by Nalini Singh
Sheila nodded, tilted her head. “And how many signs did you have about your hometown yesterday?” she asked.
“Six.”
“Right. Including the billboard for the school play, To Oz We Go.”
“Oz We Go, Oswego. Come on, Aunt Sheila, it’s almost blatant.”
Sheila nodded. “You need to spend this Christmas at home.”
“I don’t know that I need to. And I don’t want to leave you—but I feel like something…I don’t know, wants me to.”
“Which is why I called the Realtor.”
“You did?”
Sheila nodded, and wheeled across the kitchen, toward the office door, with a quick glance back at Will, the new short-order cook. He met her eyes and there was…something.
Holly lifted her brows. “Was that—?”
“Office, Holly,” Sheila said. She’d opened the door, and held it now, waiting. So Holly obediently went inside.
“The old place is empty,” Sheila told her. “It’s in rough shape, being that it’s been empty for twelve years, but it’s habitable, barely. If you want to go up there for a day or two over the holiday, I think you should. You haven’t been back since the accident. Maybe…maybe it’s time.”
“But you’d be alone for Christmas. And we always do Christmas together. For Mom, you know. And—”
“We can do it up separately just as well. And I won’t be alone.” She said it with a meaningful glance at the doorway, which was still open. Will was whistling as he flipped flapjacks and smiled at her in a certain way.
Holly blinked and shot her aunt a look.
“Hell, I have MS. I’m not dead.”
Holly smiled from ear to ear. Her aunt really did embrace life, in every possible way. She loved that about her. It reminded her of the way Mom had been. The way she was herself. It must run in the female line.
“I could take part of the decorations up with me,” Holly said, mulling it over as she thought it through. “It would be kind of cool to decorate the old house like Mom used to. Even if it is in rough shape.”
“I think she’d like that. The power will be turned on, a fresh tank of LP gas hooked up when you arrive. Key in the mailbox.”
“You—you really did talk to the Realtor, didn’t you?”
“I think you have to do this, Holly. You haven’t been back there since you lost them. And your eyes are lighting up just thinking about it,” Sheila said with a smile. “You’ve been taking care of me, taking care of everyone around here, ever since you came here, Holly. It’s time to do something for yourself, even if it’s only for a couple of days. Give yourself a present this Christmas. Okay?”
Holly heard the rumble of a motor and glanced up and through the window, just in time to see a bus go past. Plastered to its side was an ad for the State University of New York at Oswego. She smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t think the universe is going to take no for an answer. My hometown seems to be calling me. Guess I’ve got no choice.”
Present Day, Detroit, Michigan
“Yes, I do have to go now,” Matthew told his sister. “Yes, Cindy, I know it’s Christmas week. But this is business.”
She sounded heartbroken, but honest to God, if he had to sit through one more warm, cozy, family dinner at her house with her idyllic life and her doting husband and her chubby babies, he was going to swallow a stick of dynamite and a lighter and hope for the best.
“Honey, you know how I feel about the holidays. I know they’re important to you, but ‘to you’ is the operative part of that sentence. This place is a bargain. I can’t miss out, and if I buy it this week, when every other person in the market is taking the holidays off, I’ll have the kind of edge you never get in real estate.”
Spice that up with the phony-baloney goodwill of the season, and the Realtor likely wanting one more fat commission check before the end of the calendar year (to cover her holiday overspending, most likely), and he had it made.
People were idiots this time of year. He was smart enough to take advantage of that.
“Yes, Cindy, I’m flying. Right away? Well, yeah, seeing as how I’m calling you from the airport, I would say it’s pretty much imminent. Yep, I’m renting a car when I arrive in Syracuse and driving up from there. And yes, we’ll celebrate when I get back, I promise. There’s no reason in the world I shouldn’t be back in time for Christmas dinner. My flight leaves Christmas Eve, three p.m.” He almost grimaced at the thought, but tried to make the words sound sincere all the same. “Have a great week, hon. I’ll call you in a day or two.”
He flipped the phone closed, cutting her off before she could dole out any more helpings of guilt, then slipped it back into his belt clip, and dragged his roller bag over toward the concourse, where the flight had just begun boarding.
As he got into his seat, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and told himself he really would do his best to get back to Cindy’s in time for Christmas. Cindy needed Christmas.
And that thought brought to mind the other. The one from long ago, his first Christmas without his dad. And his mom’s tearful explanation about how she’d gone to the secondhand clothing store and tried to find the hat, but that it was already gone. And the proprietor not only didn’t remember who had bought it, he didn’t even remember ever having seen it.
The hat was beyond recovering.
Just like his dad. Just like his childhood after that. Just like everything eventually was. Gone.
Just went to show what getting too attached would do for you. Things are fleeting. Here and gone again. There’s no point getting too used to anything.
And holidays, he added mentally, are just plain stupid.
The wind blew the hat until it came to rest outside a truck stop just a few blocks from the dead man’s house. And there it waited. Eventually, a long-distance driver came out of the establishment, burping in a very satisfied way and carrying a clipboard, a set of keys, and a travel mug full of Joe, piping hot and twice as strong.
He walked toward his rig, and almost tripped over the hat on his way. Then he paused and looked down at it, tipped his head to one side, and shrugging, bent to pick it up. It wasn’t a bad hat. Nothing he’d wear, but the thing had character. He didn’t really want it. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to take the thing, but take it he did. He set it on top of the CB radio inside the truck, and let it ride there as he headed for his next stop in New York’s southern tier. It was almost like having a friend along.
Three
ALL WEEK LONG SHE’D BEEN SEEING SIGNS, TELLING HER TO go home. And now that she’d arrived, she wondered why.
The house was not what she remembered. Of course, it hadn’t been painted or maintained in twelve years. It showed the signs of neglect, too. There were a few shingles missing from the roof. One shutter had come loose and hung by its bottom bolts while the top of it veered out to the side as if threatening to jump. The white paint was peeling and chipped.
A car horn blasted, and Holly damn near jumped out of her seat, glancing reflexively into the rearview mirror. She saw a dark-colored sports car behind her, and even before she managed to put her own sunshine yellow VW Bug into gear to move out of the way, the hot little black car was pulling out and around her. It roared past, its windows too tinted to let her see the impatient jerk who was behind the wheel.
Licking her lips, she gently corrected her thoughts. For all she knew, the driver might have been late to pick up his little girl from some event, or maybe he was rushing a sick relative to the hospital. He could have a very good reason for his impatience, and she shouldn’t judge.
She let the tense feeling run off her shoulders like water off a raincoat, and eased her Bug into the worn dirt driveway. It used to be pretty solid and bare. Now, grass and weeds had come up, and they brushed the underside of her car as she drove over them.
She brought the car to a stop and got out, then stood there for a moment as memories tried to sweep in. She could hear childish laughter—her own, and
her baby sister’s—drifting in from a long forgotten past. She could almost see them, bundled in snowsuits to the point where Holly could barely bend and little Noelle looked like the pink version of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Her cheeks, cherry red, her nose and mouth covered by a scarf with snowmen all over it. She was walking, but only just, and holding Holly’s hand, both of them in mittens as they tromped through the snow toward the place where they’d left the sled the day before.
She sighed and stared up at the two-story house. It was an ordinary frame house, nothing fancy, no real style or design to it. It was over a century old, drafty, poorly insulated, and probably needed a new roof and wiring and furnace and God only knew what else. It hadn’t been in great shape when she’d lived in it as a child. She remembered her dad calling it a fixer-upper.
“Why do you want me here?” she asked the house, or maybe she was asking her mom. She wasn’t sure. “What’s the point?”
There was a roar, and then a horn. She didn’t jump this time, just turned slowly to look toward the road where that same black sports car had returned, and sat there, growling like an agitated panther. Its tinted window slid slowly down, and she saw a man’s face, hidden behind dark sunglasses.
Something wafted from him—a feeling—almost like a breeze filled with tiny electric sparks.
She lifted her brows. “You again?” she asked
He frowned, glanced at her car, and then back at her. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was in a hurry.”
“Didn’t do you much good, though, did it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, wherever you were in such a hurry to go, you’re still not there.”
He tipped his head slightly to one side, reached up to pull off his sunglasses, as if it would help him to interpret her foreign language if he could see her better.
“You should slow down. Learn to enjoy the journey. You never really get where you’re going, anyway.”
“Uh—well, where I’m going is the Best Western. And I sure as hell hope I’m going to get there.”
She nodded, and thought he was only pretending not to get her deeper meaning. He looked intelligent enough. Dark hair, nice face. Deep chocolate eyes that made her tummy tighten up if she looked directly into them. And his mouth—well, she just wasn’t going to look at that anymore at all. There was something way too sensual about those lips.
“I haven’t been back here in twelve years,” she said, “but unless they’ve moved it, you’re pretty close.” She pointed. “Back the way you came, five miles, then take a right at the light. You won’t see it till you get around the big bend in the road.”
He nodded. “Thanks.” He slid his glasses back on, and she thought maybe he was giving her a more thorough look from behind them. It felt like it, anyway. Though she could be imagining it.
“Merry Christmas,” she called.
“Yeah.” He glanced at her, lips pulled tight, then pulled away.
She shrugged, and went up to the mailbox. The key was right where the Realtor had told her it would be. So she took it out, and let herself in, and didn’t even take time to look around. She knew herself well enough to realize she’d get lost in memories if she did, and it would be dark in a few hours, so she settled for a quick glance at the note Ms. Sullivan had left on the door.
Welcome home, Holly. It was short notice, but I did what I could to give you a comfortable stay. The electric and water are on, but the furnace isn’t. No time for that. So I had a face cord of firewood delivered for you—it’s stacked around the side. You can use the fireplace to keep warm. I stocked the place with lots of bottled water in case the tap tastes rusty. Hot water heater isn’t lit yet, but if you want to, go ahead. It’s been checked out, and while not efficient, it is safe. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call. Merry Christmas, Holly.”
Ms. Sullivan had been a friend to Holly’s mother. She wouldn’t want any sort of payment or thanks for all she’d done, but Holly would find some way. Either that, or she would pay it forward by doing something extra-nice for someone else.
She folded the note and tucked it into her pocket to keep, taking only enough time to start a small fire in the hearth before she headed back outside. She still needed to unload her personal things, groceries and supplies from the car. She’d bought the fixings for a very traditional holiday meal. And all the decorations she’d brought along. She had a ton of lights to string before dark. The long night ahead would give her plenty of time to reminisce and explore her childhood home.
THE “FOR SALE” SIGN IN FRONT OF THE HOUSE WHERE HE’D stopped to ask for directions should have given him a clue, but Matthew had brushed it off as meaningless. The house he’d come to look over was unoccupied and had been owned by the bank for a dozen years. Its asking price had just been reduced by a bundle. That one had a Beetle-driving hippie type in residence. Tree hugger. He could spot them a mile away. Even leggy, blond tree huggers with eyes so blue you could spot them from twenty yards away.
Her looks had floored him. Her attitude had irritated him. He’d asked for directions, not a seminar on enjoying the journey. The nerve. And she’d capped it by tossing that useless, meaningless phrase “Merry Christmas” onto her farewell.
At any rate, he checked into the Best Western, which he’d been assured was the best hotel in the area—not that there were many. He was in a hurry, and starved to boot, so he didn’t even look at the room. Just checked in, got the key, and asked the desk clerk the best place to get a decent meal that wouldn’t take half the damn night.
She pointed to a chain restaurant across the parking lot. Matthew rolled his eyes, and headed there, walking because there was no point in driving that short distance, and the Carerra was probably safer where it was. He’d paid a premium to rent a Porsche for the two-hour drive up from the airport, and more for the insurance. He didn’t want to have to use it.
He ordered a meal, then killed the time waiting for the food to arrive by phoning the Realtor to set up a showing.
Her reaction surprised him. “Uh—Mr. Reid—I, uh—it’s the day before Christmas Eve.”
“Yes, I’m pretty clear on the date, Ms. Sullivan. Do you refuse to show houses during the holiday season or—?”
“Well, no, of course not, I just—I had no idea you were coming into town.”
“I didn’t think it would be a problem. You said the place was unoccupied. Look, if you’re too busy with your…holiday plans…I can swing by and pick up a key and some directions, and show myself around the place.”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Well, what is it then?”
“I…I have a tenant there. Just for the holiday.”
“A tenant?”
“Well, not exactly a tenant. More like a guest.”
He blinked, completely puzzled.
“She lived there as a child, Mr. Reid. Her parents were friends of mine, and when she called asking if she could spend Christmas there, I thought there’d be no harm. It’s her first time back here in twelve years and I thought—”
“Her first time back in twelve years?” he asked. And he immediately thought of the hippie chick in the bright yellow Bug, dispensing pearls of wisdom to hapless strangers. For some reason the fact that it was her made him a little more irritated than he already was. And he ignored the other feeling. The little trickle of liquid heat that simmered through him at the thought of seeing her again. That made no sense whatsoever. So as he did with all things that made no sense, he ignored it.
At least he knew where the house was now. “So are you saying you’re going to give up a sale because you don’t want to inconvenience a freeloader for an hour or two?”
“She’s not a freeloader, Mr. Reid. And of course I don’t want to jeopardize a sale over this. I just want to give her fair warning first, before traipsing in there with a stranger in tow. This is probably a difficult—”
“I have cash, you know. No financing needed. If I buy it, I can pay yo
u just as fast as you can draw up the contracts.”
“If the weather’s not too bad tomorrow—”
“Weather?” He looked out the window. “It’s as clear as a bell outside.”
“We’re supposed to get lake effect tonight. But once the roads are cleared tomorrow, I’ll take a run over there and talk to her. I’m sure she won’t have any problem letting you come in and see the place later in the day, again, weather permitting. All right?”
He rolled his eyes. His food arrived. At least the waitstaff in this town were fast. It didn’t look as if anyone else was. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promised. Then he snapped the phone closed, and looked up at the waitress. “You keep things rolling this fast, and you’re going to get a nice, fat tip.”
She frowned at him, maybe a little insulted, but pasted a smile over it and filled his coffee mug. As she walked away, she paused to speak to another waitress, and he caught a few words.
“What are we supposed to get tonight? One to three?”
“I heard three to five.”
He shrugged. It didn’t sound so bad to him. He focused on his meal, which wasn’t half bad, either.
Four
HOLLY STOOD ALL THE WAY AT THE END OF THE DRIVEWAY, staring back at the decrepit house that was currently lit up like a—well, like a Christmas tree—and smiling from ear to ear. It was dark outside, so the lights glowed even more brilliantly. It had taken her three solid hours. It hadn’t been difficult at all, because her mom had everything down to a science where decorating was concerned. There were still little hooks all the way around the eaves of the house for hanging the lights. There were more around each window. She’d asked the Realtor ahead of time to leave a ladder in the storage shed, and she’d been delighted to see that Maureen Sullivan had taken the intiative to leave a few more things as well, including a bag full of extension cords, a hammer, and a box of nails.
Holly went back into the shed to return the hammer and nails to their spots, so Maureen would find them right where she’d left them. She flipped on the lights this time. She hadn’t had to before—it had still been light outside.
