Fruitcakes and Other Leftovers & Christmas, Texas Style

by Lori Copeland

  “Don’t you dare laugh.”

  “Sorry—it’s just that—how do you get yourself into these situations?”

  “I don’t know.” Beth groaned again, bracing her hands on her aching back. “I look like a fool.” She sat gingerly on the top porch step.

  “Well—a pretty one,” Russ agreed.

  “If you’re sure nothin’s broke, I got to get back to the store,” Sam said.

  Russ took hold of the old mattress, motioning Sam to take the other end. “I’ll help you get this into the truck.”

  “Thanks.”

  The men tipped the mattress on its side and carried it to the truck. Jasper darted back and forth, enjoying the dodging game all the way down the drive. When the mattress was in the back, Sam closed the door.

  Beth watched the circus, wondering how a man managed to look so darn good all the time. Russ’s running suit fit his trim hips like a glove, emphasized his broad shoulders. Even his limp was attractive, hinting at life experiences she could only imagine.

  She closed her eyes, opening them a moment later to see an extended hand in front of her face. Broad palm, long fingers. Beth hesitated.

  “I don’t bite, you know.”

  Feeling incredibly foolish for hesitating, she grasped his hand. His warm fingers wrapped around her icy ones and drew her effortlessly to her feet.

  “Ouch.” She grimaced as pain shot up her hip and to her shoulder.

  “Put your arm around my waist,” he ordered. When she hesitated, he leaned closer. “I don’t bite,” he whispered. “Unless I’m asked.”

  “How would I know that?” she returned, then wished she hadn’t.

  Lifting her off her feet, he carried her up the steps.

  “Russ—really.” She glanced around to see if the neighbors were watching. “The neighbors—”

  “Are entirely too nosy,” he observed.

  Her heart felt like a trip hammer suddenly occupied her chest as he carried her into the warm kitchen. Aunt Harriet looked up from the stove. “Oh. Hello, dear. When did you get back? Someone was upstairs. You better check.”

  Beth limped to the sink to get a drink of water. “It was me, Aunt Harry. Remember, you held the door when we brought in the new mattress?”

  “Good, I was afraid we had intruders. Glad you’re back. And oh, you’ve brought Clifford with you!” Harriet beamed at Russ. “You look cold. I swear, this is the coldest July I ever remember—”

  Beth rubbed her bruised shins. “It’s October, Aunt Harry.”

  “It is?” Harriet looked aghast. “Where does the time go?” She frowned. “Why are you limping?”

  “Nothing to worry about—I just had a little accident.”

  “Accident?” Harriet threw up her hands. “You sit right there. I’ll get the Pepto-Bismol.”

  “Aunt Harry—” Harriet was already out of the room and on her way to the medicine cabinet. Beth smiled wanly at Russ. “She means well.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right? You took quite a spill.”

  “I’m okay, just feeling thoroughly foolish.” Beth hated to admit it, Aunt Harry had been right. She should have worn something nicer than her old jeans today, but what was the proper attire to haul a mattress anyway?

  Aunt Harry returned, carrying a bottle of cough syrup. “Here, dear. A couple of spoonfuls of this, and you’ll feel better in no time.” She sneezed, dragging a handkerchief out of her pocket. “I think I’ll have a couple myself.”

  “You need to take the cold medicine I got you,” Beth told her.

  “Yes…or did I? No, I didn’t. I’ll do that now.” Aunt Harry stifled another sneeze. “Drats. I need to get my lottery ticket.”

  Russ glanced at Beth.

  “Her lottery ticket. She buys one a week.”

  Russ lifted a curious brow. “Does she win?”

  “Oddly enough, she’s never won anything big. But she gets upset if she has to miss a week.”

  Harriet got up and put on her coat. “I’ll only be a moment. Beth, have you seen my white sandals?”

  “You can’t go to the drugstore, Aunt Harry. Your health is more important than a lottery ticket. It won’t hurt to miss a week.” Lord knew Harriet had better ways to spend her money.

  “No, I can’t do without my lottery ticket.” Aunt Harry looked around the cluttered room. “Where did I put my purse?” She stifled another sneeze. “Oh—I remember.” She left the room in a hurry.

  “If she’s that lucky, why don’t you encourage her to buy a dozen tickets?” Russ walked over and opened the refrigerator door. He stood for a minute, studying the contents. “I play on occasion. Actually, I could use an extra million. What about you?”

  Beth watched him shift through various bowls and come up with a cola. Nothing like making yourself at home.

  “Ironic isn’t it, that the lottery is the one thing Aunt Harry hasn’t won. She buys one ticket a week, no more, no less. She seems to think that’s all it takes.”

  “Those are usually the ones who win.” Russ tipped his head and took a long swallow of the soft drink, then lowered the bottle, grinning sheepishly. “Sometimes, I blow ten a week on it.”

  “What would you do with a million dollars?” Beth knew what she’d do. She’d give a ten-minute phone notice to her employer, travel Europe for a month, stay in the best hotels, sleep till noon every day, come home, buy a new car, and then probably try to buy The Reader’s Nook. She had changed her thinking about going off to a big city in search of a new life. Russ had made her think twice about that Besides, Morning Sun hadn’t been so bad lately. But then, if she ever got the chance, who knew what she would decide?

  “Invest it.” Russ closed the refrigerator door.

  “Invest it? That’s sick.”

  “Sick? Don’t you like security?”

  Beth laughed. “How would I know? I’ve never had any.” She thought about a million big ones… no… $999,300, since she bought the new mattress, languishing in her money market account. Managed right, she would be set for life. More than one million?

  His smile creased his left cheek. Not quite a dimple, but just as endearing. “What would you do if you won the lottery?”

  “Travel,” she answered without hesitation.

  “You can only do that so long before you want to come home. I can’t picture you traveling twelve months a year.”

  “Well, maybe not twelve months.” How did he picture her? Hanging off porch railings, hauling mattresses, butting heads with Walter Roeberry? She’d prefer he saw her as available, beautiful, irresistible, but she had only herself to thank for that not happening. “Seriously, I know I’d always want to come back home.”

  “Seriously, I would call my broker. Fatten my porlfolio.”

  “Ah, investments.”

  “That’s right. There’s a bunch of new stock I’m interested in.”

  “And then?”

  He shrugged. “I wouldn’t change anything. I have a great job with another waiting for me in Washington. What more could I want?”

  What more, indeed? How different they were. He had his exciting life, security, and though he hadn’t mentioned a woman, there had to be one somewhere waiting in the wings.

  “Oh, I hate having a cold,” Aunt Harry complained, returning to the room carrying a birdcage.

  The flapping canary squawked, as it tried to keep its balance on the perch.

  “Aunt Harry, what are you doing with Tweets?”

  “Tweets?” Harriet glanced down. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I thought it was my purse. These cold pills must be making me addled.”

  Beth glanced at Russ. He winked, smiling.

  Beth took the birdcage amid her protests. “I’ll take Tweets, you go on up to bed.”

  “But my lottery ticket—”

  A long, eerie howl came from the front porch.

  Russ frowned. “Jasper. I’d better get him home.” He drained the last of the cola and set the bottle on the table. “I’ll get your l
ottery ticket, Harriet. I have to pick up milk before I go home.” He shrugged into his jacket.

  Aunt Harry didn’t look pleased. “That’s nice of you, Jerry, but I hate to risk my luck. I’m awfully lucky, you know.”

  “Russ can buy the ticket with your dollar, Aunt Harry,” Beth murmured. “That should keep your luck intact.”

  Aunt Harry shook her head fretfully. “Well… we’ll split the winnings three ways, then. A million for Jerry, a million for Beth, and a million for Harry.” She met Russ’s expectant gaze. “Do you like pumpkin bread?”

  “Love it. What numbers do you want to play this week.”

  “For what?”

  “The lottery, Aunt Harry.” Beth could just cry. “Russ is going to buy your lottery ticket so you can go straight up to bed and nurse that cold.”

  “Nurse who, dear? Not that old man who lives down the street. I won’t nurse him—he pinches me on my—”

  Beth took her arm and steered her toward the stairway. “Be sure and take a long hot bath before you get into bed.”

  “All right—6-12-41-5-25-39.”

  Beth frowned. “What?”

  “Those are the numbers I want to play—6-12-41-5-25-39.”

  Russ reached for a pen on the hall desk, and wrote the numbers down as Harriet continued up the stairs. “Pinched me right on the fanny, he did. Told him I’d give him fifteen minutes to stop.” She threw her head back and laughed. She was still laughing when the room to her door slammed a few minutes later.

  “I’m sorry,” Beth apologized. Harry was worse tonight than Beth had seen her in a while.

  Russ smiled. “No problem. Want to come with me? I’ll buy you an ice cream on the way back.”

  For Beth, the invitation was better than winning the lottery, but she couldn’t accept. “Thanks. I think I’ll fix Harry a bowl of soup, then be sure she gets into bed.” She reached for her purse to give him a dollar for the lottery ticket and discovered she only had large bills. “Take this twenty—you can drop off the change tomorrow.”

  “Forget it. I’ll spring for the ticket. You can buy me a cup of coffee later.”

  “I don’t want you to do that—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He reached out and lightly squeezed the back of her neck. “You’re a tough lady to get a date with.” The almost intimate gesture unsettled her.

  “All right, you buy the ticket.” Beth surrendered, not wanting to disappoint Aunt Harry. “If she wins, she’ll split it with you.”

  “Isn’t there a movie with that plot?”

  “Probably.”

  “Russell!” Harriet called from upstairs.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Play these exact numbers, 6-12-41-5-25-39.”

  Russ glanced at Beth. “How does she do that?”

  “You mean be clear one moment, carrying a birdcage for a purse the next?” Beth smiled. “I have no idea.”

  “Well.” He opened the door and they stepped outside. Leaning against the doorframe, he gazed at her. “A hot bath wouldn’t hurt your back.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Silence hung between them. She couldn’t remember when she’d been more aware of a man than she was right now. Talk of a hot soak raised sensual thoughts—thoughts that mirrored in his eyes. She lifted her hand to her hair. She must look a fright. Why hadn’t she gone upstairs and changed into that new blue pantsuit that made her look sophisticated, artsy?

  “I don’t suppose you would be interested in going to dinner some night?” he asked softly, still holding her eyes with his.

  She opened her mouth to say she couldn’t, but his hand across her lips gently stilled her refusal. “No, I didn’t think so.” Removing his hand, he casually dropped a kiss on the top of her nose.

  The impact affected her as much as if he’d swept her off her feet and carried her up the stairs, laid her on the new mattress, and had his way with her.

  “If you change your mind, let me know.”

  Her hand touched the place his lips had been as he whistled for Jasper. The dog fell into step with him, and man and animal trotted off down the street.

  Shivering in the cold night air, Beth wondered if he’d been serious. Did he actually want to take her out?

  She shook the tempting thought aside. He’d be gone in a few weeks, and she’d still be here in Morning Sun, wondering what it would be like to have dinner with him, to have him make love to her—

  Gad, Beth. You’re as ditsy as Aunt Harriet. She let herself in the screen and locked the door. But she couldn’t completely erase the image.

  5

  THE EVENING before Halloween, Beth glanced out the front window for the hundredth time, then sipped her coffee, willing the minutes to pass. Her impatience was finally rewarded. Russ jogged around the corner and down the street. She jerked open the door, flew down the steps, and leaped into his arms.

  “Whoa!” His arms came around her, holding her close. “To what do I owe this unexpected greeting?”

  “We won! We won! We won!”

  She grabbed his arms and twirled him around. “We won. Three million—that’s three MILLION—dollars! One million each!”

  She waited for her words to register.

  “Won? A million?”

  “The lottery, Russ. Our ticket won!”

  They danced around the sidewalk, giving each other high fives.

  “You’re kidding,” Russ insisted. “We won the lottery?”

  “All three million wonderful, glorious, big bucks. There were no other winning tickets.” Her right hand shook as she took the ticket out of her jacket pocket. She pointed to the winning numbers. “See—6-12-41-5-25-39! We won!”

  Russ slipped, and fell backward, spread-eagle onto the ground. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I had to tell you in person!”

  He sat up, and stared at her intently. “You’re kidding me, aren’t you? Is this a sick joke?”

  “No, I’m serious as back taxes. I called the lottery officials, gave them the numbers, and they said come down, present the ticket and they’ll make arrangements for the check. They already knew there was a winner in the area. I can hardly believe it!” Flinging her arms out wide, she spun in a wide circle. “We won, we won, we won! That’s a million apiece! Lord, it’s a fortune!”

  Russ slowly got to his feet, Beth latched onto his hand and dragged him into the house before any of the neighbors witnessed the exchange and branded her as strange as Aunt Harry.

  “I know it’s exactly like that Nicholas Cage movie It Could Happen To You—but it’s actually happening! To us! I told you Aunt Harry is incredibly lucky.” She led him into the living room. “But this is the first time it’s ever spilled over onto me.” She collapsed onto the sofa and Russ sat down next to her. “I can forget about statistics, about water levels and their environmental impact—I can forget everything! I’m rich!”

  Beth turned her head toward Russ and found him studying her. “Why aren’t you laughing? You’re rich, too.”

  His gaze skimmed her face and she felt as if he had physically touched her. He continued to study her, his eyes coming to rest on her mouth.

  A bell tinkled in the background.

  “Aunt Harry,” she whispered.

  Russ shifted, drawing her to him. He wanted to kiss her—she knew it, and she wanted it, too. Wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. The bell sounded again.

  “Sorry. Aunt Harry’s feeling bad this morning. I told her to ring if she needed me.” Beth swallowed, drowning in his sensual gaze. Aunt Harry had the worst timing.

  “Can’t it wait just a minute?” he asked softly.

  The bell rang again, more insistently this time.

  Releasing her hand, Russ sat back. “Guess not.”

  “Don’t you move!” Beth dashed up the stairs, her heart pounding. This better be important—so important it would make up for the kiss she’d missed. Would she have let him kiss her? Of course she would have
, and that made her want to throw her arms around Aunt Harry and thank her for saving her from herself.

  Harry was sitting up in bed, a tissue to her nose, her pink hair standing up in spikes.

  “You’re looking better. More juice?”

  “If I drink any more juice I’ll have Sunkist stamped across my forehead. Besides, I have things to do. I have a houseful of company coming for the party.”

  “Your company isn’t coming until tomorrow, and if you don’t get well, we’ll have to postpone the pre-Thanks-giving party.”

  “Not on your life. Who’s downstairs?”

  “Russ dropped by. Here, hold this under your tongue.” Beth didn’t intend to tell Harriet about the lottery yet—at least until she could talk to Hague Nelson at the bank and set up a trust fund in Harriet’s name. Harriet refused to part with coffeemakers, but she didn’t blink an eye when it came to giving away money. She would give away every cent of her million if Beth didn’t watch out for her.

  Beth popped a thermometer into Harriet’s mouth before she could protest. Verbally incapacitated for the moment, Harriet sat quietly as Beth straightened the bed covers and plumped her pillows.

  “You can come downstairs, if you’ll stay on the sofa.” We won, we won, we won! Beth’s heart sang. “Your soaps will be starting in a few minutes. What would you like for breakfast?” We won!

  “Barbeque ribs.”

  “How about oatmeal and dry toast?”

  “I can hardly wait,” Aunt Harry mumbled, padding toward the bathroom, the thermometer still in her mouth. Beth followed and retrieved it. “No, temperature this morning.” She patted her aunt’s shoulder.

  Beth hurried back downstairs. Russ was still on the sofa, but he had the phone receiver jammed between his jaw and shoulder. He hung up when he saw her. “That was my broker. I had an investment I wanted him to check for me.” He got up and followed her into the kitchen. It crossed Beth’s mind that perhaps she should get professional advice, too. But no, she knew what she would do now that she had the means—travel, travel and travel some more.

  “What’s Harriet think about winning? You know, Beth, I don’t expect you to split the winnings three ways. I bought the ticket for Harriet, I never expected—”