by Day Leclaire
He hadn't raised his voice and yet the words reported like a rifle shot. Lauren jumped. The ax she'd shouldered tumbled into one snowdrift, while she tumbled into another. She emerged, liberally coated in icy white.
"Oh! Alessandro. I didn't see you there." She slapped snow from her thighs and the seat of her jeans, drawing his attention to her pertly rounded backside. "I thought you were sleepin’."
"I was. For some reason I had trouble."
"Bad dreams?" she asked sympathetically.
"No. It was a rather nice dream." Unsettling, but nice. "Something else woke me."
To his surprise, she went stark white. "Nicky!" She floundered from the drift, her normally graceful movements disjointed and awkward. "What happened to him? Is he all right? Is he hurt? I have to get to him.”
He caught her before she planted herself face-first in the snow. "Easy, bella mia," he soothed. "I didn't mean to alarm you. Nick's sound asleep. That's not what woke me."
"Not..." She snatched a quick breath. "Nick's safe?"
"Safe and sound."
"I—I thought—"
Nothing good, apparently. "Sorry I scared you." What in the world had happened that she kept assuming the worst about Nick? Had he been in an accident she'd neglected to mention? Or was her anxiety the result of the circumstances surrounding her sister’s death? He'd have to make a point of asking how Meg had died. Leaning down, he plucked the ax out of the snow, offering an easygoing smile. "Does this clue you in to what woke me?"
She blinked, understanding finally dawning. "Oh. My chopping."
"Yes, your chopping. Mind telling me what's going on?"
She broke into a rapid-fire speech at direct odds with her more natural drawl. "I was picking out a Christmas tree. Won't cost you a penny or involve any time or trouble on your part, just like I promised yesterday."
"Lauren—"
She plowed gamely onward. "It was supposed to be a surprise for when you woke up. If truth be told, I should have gotten to it two days ago. My family always used to cut our tree exactly a week before the big day. But with the snowstorm and everything..." Her gaze lifted to the magnificent firs surrounding them. "The four of us would go together and spend hours finding the perfect one. Daddy would cut it down. Then in the spring, we'd plant a sapling. He said it was important to give back what we'd taken."
Her comments struck a chord, resonating with familiarity, but he couldn't say why. "I gather you've taken over the job?"
She shrugged. "There wasn't anybody else to do it." A muscle clenched in her jaw. "I'm the only one left."
He hardened himself against an overwhelming wave of compassion. Regardless of her reasons, he wasn't about to let her ignore his preferences. "I sought I’d made my feelings clear about all this."
"You did," she replied, meeting his eyes with customary directness. "Just as I made myself clear about my feelings. As I recall you told me I wouldn't find any decorations in your house and you weren't going out and buying any. Since you don't have to worry about either one of those possibilities, seems to me I stuck pretty darn close to what you wanted."
So much for wearing him down by "explaining" things. Why explain when she could simply walk outside and act on her decision? Apparently the rationalization would take place afterward. "You intend to force the issue, regardless of the fact that it's my house and my choice?”
"Yes." She walked back to the tree she'd cut down and grabbed hold of the lower branches, defiance implicit in every rigid line of her body. "I'm not about to have Nicky celebrate his first Christmas without a tree and all the trimmings. Nor am I gonna let you play Scrooge to your own son. Not when I know you'll live to regret your decision in years to come. Now, you can either help me or stand aside so I can get down to business. But one way or t'other, this tree is goin’ in that house. You got that, Mr. Salvatore?”
"Ms. Williams?"
She took a deep breath and braced herself. "What?"
He handed her the ax. "If you'll move out of the way, I can get this done a hell of a lot faster than you. That way we won't risk freezing to death while we discuss our difference of opinion."
It took an instant for his words to sink in. The minute they had, a huge smile spread across her mouth and her eyes glittered jewel-bright. "Thank you, Alessandro."
"You're welcome."
The tree she'd chosen wasn't excessively large, maybe a scrap taller than her own five foot two or three. In fact, compared with some that had graced the cabin in years gone by, it was on the puny side, although it had a pretty shape—rather like Lauren, herself. He understood why she'd chosen it. She'd been correct in her assessment. The tree wouldn't have survived much longer. Grasping the trunk, he swung it onto his shoulder and worked his way toward the house. Depositing the tree by the back door, he shook it briskly to get rid of its mantle of snow and ice along with any loose debris.
"Would you mind heading in and starting the coffee while I rig a stand for this?" he asked.
She peeked at him with the expression he'd come to dread—the one with far too little sensibility and way too much hope. The one full of fantasies and sweet dreams. She wrinkled her nose at him. "No more discussion?"
"I didn't say that." He relented before the fantasies had a chance to fade altogether. "But the discussion can hang fire for a while."
She slanted him a quick, pleased glance, brimming with a gratitude he didn't deserve. "In that case, I'll be happy to fix the coffee.”
He caught her arm before she could disappear inside. "I assume the decorations will be next after the tree?"
Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a hint of her earlier determination. "Count on it."
"You're pushing your luck, lady. Nick's only a year old. It's not like he's going to remember."
“I’ll remember," she retorted fiercely, pulling free of his hold. "This isn't just Nick's first Christmas, it’s also my first Christmas with him. And it's going to be one I'll remember for the rest of my life."
He could hear the ripple of emotion underscoring her words, a hint of sorrow, and…and panic. It stopped him cold. She was afraid, he realized, stunned. "What's going on, Lauren?" A horrible, gut-wrenching thought occurred. "Is there something wrong with you?”
"I'm healthy as the proverbial horse," she retorted, dismissing the question with a wave of her hand. "Don't you get it? I thought I'd have Nick forever. I thought I'd spend every Christmas with him, every birthday, every holiday, every...every day." Tears gave her words a raw intensity. "Ordinary, normal, average days. Days that would stretch into months and years. But when I realized that wasn’t possible, that I couldn't raise him alone—"
"You came looking for me, hoping against hope that Meg hadn't lied about our affair and I'd admit Nick was my son." He allowed that to sink in before asking the one question she refused to address, "What if he's not?"
"Don't you get it?" she demanded, fiercely. "Once the proof is in and you find out he is your son, you'll take him from me. You have a huge family. Plenty of people to lend a helpin' hand when the goin' gets rough. I don't have anyone to turn to when I’m uncertain. Not a mother or father, not aunts or uncles or cousins, not even my sister. What if I make a mistake? What if I'm a bad mother? I can't take that risk. I can't let my ignorance hurt Nicky."
"That's not going to happen."
She nodded grimly. "You're darned tootin' it's not, because he comes ahead of every other consideration. I’m gonna do right by that boy, no matter how painful those choices might be. Whatever's best for him will have to be best for me, too. I won't—" Her voice cracked, fracturing the still of the crisp morning air as sharply as the Christmas tree she'd felled. It took her a full ten seconds to master the tears that threatened and start again. "I won't let any harm come to him."
With that she whirled around and escaped into the house, leaving Alessandro to stare after her. It didn't take any great insight to recognize that something was going on that he knew nothing about. Her concerns for N
ick didn't feel natural. There was an underlying anxiety that bothered him. Something had frightened Lauren enough to drive her from her home in search of a father for her nephew. And if he were smart, he'd find out what the hell it was.
He glared at the Christmas tree, fighting to curb an overwhelming sense of frustration. Dammit all! This situation worsened by the day. What if Lauren was telling the truth? She seemed so certain, he found it impossible to dismiss her claim. What if he'd fallen in love and fathered a child with a woman he couldn't even remember? When he analyzed it rationally, he found it easy to deny. After all, he'd just divorced his wife that particular March. And despite what Rhonda had claimed, he'd once loved his ex with a passion alien to his nature. He'd taken her desertion hard. The last thing he'd have done was dive into another relationship.
But what if that was precisely what he'd done? What if he'd eyeballed this Meg and allowed the Salvatore side of his nature to get the better of him? Granted, it wouldn't have been love at first sight. Hell, that sort of love didn't exist except in the minds of romantic fools. But lust… Now that was a distinct possibility. He'd been knocked off balance by sheer physical need once or twice before. Hell, it had happened yesterday morning with Lauren.
Maybe Meg had caught him when he'd been at his most vulnerable. Having signed his divorce papers, he could have been looking for something—or someone—to fill the void. He might have indulged in a brief, meaningless affair, no matter how contrary to his nature. Considering that his ego had just taken a severe bruising and his state of mind hadn't been in best shape, he might have done something really stupid. All of which brought about an uncomfortable possibility. Could Nick be his? It stretched credulity, but it was possible, despite his being a fanatic about precautions.
Truth time, Salvatore. It was frighteningly possible, given the factors he'd neglected to mention to Lauren.
Alessandro fixed the hapless Christmas tree with a final glare before surrendering to the inevitable. He needed to finish his discussion with Lauren. Now. While she was still too agitated to evade his questions. Abandoning the tree, he went after her. She hadn't gotten far with the coffee. He found the can on the counter with the lid off and the grounds measured into the filter. She'd neglected to add the water to the coffee machine, he noticed, or even switch it on. There was only one thing that could have distracted her. He grinned. Or rather, one person.
Nick.
For all her concerns about raising the boy, her care couldn't be faulted. Meg had left her son in good hands. Loving hands. Didn't Lauren understand that? Apparently not. Turning his attention to the coffee, Alessandro had the Costa Rican brew perking in no time. As soon as he'd finished, he went in search of his houseguests. Not that he had any difficulty tracking them down. He found Lauren in the first place he checked—in the bedroom she shared with her nephew, getting Nick changed and dressed.
"Why didn't Meg tell me about her condition when she first discovered she was pregnant?" he asked without preliminaries. "If we had this great romantic affair, why didn't she call or write or come find me?”
Lauren didn't even look up, but continued to diaper a squirming Nick. She completed the task with practiced ease, her actions gentle, yet firm. Even once she'd finished, her hands lingered on his small foot, as though loath to break the contact between them. She counted each toe twice and Alessandro found something unexpectedly moving about the sight. He doubted she even realized what she was doing, anymore than she realized how much she betrayed with that simple act. He'd never seen such vulnerability expressed so openly.
"Meg tried to get through to you," she said at last.
"How?"
"She left messages at Salvatores.” She gave Nick's toes a final tickle before slipping socks onto his feet. "They went unanswered."
"I never got them." When he returned to work, he'd find out why they hadn't been passed along. The excuse had better be a damned good one or he'd tear the place apart, even if it meant shredding his reputation as the "cool, calm and collected" Salvatore. "Why didn't she fly to California to confront me in person?"
"A small matter of expense." She glanced at him over her shoulder, an innate dignity implicit in her bearing, as well as the candor of her gaze. "We're not wealthy people, Alessandro. Meg couldn't just up and jet off whenever the mood seized her. It took me a full month to get to you and I only managed that by working my way across country."
Aw, hell. “I’m sorry. I didn't think." A frown pulled his brows together. "But that still doesn't explain why she gave up. If she couldn't afford to find me in person, why didn't she write or keep calling?"
"Hope can die over time," Lauren explained in a pained voice. "Especially without any nourishment to sustain it. And then, there was my sister's illness. Finding you was put on hold while we dealt with her situation."
"Illness?" This was the first he'd heard of Meg being sick. "What was wrong with her?"
"She died from a brain tumor.” The tragic simplicity of Lauren's statement cut deep. As though sensing her despair, Nick abandoned his struggles to free himself and reached out, calling to her in his gruff baby babble. Tugging a shirt over his head, she ruffled his dark hair and hugged him close. "The doctors were kind enough to explain how rare her condition was, right before they sentenced her to a year left to live. She didn't even last that long. Only eleven months. Nick was barely nine months old when she passed."
Far too short a time for a mother to know her child. "I'm so sorry, Lauren."
"Me, too," she whispered.
He didn't force the conversation after that. He couldn't. As soon as they finished breakfast, he buried himself in his study, making phone calls. First on his list was Leo. The mechanic promised that the mountain road would be cleared by the following morning and once they were, Lauren's car would be first on his list. Next, Alessandro set up an appointment with the local doctor to have blood drawn for the paternity test. A further phone call elicited the fact that the lab results would take a week to ten days, though with Christmas and the New Year approaching, they refused to make any guarantees.
Every once in a while he heard Lauren with Nick, her laughter light and carefree and far too appealing. Despite the sadness that weighted her, Alessandro glimpsed a bubbling enthusiasm breaking free, a sunny brilliance that signaled an end to what must have been a string of dismal, soul-deadening months.
After lunch, Alessandro headed outside while Lauren and Nick napped. It didn't take long to build a stand for the tree she'd chopped down. It was just one pathetic little fir, he reminded himself as he transferred it into the living room. Nothing elaborate or over the top. He could live with that. Hell, the tree looked so tiny in the oversize room, he doubted he'd even notice its presence.
But Lauren did. She spent most of the evening admiring it. Shortly before Nick's bedtime, she danced barefoot around the bushy evergreen with her nephew in her arms, an oversize cotton shirt flaring about her slender, jean-covered thighs.
"It's absolutely perfect. Isn't it perfect?" The overhead lights caught in her silver-blond hair, sparking off the short wayward strands. Between her uninhibited dancing, her wide, winsome smile and her tunic-like top, she appeared more pixieish than ever. "It's the prettiest little Christmas tree I ever did see. Don't you think so, Alessandro?"
"Absolutely," he claimed, burying a grin.
"And the smell…" She inhaled, sighing in delight. "Heavenly. Isn't it heavenly?"
He inclined his head. "It's the essence of heaven."
She spun to a halt, her breath coming in quick, soft pants. "Just wait until you see it decorated. You won't regret bringing it in, I promise. It may be small, but it's got spirit."
"I can't argue with that." Though he wasn't referring to the tree. "In fact, I'd say it had an abundance of spirit."
"How can a Christmas tree have too much spirit?" she scoffed. "It's not possible."
"Lauren."
Her smile dimmed. "You're not fooling me, Alessandro. I can read betwe
en the tines, the same as the next person. But you're wrong about both me and that tree. And I aim to prove it to you. There are five days left until Christmas. You'll see. By the time it's here—"
“Lauren.”
She broke off, burying her face against the top of Nick's head. "I need to put this little fellow to bed," she said in a rush. "He can hardly keep his eyes open."
"And then we'll talk." He'd waited long enough. "We're going to settle this once and for all."
She didn't say another word before darting from the room, but she didn't have to. Her expression revealed more heartache than any person should experience. Great. With one simple demand, he'd managed to kill the spirit of Christmas. Hoping to make amends, he went to the kitchen for some coffee. He started to pour a mug for Lauren, but changed his mind at the last minute. No doubt she'd prefer hot chocolate with a liberal helping of marshmallows and whipped cream. Returning to the living room, he deposited the mugs on the mantel and tossed another log on the fire.
Just as he finished, Lauren joined him by the hearth. "I need facts and specifics," he requested, handing her the mug of hot chocolate. "And I don't want to hear any nonsense about Meg telling you I was Nick's father and therefore I am. Give me more."
"You really don't remember your time with us?"
He shook his head. "Not even a little."
Her brow puckered in a frown. "I don't understand, Alessandro. How could you forget a full two weeks of your life?" Her frown vanished, replaced by an expression of utter pain. "Unless it was so unimportant to you it wasn't worth remembering.”
He didn't respond to the question implicit in her remark. Nor did he want to add to her distress. But there was a detail she hadn't taken into consideration. "In case you missed it, sweetheart, you and I exchanged a kiss yesterday morning. You can't deny that you found it as enjoyable as I did."
"What's your point?" she demanded defensively.
"If my feelings for Meg were as deep and permanent as you claim, that kiss wouldn't have happened. And it sure as hell wouldn't have gotten out of hand as fast as it did."
