Starting from Scratch

by Marie Ferrarella

  But at least it was a wooden fence, not a brick wall. Fences could be more easily breached. And she was all for breaching, Elisha thought with a smile. She’d even bring the wood chipper.

  Her private line rang. The line that Rocky had agreed to have put in for her when she’d returned to Randolph & Sons full-time. The only ones who had the number were Beth and Andrea. For emergencies.

  Her heart beat a little faster.

  Terminal optimist my foot. You’re always anticipating disasters.

  Motherhood had done that to her. Having the welfare of two children exclusively in her hands had made her think differently about everything. It was both a blessing and a curse. As she picked up the receiver, Elisha struggled to keep the anxiety out of her voice. If this was Andrea, the teenager would accuse her of overreacting. And she’d be right.

  “Hello?”

  “Aunt Lise.” It was Beth. “I need a shepherd costume,” the little girl declared.

  Elisha grinned as relief came flooding in. Six months ago, she would have found the request unusual. But six months ago, she wouldn’t have sat up all night reacquainting herself with the sewing machine she hadn’t used in years. She’d made Beth a sheep costume, a standard requirement if you were playing a sheep in the elementary school’s annual Christmas pageant.

  “You got a promotion?” Elisha guessed.

  “Marilyn Hotchkiss is sick with the flu and Mrs. Allen said I could do her part.” Beth was trying very hard not to sound joyful at someone else’s misfortune, but it was fairly obvious that she was thrilled.

  “Any dialogue?”

  “I say, ‘Hark,’” Beth told her with no small pride.

  “‘Hark’ is good. It’s a start. When do you need the costume by?” Even as she asked, she knew the answer. Yesterday, right?

  “Tomorrow. Mrs. Allen said because you have to hurry, it didn’t have to match the others, but she wants it to be dark brown. I’ve got a picture.”

  “That’s good.”

  A pattern would have been better, but she would take what she could get. Saying goodbye to her niece, Elisha hung up the receiver. It looked as if it was going to be a long night filled with pins, pinking shears and words she didn’t ordinarily say muttered under her breath.

  Yes, Elisha thought as she made a note to herself to buy three yards of dark-brown fabric, her life was very full. Any fuller and it would begin to overflow. She wondered how Sinclair was going to feel about topping off their lunch date with a quick stop at the craft store for three yards of dark-brown material and matching thread.

  CHAPTER 39

  There was a single red rose on her desk when she walked into her office the following week. The light from the window hit the cut-glass vase at just the right angle to create rainbows along her desk. It was the first thing she noticed when she crossed the threshold.

  She could use a few rainbows today, she thought.

  The train into the city had been delayed because of some malfunction along the track. The trip in had taken twice as long. Consequently, she began her morning running late.

  Being late never put her in a good mood.

  But like a red light at an intersection, the sight of the rose stopped her dead in her tracks. And made her smile.

  She’d gotten flowers before. Bouquets, carefully crafted arrangements, celebrating a book’s success, an author’s gratitude. The last bunch had been from Rocky, celebrating her return to the publishing world. He’d almost turned her office into a garden. And Sinclair always sent her flowers for her birthday. But she’d never received just one single, perfect red rose before.

  The rose stood at attention in its tall, slender vase. It certainly had all of hers.

  Elisha looked around the bottom of the vase, then lifted it to look beneath it. Nothing. There was no note.

  She rang for the assistant who’d signed for the gift in her absence. When the dark-haired, lively-looking woman appeared, she asked, “Trina, where did this come from?”

  Trina looked at the vase, not at her. The expression in her eyes was borderline dreamy. “The florist delivered it about half an hour ago. Pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Was there a note?”

  Trina shook her head. Tight, black little curls bounced around her face before returning to their place. “None that I could see.”

  Elisha had a sneaking suspicion she knew who’d sent the rose, but she needed to be sure. That meant getting to the source. “Who was the florist?”

  Trina frowned as all her features were absorbed in the act of thinking. And then her small, round face brightened.

  “Capriani’s,” she declared as if she’d just come up with the million-dollar response in a game of Jeopardy. “It was written across the back of the guy’s jacket. I noticed it because the name was Italian,” she explained.

  Elisha’s mouth quirked in a fleeting smile. Trina was currently seeing someone who was Italian, so she was suddenly aware of everything that might have something to do with the country.

  It never ceased to amaze her how things managed to arrange themselves the way she needed them to, Elisha thought.

  “Thanks,” she said, turning toward her computer.

  Trina continued to look at the flower wistfully. “Want me to get the number for you?”

  “No, I can do it myself.”

  With a nod, Trina slipped out again, closing the door behind her.

  The search engine Elisha used had her connecting to the florist’s shop in less than two minutes.

  “Hello, this is Elisha Reed. I received a single rose from your shop within the last hour—”

  She’d gotten the owner of the independent shop on the other end of the line. He cut in before she could get any further.

  “Somethin’ wrong with the flower, lady? ’Cause our flowers are perfect. I pick ’em out myself, so—”

  “No, there’s nothing wrong with the flower and yes, it is perfect. But there was no card.”

  She heard papers being shuffled. It was several minutes before the man responded, “That’s ’cause he didn’t want no card.”

  He. Okay, she had a gender. I’ll take names for two hundred, Alex. “Did this ‘he’ have a name?”

  The owner’s tone grew sharp. “Lady, everybody’s got a name.”

  Coffee, she thought, she needed coffee. And a boatload of patience. Obviously the florist didn’t live off his charm. “And what was his?”

  The huge sigh on the other end was of gale proportions. She heard more shuffling as the owner unearthed the paperwork for the order again. “Southland.”

  “Sutherland?” she corrected.

  He made some kind of noise, as if he was considering her suggestion, then said, “Could be. Art took the order. The guy’s got handwriting like a chicken dipped in ink, walkin’ across a road.”

  “Very colorful,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Hanging up, Elisha lost no time in dialing Ryan Sutherland’s home on the island. A machine picked up and a gruff instruction from Ryan told her to leave a message. Hanging up, she tried his apartment with the same results. Frustrated, she tried his cell phone.

  After five rings, someone snapped, “What?” in her ear.

  Elisha smiled. The man was charming as ever. “I just got your rose.”

  “And I was just about to hit the showers.” She thought she heard someone bang something metallic in the background. “If I wasn’t getting a fresh set of clothes out of my locker, I wouldn’t have heard the phone.”

  His locker. That meant he was at his gym in the city, she thought. He had a full gym at his disposal at the house on the island. If he was hitting the showers, he’d just finished working out.

  Leaning back in her chair, she let her mind drift, picturing Ryan wet and sweaty, his muscles pumped up and sculpted.

  The smile on her lips deepened.

  “I’ve always been lucky that way,” she quipped. “By the way, it’s usually customary to send a note when you send flowers.”
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  “I’m used to not leaving behind any evidence.”

  You could take the man out of black ops, but you couldn’t take the black ops out of the man. “What’s the rose for, Ryan?”

  There was a long pause on the other end. She wondered if he was debating lying to her. She imagined that he told lies and the truth with equal aplomb.

  “Have you seen the review?”

  She didn’t have to ask what he was referring to. Black January was due out in two and a half weeks. Advance copies had been sent to a number of reviewers weeks ago. The first that returned with a column was the literary critic at the New York Times. She’d held her breath until she’d read it in its entirety.

  Score one for the home team, she congratulated herself. “Roland Thomas thought this was your best book so far. Or, to put it in his words, ‘the first book worth his time.’”

  She heard Ryan snort. “Little snot.”

  That could well be true and probably was, but she focused only on the important aspect.

  “He liked your book, Ryan,” she pointed out. “I believe he said that ‘for once, the hero had dimension and reasons for his actions.’”

  “What did you do?” Ryan asked, “Memorize the damn thing?”

  “No, but I always remember things that prove me right. So that’s what the rose is for?” She lightly glided her finger along a velvet petal. “To say I was right and you were wrong?”

  “I wasn’t wrong,” he informed her tersely, then his tone relented just a little. “I just wasn’t as right as you were.”

  She laughed. Drawing the vase closer to her, she leaned over the rose and inhaled. Ryan had managed to find one of those rare roses that looked beautiful and had a fragrance, as well. He must have driven the florist crazy until he’d gotten just the right specimen.

  “I’ll remember that argument the next time we have a difference of opinion,” she promised. And then, because she’d been waiting in vain for an opening for the last few days to ask, she forged ahead. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

  “Probably playing poker with the guys. You want in?”

  “No. I…”

  For a second, her courage flagged. This was personal. To her. But it wasn’t as if she was about to ask him to marry her, or even to move in with her. She was asking him to spend the holiday with her and the girls. The fact that it was a very special holiday to her wasn’t really the point.

  “Is this a hard-and-fast thing, about playing poker on Christmas?”

  “No. Just something that’s happened the last couple of years.” She could have sworn she heard his tone hardening. “Look, Christmas is no big deal. It’s just another day on the calendar.”

  Elisha had a feeling his philosophy, if he actually subscribed to it, had come about after years of being on the outside, of watching people in the foster homes where he’d been placed exchange gifts and affection with one another, leaving him completely in the cold.

  “But it is a big deal,” she insisted. Dammit, where was her way with words when she needed it most? She felt as if she had cotton in her mouth. Ryan respected the direct approach, she reminded herself. So she was direct. “Would you like to come over and spend it with the girls and me?”

  He’d been over to the house several times now. The girls liked him more each time he appeared. Because he treated them the way he treated everyone else. Like responsible adults.

  So when Ryan gave her his answer, it left Elisha stunned for a moment.

  “No.”

  CHAPTER 40

  “No?” Elisha echoed. Just a flat no? Okay, so he was a former Navy SEAL, a macho man who took pain like an Apache warrior, with no complaint, no telltale signs of wincing. But this was a get-together they were talking about. And he’d just indicated that he had no real set plans for the day.

  Ryan hated being backed into a corner. Hated having to explain himself. Yet here he was, explaining. “Look, with you it’s a family thing—”

  She tried to keep it light. “We could adopt you if that’s the problem.”

  “No, thanks.”

  She was trying hard to understand what made him tick. Everyone was different, but some things were universal. Like spending the holidays with people who mattered.

  “Ryan, no one should be alone on Christmas.”

  Traditional family celebrations had stopped meaning anything to him decades ago. Survival meant deliberately closing himself off from things like that. At this point, he had no interest in opening the door again. And probably couldn’t even if he wanted to.

  “Save it for one of your kids’ books, Max. Look, I want to take that shower. Just revel in your success,” he said, referring to the critic’s response. “That should be enough for you. I gotta go.”

  And with that, the connection was broken.

  Not permanently, she hoped. Hanging up the phone again, Elisha sat staring at the rose on her desk for a very long time, thinking.

  And then she went into action.

  The phone call came the morning of the next day. At 6:00 a.m. It jangled into her sleep. She knew who it was before she picked up the receiver. Her hand on the phone, Elisha paused and gave herself to the count of ten to fully wake up. She was going to need all her faculties for this one.

  “Hello?”

  “What the hell is all this?”

  Ryan. Sitting up, Elisha leaned against the headboard and drew the covers closer to her. The air was crisp. The new heater she’d bought for the house last month wasn’t programmed to kick in until seven.

  “All what?” she asked innocently.

  “I came up to the house this morning and found a fully decorated Christmas tree standing in my living room. With tinsel,” he added dramatically. “Now, either the house was attacked by a band of marauding, renegade elves, or you did this.”

  A simple thank-you was obviously out of the question. Some people, Elisha thought, were very hard to do things for.

  “No marauding, renegade elves, Ryan. Just the girls and me, bringing you Christmas. It was only a little simple redecorating, don’t make it sound like a crime.”

  It might have been redecorating, Ryan thought, but there was nothing simple about it. Walking into his dark living room to have his vision accosted by a tree was as much a jolt to the eyes as Elisha had been to his system. To his thoughts. She’d secretly redecorated those, too, without his being fully conscious of it. But he was conscious of it now and he had no idea how to move things back to where they’d been.

  Ryan dragged his hand impatiently through his hair as he stared at the result of her physical invasion. She’d brought in a live tree. The damn thing stood at least ten feet tall. And looked oddly at home in the dark room. Like a sunbeam trying to break through a fog.

  He didn’t need this. Didn’t need to be invaded like a Normandy beach.

  “How the hell did you manage to get in here with all this, anyway?”

  “I had help.” She grinned, enjoying herself. “I could go into detail, but then I’d have to kill you.”

  He snorted, not amused. “Very funny.”

  “The man who runs security at Randolph & Sons is a retired cat burglar. I asked him to help.”

  A cat burglar. It figured. The door, when he’d gone to reexamine it, had shown no signs of forced entry, but he hadn’t checked all the windows. Not after he saw the tree. “It’s breaking and entering, you know.”

  “I’ll take the fall,” she responded cheerfully. “Besides, I didn’t take anything out, I brought something in. A little Christmas cheer, I hope. The girls insisted on helping. They thought it was sad that you didn’t have anything up.”

  He turned around in the room. Not only had she brought in a tree, but she and her companions in crime had put garland up along his banister and hung what he took to be either mistletoe or some not-quite-dried vegetation in his doorway. He hadn’t even been upstairs and now that he thought of it, he didn’t want to. No telling what she’d done there.

 
“Yeah, well, you can’t say that anymore, now, can you?”

  “Do you like it?”

  Did he like it? No, he didn’t. He didn’t want to. And yet, somehow, it managed to speak to something inside of him. To the boy who hadn’t quite died all those years ago. Hadn’t died even though there’d been nothing to nurture him.

  “I don’t like clutter.”

  The man would go to the grave before admitting his feelings, she thought. Stubborn, stubborn man. “It’s not clutter, it’s Christmas.”

  Ryan said something unintelligible under his breath. She let it pass, thinking it safer that way.

  Finally, he said, “Tell the girls they did a nice job.”

  At least he was thoughtful of their feelings. “Thank you, that’ll make them happy.” Since he had said something partially amiable, she thought she’d give it one more try. “So, will you come to Christmas dinner? You don’t have to stay the whole day,” she added quickly. “Just eat and go. Rocky’s going to stop by and Sinclair always spends part of the day here. There’ll be other people you know.” She mentioned a few authors he’d run into at the promotion parties.

  The woman was talking faster than he could process. “I’m not much for crowds and I’ve already told you, as far as I’m concerned, Christmas is just another day. Why are you trying to convert me?”

  “I’m not,” she protested, wishing that he’d stop being so perverse. He was doing it because he was afraid of something, she thought. But what that was, she wasn’t completely sure. “You’re free to do whatever you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  His reply was cool. She tried to regain ground. “I just wanted you to know you had options.”

  “Then you didn’t have to go through the trouble, Max. I always know what my options are before I ever walk into a situation.”

  “This isn’t a raid, Ryan. This is just Christmas dinner.”

  It was a hell of a lot more than that, he thought, and they both knew it. He was working his way across an abyss using a ladder made of paper towels. “Like you said, there’ll be plenty of people around. You’re not going to miss another place setting.”