Cinderella Christmas

by Shelley Galloway

  Ed didn't appear at all disturbed by her criticism. He took in her Jovial Janitor jacket and scratched his head. "Your problem is that you're looking at the high-end trees."

  She glanced at the blue spruce next to her. "High-end?"

  "I think, ma'am, you ought to go on down a few steps."

  "Pardon?" Was he suggesting she wasn't good enough for the blue spruces?

  "Try over there." he said, pointing to a few barren-looking, spindly trees, obviously in the low-rent section. Then he turned away, another customer having just pulled up.

  Brooke Anne frowned. She wanted the beautiful, fresh, eight-foot blue spruce. But not for sixty-five dollars. For the first time in a while, she thought of Cassie and the glamorous women at the party. Of Ms. Hart and her mansion on the hill. And felt a tinge of jealousy. Wouldn't it be wonderful to be like them, to be able to buy exactly the thing she wanted? Not just what she could afford.

  Overcome with indignation, she tromped over to the smaller trees, grumbling as she went. Well, Christmas wasn't about showy trees, was it?

  Christmas was about love and faith and...

  "Excuse me," a man said, as she narrowly missed running into him.

  "Sorry, I was just imagining giving the world a piece of my mind...." Brooke Anne stated, before looking up at him. Then she gasped.

  Morgan Carmichael. He seemed to recognize her at that precise minute, also. His face lit up with pleasure, and he actually chuckled. "Brooke! Unbelievable. I have been looking for you everywhere! I left a message on your business machine."

  That had been a few days ago, when she'd been still reeling from her trip to Indian Hill, and her visit to his office when she'd covered him up.

  He gripped her arm as if he was afraid she'd disappear. "I can't believe I decided to go buy a tree tonight and found you here. It's like it was fate."

  It was amazing. That's what it was.

  He looked so good, clad in a heavy coat and a burgundy-colored scarf. His cheeks looked ruddier than usual - he must've been in the cold for a while.

  Brooke Anne stumbled around for something to say. "I didn't know you liked Christmas trees. You said in your note you didn't do much for the holidays."

  "You've inspired me to do more." He looked amused by her comment. "And besides, even Grinches need trees."

  He was right. Now she felt silly. "I...how's your girlfriend?"

  "What?"

  Brooke wished she could disappear from the lot. Vanish into thin air. Why had she done that? Only she would bring up another woman within the first two seconds of seeing the guy she liked. Did she secretly want to turn him away? Sheesh. Valiantly, she carried on. "Um, you know...Sheri?"

  Morgan visibly winced. "Look, you don't know how I've been wanting to apologize to you. Sheri's not my girlfriend. She hasn't been for almost a year. We'd been trying to remain friends, but obviously that didn't work out, either," he said hurriedly. "That night at the dance, when she showed up...I'm so sorry. I was trying to get her to leave, but it wasn't working very well."

  "But...Cassie said -"

  "Cassie is a witch of a woman, and I'm sorry you ever had the misfortune of sitting next to her." His fingers edged down Brooke Anne's arm, then he reached for her mittened hand. Automatically, she clasped his outstretched palm, bringing back sweet memories of close contact with him. "I promise, our evening didn't go the way I would've liked at all...especially not the end," Morgan said.

  It was hard to know what to believe. He seemed so warm and sincere now, just as he had when they'd been dancing. And as the cold air wafted around their bodies, he curved his hand around one of hers in a gentle, affectionate way. He looked as though he'd envelop her in a hug if she gave him even the slightest indication that she wanted one.

  But she couldn't forget his first, cold, businesslike note or the way he'd completely ignored her at dinner. Her complete mortification when she'd realized she'd left her shoes under the table. Walking through the frigid parking garage barefoot. Sneaking back in, to discover that he wasn't around.

  She couldn't forget how dashing and comfortable he'd appeared standing next to the attractive brunette at the soiree. Couldn't forget that she'd been asked to clean that house, not attend as a guest. Trying to play it cool, Brooke Anne said, "Well, I'm glad we got that settled once and for all. I guess I'd better go find my tree."

  He looked confused. His hand tightened on hers, as if he didn't want her to go. "But, Brooke...I wanted to tell you that I was sorry I was asleep when you visited the office."

  When she'd practically fondled him while he slept.

  Mercilessly, heat rose to her cheeks.

  Morgan was still talking. "So, you did get my notes, right?"

  Just recalling the sweet words in his second note made her determination to remain aloof dissolve. "I did."

  "And?"

  The way he looked at her - his eyes wide and unsure - was the final straw. "They were very sweet. I liked them a lot. Especially the part about driving down the highway at night."

  Morgan's lips curved for a brief instant, as if what she'd said pleased him, but he was embarrassed by it. "I, uh, thought I'd try and tell you some more about myself."

  "I'm glad." What else could she say?

  "I've been thinking of other things to tell you about. Do you have time for coffee or something? Are you hungry? Have you had dinner?"

  His tentativeness was completely endearing. And almost believable. She couldn't get over the difference in him from the night he'd asked her out in his company's break room to this very moment. Brooke Anne wondered what had brought about the change. She seriously doubted it was her charm and good looks.

  Which brought forth all her feelings of uncertainty. The memories she had of their dancing together and, later, kissing were wonderful. But, though a secret part of her knew she would love to be in his arms again, she couldn't forget the horrible feeling of loss she'd had that whole Sunday after the party. The humiliation of sitting beside his empty chair for almost fifteen minutes, of being asked to leave by someone who obviously belonged in those surroundings. The embarrassment of dodging him in that mansion. Did she really want to pretend for even a moment longer that they could possibly have a future?

  Then there was the scarring experience of being jilted by Russell. She'd loved him, but it hadn't been enough. Without wanting to, Brooke Anne remembered Russell's announcement when he'd told her that he didn't want to marry her, after all. That it wasn't her, it was him. He wasn't ready to settle down. Not anytime soon.

  But even then he'd already had Suzanne. And now he was married and had a baby with her.

  Brooke Anne wasn't ready to trust her heart again.

  "Thanks, but I have so much to do, I hardly know if I'm going to be able to get it all done." Brooke Anne forced a tight smile. Did she sound natural, carefree?

  Morgan seemed desperate. "Tomorrow?" he asked, then grimaced. "Shoot, tomorrow I've got a dinner engagement. Thursday? Please?"

  She felt herself begin to falter. He did care - to what extent, though, she couldn't know. "Well..."

  "It's the least I can do," he said with a broad smile. "Besides, I've got to pay you - and give you your shoes."

  Her hope dimmed again at the mention of the money. Was that what this was really about? "Oh, right..." That was what it boiled down to, after all. She needed every penny, while he had large bills to spare.

  But Morgan didn't appear to notice her crestfallen expression; he was still planning. He had his PalmPilot out and was clicking down screens. "Hmm. I know that Tomasina girl said Royal Hotels was her account, but could you arrange to clean my office on Thursday? I could definitely stay late. I've got some work to do, anyway."

  She was now completely deflated. She knew he was trying to be kind, but somehow that kindness only made all the differences between them even more pronounced. He thought she was just a cleaning lady. He owed her money. He had dinner engagements. Was working late, anyway.

  She w
as looking for discount Christmas trees and romance.

  He just seemed to be looking for a way to repay his debts.

  If she ever needed a loud-and-clear sign that they weren't meant to be together, this was it.

  "I'll take Tomi's place on Thursday. Why don't you just set my shoes and the check in a bag or something, and I'll pick it up when I'm there?"

  "But...all right. What about dinner?"

  She glanced around the tree lot. A family of four was currently circling a blue spruce, inspecting each branch. "I don't know. My schedule's back at the office. I have to check."

  "Okay. You'll call me tomorrow?" He eyed her carefully. "Or maybe you'd rather have me call you?"

  His persistence made her nervous. What were they to each other? Acquaintances? Friends?

  She still felt on edge near him, as if she could never be sure what his next moves would be. "Yes."

  His eyes twinkled. "Yes, you will? Or yes you want me to call you instead?"

  Now completely flustered, she waved her hands helplessly. "Yes, I'll give you a call. In the morning."

  "Promise?"

  She closed her eyes. "I promise."

  "Good," he said softly, little wisps of frosty air escaping as he talked. His eyes crinkled and he reached out his hand again. "I'll look forward to it."

  The way he said the words made her think of so much more than holding hands and phone calls.

  But was he really finished with Sheri? What about the gal on his arm the other day?

  Would Brooke Anne ever fit into his world? And more important, would he ever fit into hers?

  This was the perfect time to tell him about being at the Harts'. Then he would know she knew all about him. He would understand that she wore gold shoes only when she was pretending to be someone she wasn't.

  As if sensing her churning thoughts, Morgan squeezed her hand, bringing her attention back to the present.

  "Brooke, do you think we'll ever be able to just talk again?

  "Of course," she said noncommittally.

  "Really?"

  "Sure." Though the only thing she was certain of was that she didn't know what to think. This was all too much.

  She smiled weakly. "Oh my gosh, will you look at the time? I'd better get on home."

  "But your tree.. .weren't you getting one?" Morgan paused. "How about I buy you one? One of those big blue spruces I saw over on the left? I could help you put it in your van."

  The blue spruces. The ones she couldn't afford. "Uh...no. Don't buy me a tree."

  He looked shamefaced. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's just that Christmas is coming...." His voice drifted off.

  "Christmas will come even if I don't have a big tree," she said with a shrug. "I'll get one another day. I...I should go."

  "Okay," he agreed, relenting.

  "I'll call you tomorrow. Good luck with your tree shopping. I hope you get a pretty one. You'll have to describe it to me. Bye. See you on Thursday."

  Brooke scampered off, leaving Morgan to watch her wind her way through the temporary forest. In the background, "The Christmas Song" began to play. Great. After days of trying to find her, he finally had.

  And he'd managed to do everything completely wrong.

  With a sigh, Morgan knew it was time to go home.

  *****

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brooke was Morgan's first thought the next morning as he woke slowly to the sound of jazz playing on his clock radio. Brooke, with her mittened hands and jaunty red coat. She'd worn a fleece hat, as well, which covered her ears but left her cheeks and button nose to brave the elements by themselves. He'd wanted to hold her close and cover those exposed areas with warm kisses.

  Shoot. He'd wanted to do a lot of things, he reflected, raising his arms and folding them beneath his head. The episode at the tree lot had both intrigued and puzzled him. She'd looked happy to see him, yet scared to death at the same time. And pensive. As if there were a few too many secrets she knew about him.

  Like what? he wondered. What was she afraid of? Him? Her feelings? Something else?

  Thinking back to their night together, he remembered how open she'd seemed. He'd been transfixed by her beauty and her lust for life. He'd loved how she'd laughed when she and Aaron had danced, as if she was happy just to be alive.

  He'd felt their evening had been magical. She'd brought new energy to the party from the moment he'd seen her, looking like a fairy princess in that flowing gown.

  Other people had noticed that about her, too, if the many interested glances in their direction were any indication. Brooke's vibrancy had attracted people to her like a magnet.

  Even Breva had commented that her husband had spoken of her more than once.

  It had to have been fate that had brought them to the tree lot at the same time. What else could it have been? He'd been all over town trying to find her...making friends with shoe salesmen...and had relearned the art of letter writing. He'd actually attempted to convey his feelings in ten sentences.

  Brooke was like a gift to him, and he wanted to keep her. No way was he going to accept that she didn't suit him, or that she wasn't compatible for his lifestyle.

  He wasn't going to lie to himself and say that he didn't enjoy the things that his money and drive had brought him, but he was now wise enough to know that those things were a small substitute for real conversations and genuine emotions. Sheri had taught him that if nothing else.

  Soon Brooke would realize that he was perfect for her, too. He just needed to figure out how to make her see that. Her hesitancy to be with him had given him pause, but he had a feeling that he could win her over if he was patient. And she was going to call him that day - he could hardly wait to hear her voice on the phone.

  Morgan had put on his robe and was pouring himself a cup of hot coffee when the phone rang, as if on cue. For a split second he wondered if he'd been on Brooke's mind, as well, this morning. If she hadn't been able to wait until he was at the office to speak with him.

  "Hello?" he asked, half expecting it to be her on the other end.

  "Morgan? It's your mother."

  Every one of his nerve endings deadened at his mother's voice. Her calm, impersonal tone drove him to take a deep sip of coffee for fortification. It was rare for his mother to call him during the week. Rarer still to do it before 10:00 a.m.

  Which brought up another thing. Was it only his family who announced themselves on the phone, as if he wouldn't recognize their voices? "Hi, Mom. What's new?"

  "Well, I've been very busy, getting everything organized for the holiday." She emphasized the last word, as if Christmas was something on her appointment calendar to be expertly dealt with. No wonder he had such a hard time with other people! He took another gulp of coffee, glad he liked the dark brew very strong.

  She continued. "Dear, I was just wondering when exactly you were coming home."

  Great. In all of the excitement of meeting Brooke and then trying to find her, he'd completely forgotten about scheduling plans to go home for Christmas. Suddenly, it didn't sound appealing at all. "I'm not sure, Mom."

  "Morgan. I need to know. I'm having a dinner party on the twenty-fourth and I'm trying to plan the table decorations. Did you want to attend?"

  He winced. That would be "Christmas Eve" to normal people. His eyebrows furrowed in irritation. Only weeks before he would have thought nothing of her choice of words, of her worries over table decorations. He would have only thought that his mom was trying to make the holiday nice. To make it run as smoothly as possible.

  But her concern over trivial preparations now seemed superficial and ridiculous. Her steadfast determination to turn the occasion into yet another social obligation annoyed him no end. Especially when he thought of Brooke and her efforts to find gifts for needy children.

  That was what was important. The spirit of giving. The knowledge that there was a reason to celebrate Christmas - not merely get through it.

  "Morgan?
Are you still there?"

  Barely, he realized with a start. Somewhere along his journey into adulthood, he'd made a conscious decision to become a better, more insightful person than his parents. He had left their world some time ago...and was in no hurry to go back. Just the thought of entering that environment made his stomach turn. "I may not visit this year. Mom," he said slowly, some small part of him waiting for her to try to convince him otherwise. "Probably won't."

  "Morgan. What are you talking about? You always come to Dallas for the holidays."

  "Not this year."

  "But Caroline and Bob aren't coming, either. Caro's having some kind of midnight gala on the twenty-sixth."

  "Boxing Day. Caroline is having a Boxing Day gala."

  "Whoever heard of such a thing?"

  His sister. His sweet, beautiful, too-rich sister who made everyone smile.

  Who was the exact opposite of their mother.

  "I just don't know what I'm going to tell everyone if neither of my children comes to visit."

  His heart lurched, not at the words his mother said, but at all the things she didn't. At all the things he knew she never would say. She was a loving woman, but so hard in many ways. Obligations were paramount in her life, and she didn't forgive those who abandoned them easily. Rubbing his thumb along the rim of his cup, he said, "Mom, I've met a girl. I'm going to spend the holiday with her."

  He took a sip of coffee as he waited out the long pause on her end. "Oh, Morgan. Really? When did you meet her?"

  He had to smile at the change in her voice. It was now rife with hesitant expectation. He knew that she was already worrying about future holidays with in-laws, about a new daughter-in-law to talk to. "A few weeks ago. She's adorable. She's volunteering to be an elf at Children's Hospital. She's been shopping for dolls for the kids all month."

  "What's her name?"

  "Her name is Brooke, and she's as sweet as can be. She has flyaway blond hair and soft gray eyes. I can't wait for you to meet her."

  "Where's she from?"

  He frowned. His mother's voice was becoming noticeably chillier and chillier. "Um, Nebraska originally, I believe."