “I meant that a man can tell a lot by how a woman reacts to being touched. You know what I mean, Jeff?”
Of course he did—he just didn’t want to go into it. But Liza and Whittier were watching him for an answer.
“I do,” he said.
“Well, you explain it,” Whittier said. “I have trouble with putting feelings into words. That’s why I’m a publisher and not a writer.”
“I’m an engineer,” Jeff reminded him. “We measure things in fractions of fractions. Feelings defy that kind of close analysis.”
“I disagree with that,” Sherrie said.
Everyone looked in her direction, including Bill, who glanced at her in the rearview mirror. Then he turned off the quiet road onto a slightly busier thoroughfare. Welcome To Rockbury a sign said. Population 732.
“I think a woman measures a man’s feelings for her every day,” she said a little stiffly. “She even learns to gauge it against what kind of day he’s had, how she feels, what’s gone on in their lives to affect behavior.” She sighed, the stiffening suddenly going out of her. She looked a little surprised and even embarrassed to find herself talking. “Anyway…we try to measure feelings all the time. I guess whether we do it correctly or not is another story.” Then she turned to Jeff, her eyes quiet and just a little sad. “So I think an engineer can discuss feelings just like anyone else. What is it that a man can tell about a woman when he holds her in his arms?”
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