Silhouette Christmas Stories

by Ann Major

  Carroll gazed at the piles of crumbs and gave a faint sigh. "No, you did just fine. Unless, of course, she eventually realizes that you were comparing her room to a Florida swamp."

  Slade eyed her quizzically. "She was talking about a painting?" he hazarded.

  Carroll nodded, adding eggs and milk to the bowl. "Right. Every time she gets stuck, she comes down here and mashes crackers. If I'm lucky, she doesn't find a solution until the torte's in the oven."

  "Every time?" He gave her a doubting glance.

  Carroll turned off the hand mixer. "We have a skeptic in our midst," she murmured, walking over to a large cabinet and opening the door. "Come see for yourself."

  Slade came to a halt behind her. "Good God." The cabinet was full. The only item in it was graham crackers, boxes of them.

  Carroll chuckled. "It's cheaper than a shrink."

  Her soft laughter was the sweetest sound in the whole world. He reached for her, his hands cupping her face. When he lowered his head, she tilted hers, meeting him halfway. Her lips were as sweet and eager as he'd dreamed they would be. Her breath was as ragged as his. Her sigh, and the way her body melted against his, told him more than she wanted him to know. When he reluctantly lifted his head, she made a soft, bereft sound.

  "This is only the beginning for us, honey," he muttered, running his thumb gently over her full lower lip. Over the pounding of her heart, Carroll heard Christy thump through the dining room, and alarm flared in her eyes.

  "Slade!" She attempted to move away and realized that she was pinned between the cupboard and Slade's hard body. "She'll see us!"

  "Would that be so bad?" But he stepped back and watched her run a shaky hand through her hair.

  "Yes."

  "I think you might be surprised," he murmured, smiling down at her. She might straighten her hair, but she couldn't erase the look of dazed pleasure from her dark eyes. "As I said, honey, it's only the beginning."

  Christy swung through the door, her intelligent blue eyes darting from her mother's tense expression to Slade's small smile. "God bless us, every one!" she whooped.

  Chapter Six

  "Ha! Did you hear that? What did I tell you?" Kris gleefully smacked the workbench with an open hand and looked up from the small television, where a weatherman was drawing arrows on a map of the western states. "Cold front up in Canada, and the pressure's dropping here. Know what that means?"

  "It means that you're a raving optimist," Slade muttered, turning several pages in the big notebook and frowning at the figures. "Not that it's going to snow."

  "We'll see." Kris snapped off the television and turned to face the younger man. "I think you ought to marry the girl."

  Slade stilled. "Which girl?"

  Kris snorted. "How many are you chasing? If you're looking at any other women the way you're watching my granddaughter, we got a problem." He waited. "If you don't know how to ask her, I've got a couple of foolproof suggestions."

  "No thanks." Slade met the old man's expectant gaze. "Somehow you'd manage to turn things into a three-ring circus."

  "You don't seem to be getting anywhere," Kris grumbled. "Christy needs some brothers and sisters, and I need some more kids around the house. We could call one Holly, one Ivy and one Harold."

  "Harold? Why would anyone name a boy-" He stopped, trying to consider Kris's unique point of view. "As in, 'Hark, the… '?" he asked suspiciously. When Kris nodded, he said emphatically, "No way. No kid of mine is-"

  "It's not a name I'd choose myself," Kris agreed, "but it was the only one I could think of for a boy off the top of my head." His face brightened and he snapped his fingers. "There's always Rudolph."

  Slade groaned.

  "Of course, if you haven't even gotten around to asking her yet, I don't know why you're so concerned. It seems to me that you're jumping the gun just a bit."

  Slade sighed resignedly. "I've asked her."

  "And?"

  "She'll marry me."

  "Did she say so?"

  "No. But she will. When the time is right."

  "Right?" He paced back and forth in front of Slade impatiently. "What's to be right? You ask, she says yes, and you get to work on little Holly and Ivy. And Harold. Or Rudolph. Maybe I should talk to her."

  "No."

  Kris pursed his lips at the unequivocal word. "No?"

  "Butt out, Kris. We'll handle this ourselves." Shooting him a narrow-eyed glance, Slade said, "I mean it. If I hear that you've said one word to her about this, I'll come down here with some snippers and make this the darkest Christmas you've ever had."

  Kris ignored the threat. "Speaking of lights, what are we going to do on Christmas Eve? Are you working on it? Time's passing, boy."

  Slade slammed the notebook shut and surged to his feet. "I don't know what we're going to do. You don't have a magic wand to wave over the town, and neither do I." He hesitated. "Maybe you're just going to have to settle for the lights you're turning on tomorrow."

  Patting him on the shoulder, Kris said, "Don't worry about it, boy. I know you'll do it. And while you're taking care of that, I'm getting the rest organized. When the play is over and everyone comes out of the community building-the one in the park, you know-the rest of the lights will go on, and I'll come riding through the snow in the sleigh." He rubbed his hands in anticipation. "Then we'll deliver the presents and get done in plenty of time for the potluck supper and candlelight service at church. Which reminds me, I'll have to get Carroll to run a notice off on the computer and let everyone know the schedule."

  "Why don't you just play 'Taps' and let them guess?" Slade asked, heading for the stairs.

  Kris gave a gentle cough. "By the way, I did say we'll be delivering the gifts. Do you want to wear an elf costume and help me on the sleigh?"

  Carroll tied a red ribbon around the last plastic-wrapped torte, listening to the rumble of the men's voices in the basement. Apparently operating on the theory that it was better to join 'em when you couldn't beat 'em, Slade was no longer trying to work during the two afternoon hours. The decision hadn't come easily, she remembered, grinning faintly. After three more incidents with lost design parts-two where he had been in a distant part of the house and couldn't get back in time, and once when his concentration had been so intense he simply hadn't heard the cornet-he had surrendered, claiming that it was either that or throttle Kris.

  Life was getting complicated, she decided, her smile fading as she stared at the lopsided ribbon. Now he spent that time at her house, ostensibly conferring with Kris, but somehow ending up with her. And driving her crazy. He hovered, he stood too close, he sat too close, he smiled at her, his eyes smiled at her, for heaven's sake! And he watched her, and waited.

  It wasn't as if he were bombarding her with proposals, she reflected, tugging at the bow. No, his approach was more subtle than she had anticipated, like that of a man attempting to tame a wild animal. He touched her, lightly, as he passed, allowing the gesture to be a hair more than fleeting, but not allowing it to threaten. When he was too close, he stretched the time just a smidgen beyond her comfort zone, then moved.

  Subtle, yes. And it was working.

  That and the memory of his kiss. Their kiss. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Slade had made certain that she wouldn't mistake it for a platonic, neighborly, holiday greeting. He had also brought back unsettling memories.

  She had almost forgotten how it felt to have a man's strong arms wrap around her, pulling her close. Almost forgotten the convulsive movement and hardening of his body. The ache, the languid melting, of her own. The ragged breathlessness. The heat, blood racing through her veins like a runaway train. With-out a single word, he had reminded her of what it meant to be a woman. Not just a mother or a daughter. A woman.

  She didn't welcome the memory. As a matter of fact, she had kept her life relatively uncomplicated and contented because she had managed to forget. Almost. The worst part was that he had brought an entirely new element into the si
tuation. A hunger, a need to touch and be touched, that she had never felt before. Not with poor Jeffrey, not with the few innocuous dates she had allowed herself since he had left.

  No, she wasn't happy with Slade Ryan. He could sell his house; he could move anywhere in the world. But she had a daughter to raise, one who was becoming far too attached to him. One who would be brokenhearted if he left. When he left. One who, since she had only one parent, needed an extra dose of stability in her life.

  "Hi."

  Carroll jumped. "You ought to borrow Kris's horn and announce yourself," she said crossly.

  Slade leaned comfortably against the counter. "What are you going to do with them?" He nodded at the dozen tortes, wrapped and lined up on the table.

  "Take them down to Lindy's boutique. She has a standing order for them."

  "She must be ecstatic when Noel hits a real snag."

  "Umm," She disappeared into the pantry and came out dragging a large cardboard box. "But she does her best to conceal it."

  "Here, let me help." Slade swung the box up on the table.

  "I'll pack," Carroll said, sliding in several tortes and adjusting some heavy cardboard shelving above them. "You can haul the box out to the station wagon."

  "Grab a coat," he suggested a few minutes later, hefting the box. "It's getting cold."

  Carroll buttoned her jacket as she walked down the steps behind Slade. He handled the large carton as if it were no larger than a shoebox, she noted enviously. When he slid in on the passenger side, her brows rose. A man who didn't mind being driven by a woman. Nice.

  She settled behind the wheel, squinting up at the leaden sky. "Do you think it's just possible that Kris might be right? Could we really get snow?"

  Slade groaned. "Don't even think it. He'd be impossible to live with. He's already bad enough."

  Sliding a quick glance in his direction, she asked, "What's he up to now?"

  "Aside from wanting me to wear an elf costume and help deliver presents?"

  She chuckled. "You can wiggle out of that one. Christy and I are already signed up as Santa's helpers. We can get the job done."

  Suddenly the idea didn't sound so bad. They could probably use some help with the heavy packages, he mused. He wondered idly what an elf costume looked like.

  "We came at a good time," she told him. "The traffic doesn't get bad until the lights go on."

  The lights. Always the lights. Slade leaned back in the seat, taking note of all the lights that weren't connected to someone's house. They were on more trees than he could count, running up and down streetlights, wrapped around trash cans and along the backs of park benches. Probably the only reason they weren't strung around mailboxes was due to a federal ordinance prohibiting such shenanigans.

  "Here we are, and there's a parking place right in front," Carroll announced with satisfaction. "You get the box and I'll open the door."

  Lindy, a slim woman with graying hair and a broad smile, beat her to the door. "Hi. Come in. You're an answer to my prayers." She stepped aside to let Slade in and waved him to the counter. "Thank God it's a big box. However many you have, I can use even more. Believe it or not, I've got a waiting list for these babies."

  Carroll closed the door, stepping past a rocking horse, several homemade dolls and a baby carriage. Two of Noel's landscapes hung on the opposite wall, both marked with Sold signs. Lindy not only carried exquisite gifts, she was an outlet for the local artists and craftsmen. "At least your customers aren't standing outside pounding on the window. You've got them well trained."

  Lindy opened the box with eager hands. Looking up at Carroll, she laughed softly. "I can't afford to lose any customers, and I was afraid that if they hung around here, Kris would have lights strung on them. I told them I'd call when I had the cakes in my hot little hands."

  She turned to Slade and measured him with a frankly assessing gaze. Giving an approving nod, she held out her hand for a businesslike shake. "I'm Lindy Miller. No, you don't have to tell me who you are. Slade Ryan, right? You're helping Kris with the lights. He tells us you're going to get the lights turned on for Christmas Eve. We've been waiting for this for years." She took the rest of the cakes from the box and turned to Carroll. "I understand the chamber of commerce is trying to get some local TV coverage for the big event."

  "TV?" Carroll asked faintly, turning to Slade. He looked as stunned as she sounded.

  "Are you sure about that?" he asked.

  Lindy's nod was definite. "Tom, my husband, is the treasurer. He told me that Kris came to their meeting last Tuesday and said everything was arranged. The play will end at five, we'll all go outside in the park, the lights will go on, and all the animated scenes will start up."

  She gave them a droll look. "Kris has ordered snow, so it will be snowing. He'll come out with Anderson's hay wagon decorated like a sleigh-pulled by Blitzen and Rudolph, of course-and hand out the presents. That's the part they thought a news program might be interested in."

  She paused to count the cakes and write a receipt for Carroll. "By the way, the chamber invited all the marines who helped with the lights up for the festivities. Those who can't get home are coming. Yesterday Tom and I spent some of the chamber's money and bought gifts for them. Naturally they're all invited to the pot-luck supper."

  "Naturally," Carroll echoed, darting a glance at Slade's expressionless face.

  "We'll get all their names to you before Christmas Eve," Lindy added.

  "Fine."

  The heavy silence in the car was finally broken by Slade, just as they pulled into the driveway. "TV? Did you know about this?"

  Carroll slammed on the brakes and snapped off the ignition. "No, I didn't." Turning to him furiously, she said, "Do you really think I'd let you walk into a situation like that without any warning? What kind of a person do you think I am?"

  "Loyal. To your family."

  "You're right," she admitted, curling her fingers around the steering wheel. "I am. But I also have a sense of fair play. I would have told you."

  "Sorry." He reached across and brushed his thumb over her knuckles. "I should have known."

  In silence she turned her palm up, lacing her fingers through his. "What are you going to do?" she finally asked.

  In a voice heavy with defeat, he said, "I don't know. I haven't been able to convince Kris that he's asking the impossible any more than I've been able to convince you that I won't desert you the first time you turn your back."

  Chapter Seven

  I won't desert you.

  It was a little after three in the morning when Carroll admitted the obvious: sleep was a lost cause. She tossed back the blankets, shrugged into a warm robe and quietly went down to the kitchen. A few minutes later she carried a cup of tea into the dark living room, curled up in the corner of the sofa and covered herself with a woolly afghan. From where she sat, she could see light streaming out of Slade's office windows.

  I won't desert you.

  He was still working. An anxious frown drew her brows together. He didn't take care of himself, she fretted. Guilt etched the furrows even deeper between her brows. If it weren't for Kris and the two lost hours each day, Slade probably wouldn't still be at the computer. But for all she knew, Carroll thought hopefully, he was a workaholic who simply preferred toiling twenty hours out of every twenty-four.

  Gloom settled again. More than likely he had to be there. When he had moved to Pinetree, Slade had undoubtedly expected to be isolated, to produce quantities of work. A mountain cabin had probably seemed an ideal location. Then Kris had appeared and blown not just holes, but craters, in his schedule.

  I won't desert you.

  Carroll concentrated fiercely on her train of thought. Slade. Work. Schedule. Kris. Slade wasn't given to sulking or complaining. He also didn't talk much about his work. She realized with a mild sense of surprise that she hadn't the foggiest idea what he was doing over there. Oh, he answered direct questions and murmured something about radar; she had eve
n seen the colorful graphics on his monitor, but they meant less than nothing to her. She would ask him after the holidays, she decided, sipping her tea.

  So Slade would neither complain nor sulk. What would he do? Exactly what he was doing. Work every minute that he could. He would make his deadline come hell or high water. Whatever it took, he would do. And in his spare time-such as it was-he would fret about the problem that Kris had created.

  I won't desert you.

  She tossed aside the afghan and jumped to her feet, admitting that she had stalled as long as she could. All right! He wouldn't desert her. So he said. And he undoubtedly meant it. For now. But so had Jeffrey.

  Jeffrey.

  Okay, admit it, Carroll. At least to yourself. Say it just once. Jeffrey had been no more mature at twenty-two than she had been at nineteen. He'd had no more grasp of the depth of the vows he had taken than she had. They had thought they were in love. And they had been-with love, not each other.

  Reality had been living in a tiny apartment that they couldn't afford, having no marketable job skills and learning that she was pregnant the third month of their marriage. Even so, reality had barely dented her optimistic outlook. "Things will work out," she had said. Repeatedly. But reality had presented a different face to Jeff, one that he found frightening. He didn't wait for things to work out. He left when she was seven months into her pregnancy; he had never seen his baby. He had never called or written to ask about her. Carroll divorced him and gave Christy her maiden name, and now there was no remnant of Jeff in her life-except for memories.

  But Jeff wasn't the villain of the piece, Carroll reflected. There was no villain. He had been weak, and they had both been very young. But still, something good had come from the situation: Christy.

  Carroll stared out the window at the lights slashing into the darkness around Slade's house, remembering. Something else had happened. She had grown up. She had managed to return to school and get a good grounding in secretarial work and business administration. It hadn't been easy, but with the help of Kris and Noel it had been possible. Running her own business had been her goal, and had become her achievement for the past four years.