Chapter Nine
Rose leaned against the kitchen counter and wondered what she was doing. Prolonging the agony was her answer. She’d fallen in love with the children, and worse, she’d fallen in love with Paul.
He cared about her. She accepted that. He’d been kind and generous. He’d included her in family activities and told her she was important to them, but as she’d said the other night, she was his employee. That would never change.
And she would never be available for another man as long as Paul was in her life. So what about marriage and children? The answer hung on a thread.
Christmas was only three weeks away, and she needed to prepare the family if she were really going back to California. The quicker the better, as far as she was concerned. As soon as the thought entered her mind, a knot formed in her chest. Heavenly Father, please let me hear Your voice.
She heard nothing but the twins banging something from the front of the house.
Her thoughts drifted back to Gretchen. Rose had been mortified when her jealousy had caused her to concoct a romance between Paul and the woman. Every time the memory resurfaced—and it did often—she cringed.
Jealousy, distrust and frustration had become her way of life, and they were not the attributes of a Christian. She’d asked God to guide her, to give her courage to leave, then her heart would tell her to stay.
Since Gretchen had returned to L.A., Rose was pleased that Paul had done what he’d promised. He’d been arriving home on time again. She knew it would be good for the children after she was gone.
Gone? Is that what she would ultimately do?
Her only defense had been keeping busy, planning for Christmas and wrapping the children’s gifts. She’d hidden them everywhere she prayed the twins wouldn’t look. Today she’d put her energy into baking cookies. She’d have a supply that would last through January.
Rose wandered into the living room and put on a CD of Christmas music. The holiday carols filled the room and wrapped around her heart. She checked on the children, who’d decided to conspire in Paul’s study about what they wanted to give their father for Christmas. They’d been particularly well behaved in the past week, and Rose assumed their goodness had to do with Christmas.
Though she’d written to Jan that she was giving serious thought to going back and had even received a lively telephone call filling her in on all the news and giving her encouragement, Rose couldn’t envision actually walking out the door. The thought made her ill.
Yet the idea persisted. Though she would miss the twins, the possibility of getting married and having her own children softened the hurt.
Before she left Little Cloud, Rose wished she could be honest with Paul about her feelings. But what good would it do? She’d only embarrass herself and face his rejection. A woman should never fall in love with her boss. The relationship was doomed.
The buzzer on the oven sounded, and Rose’s heart lurched. She opened the door and pulled out two sheets of plump sugar cookies. She’d bought decorator frosting, and once she covered the cookies with a white glaze, she planned to let the children help make the designs.
As the new aroma sailed into the air, she heard the sound of two pairs of feet thudding nearer. She watched the doorway, and in a heartbeat the twins appeared.
“More cookies?” Kayla asked.
“I thought you liked cookies,” Rose said.
Kayla leaned over the pans and sniffed. “We do, but you’ve made lots already.”
“I’m stocking up.” Rose’s throat tightened.
Colin eyed the icing tubes. “Can we help put on the decorations?”
“Once they cool.” Rose shifted the cookies to cooling racks, then set the sheets in the sink. “Did you decide what gift you want to buy for your dad?”
Kayla nodded.
“What is it?”
Colin plopped his hand over Kayla’s mouth. “A surprise, but we need little round macaronis.”
His request threw Rose. What would they do with macaroni? “I’ll pick some up for you the next time I’m at the grocery store.”
“Okay,” Kayla said. “Buy a big box. We’re going to make something.”
“Make something. That’s wonderful. Your daddy will love that more than—”
A noise caught her attention, and all eyes shifted to the outside door.
Paul stepped into the kitchen in his stocking feet. “Mud,” he said.
Colin pointed. “Rose will get the broom after you.”
Paul wiggled his toes. “No shoes. I’m safe.”
Rose grinned at their antics.
Paul sniffed the air, then ambled to the table and snatched a cookie. He took a big bite and licked away the crumbs. When he turned, he gawked at the filled containers piled on the counter. “We’re having a bake sale?”
“We’re stocking up,” Kayla said. “And don’t eat any more of those, Daddy. We’re going to decorate them.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, meandering across to the counter that held the plastic bins of cookies. “Are you decorating these?”
Rose shook her head and watched him slip out another. “You won’t be hungry for dinner.”
“Yes, I will. Paul Bunyan can eat a million flapjacks.” He grinned. “Or something like that.”
Rose eyed him. “Paul Bunyan?”
“Paul Bunyan’s a lumberjack,” Colin said, peering at Rose.
“I know, but what’s that have to do with anything?”
“We’re cutting down our Christmas tree tonight,” Paul said.
“We are?” The twins whooped and bounced across the floor to Paul’s side.
He gave them a hug, then looked at Rose. “Don’t worry about dinner. We can pick something up while we’re out.”
She nodded, having lost her spirit for cookie baking. The Christmas tree. The emotion seemed too much for her.
“You’ll come, too,” he said, as if he sensed what she’d been thinking.
“No. I think I’ll—” She stopped herself. She wanted to decline, but sitting home alone was the last thing she wanted to do tonight.
“You’re coming along,” Paul said. It wasn’t a question.
Rose nodded. “Do we have time to ice these cookies?”
“By all means. I have to change clothes, and then I can help, too.”
When he was gone, Rose pointed the children to their task. She put on the glaze, and they decorated. By the time Paul returned, they were giggling at their mistakes and praising their successes.
Paul pitched in, and soon the cookies were finished and spread out over the table to dry.
Within minutes, they bundled up and headed out the door. Paul drove to the restaurant first, and when they’d finished eating, they were on their way. Rose still hadn’t gotten used to the miles and miles of forest that lined the roadways. In L.A. a tree off a freeway was a rarity. As she watched evergreens blur past her window, she figured they could have stopped anywhere and laid an ax to a pine or fir.
About thirty miles from town Paul pointed to the sign—Willard’s Tree Farm. The temperature had dropped in the past hour, and the mud had frozen. At the tree farm the car bumped along the compact ice and snow as if it were on an old corduroy road. The few flakes that had twirled past the windshield earlier had grown to a full snowfall. Rose hoped they’d dressed warmly enough.
After they parked, Paul pulled a handsaw from the trunk and headed toward the cashier’s shed. The kids frolicked beside him while Rose trudged behind, her heart vacillating between sorrow and joy. This Christmas had become so special to her—not because of her leaving, but because of the closeness she felt to all of them.
The attendant pointed out their options, and soon they were trudging across the frozen earth toward the trees. “Douglas fir? Balsam? Scotch pine? What’s your pleasure?” Paul aimed his gaze at Rose.
What was her pleasure? She drew in the pine scent that filled the air. This moment was her greatest, surrounded by the people she loved and
entertained by the snowflakes flitting from the sky. They caught in Paul’s hair and lashes. The children twirled in circles, their tongues sticking out to catch the infinitesimal crystals.
Though the night was cold, Rose warmed at the sight of it all. “I like real Christmas trees with big gaping holes and short needles. The kind I had when I was a kid.”
“You mean the ugly kind?” Paul’s voice was filled with teasing.
“Beautiful ones,” she said, swinging her fist to poke his arm.
With the momentum of her punch, she lost her footing on the slippery ground. She felt her legs sail out from under her, and all she could do was protect her arms and head from being injured. She smacked against the ground on her backside.
Kayla darted forward, concern wrinkling her smooth face. “Help her, Daddy,” she cried.
“I’m fine,” Rose called out to halt their worry.
“You don’t look fine to me,” Paul said, coming to her rescue. He reached down, clasped both her hands in his, braced her feet against his heavy shoes and pulled her upward.
She stumbled against him, her breath making a cloud of white mist that mingled with his in the cold air.
When their eyes met, Paul let her go.
“No, Daddy,” Colin said in his directive voice. “You have to hold Rose up so she doesn’t fall again.”
Paul shrugged as if the boss had spoken. He clasped Rose’s waist and held her close to his side.
Rose felt enveloped in protection and love. The children romped in front of them, pointing to trees and chattering like squirrels. Finally Rose spotted the tree between the feathering snowdrops. A beautiful tree, almost perfect, with widespread limbs and open places to hang large ornaments.
She slowed and pointed. “That’s it. That’s a real Christmas tree.”
Paul let his arm slide from her waist and moved closer. He read the tag. “It’s a Fraser fir. They say it doesn’t lose its needles.”
“That’s what we want,” Rose said, thinking of the housecleaning.
The children agreed, so Paul stepped forward, bent low and drew the saw back and forth. Rose watched the tree until Paul called, “Timber.” As it tilted, Rose scooted in and caught the fir before it hit the ground.
While she carried the saw, Paul hoisted the heavy tree over his shoulder, and they made their way back to the hut. He had become Paul Bunyan as she watched him walk along, his back so straight he seemed taller than usual, his strong arms balancing the tree on his shoulder. The vision made her ache.
The attendant bagged the fir, and as Paul paid the cashier, she ushered the children to the car. The snowfall grew heavier. In moments Paul joined them, and while he mounted the tree to the car roof, she buckled Kayla and Colin into the back seat. Before she could open the passenger door, Paul stepped beside her and laid his hand on hers.
“I’m glad you came. It wouldn’t have been fun without you,” he said.
She sensed his sincerity and something deeper in his eyes. The look sent her reeling. “That’s because I fell and made you all laugh.”
He tilted her chin upward, and she felt snowflakes settle on her nose and eyelashes.
“No,” he said, “it’s because you’re as much a part of this family as I am.” His hand slid up to cup her face and he leaned closer and kissed her cheek.
Rose’s skin tingled, and his words swirled through her mind as wildly as the snowflakes. Heavenly Father, why can’t I hear You?
She heard nothing but Paul’s breathing.
Chapter Ten
Paul sat in his study, looking out the front windows.
He’d kissed Rose’s cheek two days earlier, and he couldn’t lose the memory. He relived the moment his lips had touched her face. He’d felt the cold of the snowflakes, but the warmth of her skin had melted his heart.
During the past days he’d faced where his emotions were leading him. He would sometimes pause in the kitchen doorway to watch her. How he longed to sneak up behind Rose, wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her graceful neck…but his dreams stopped there. Until he felt assured Rose would accept his advance, he’d keep his place, as she kept hers.
With possibilities tossing in his head, Paul wandered to the front window and leaned on the casing. He’d always disliked winter, but again today snow drifted down like feathers from a torn pillow. The view from the study inspired him. From the turret he could look out four windows into the wooded landscape across from the house. The bay window would make a perfect location for their tree.
Tonight Rose had mentioned hanging the Christmas decorations. He grinned, thinking about the electric candle boxes he’d seen stacked on the living-room chair, and he could picture one in each of the study and dining-room windows that looked onto the front. He was curious what else she’d bought that he didn’t know about.
Hearing the telephone jingle, Paul headed toward his desk, but the ringing stopped. Rose rarely received a call, so he left the study to see if it was for him. He heard her voice from the kitchen telephone, and he paused in the doorway.
“Thanks for inviting me.”
Inviting her? His chest tightened, and he waited.
“No. Really. I can’t. It’s impossible.”
Instead of eavesdropping further, he walked into the kitchen and leaned against the door frame. Rose’s face was flushed, and he knew something had upset her. A deep urge washed over him, and he longed to hold her in his arms.
“You’re very kind. Yes. Thank you.” She hung up the telephone, and when she turned around, she gave a start.
“Sorry,” Paul said. “I thought the call was for me.”
She shook her head, a frown furrowing her face.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, not really.”
He knew differently, but he hoped she would tell him. Paul’s concern grew. He crossed the kitchen and touched her arm. “You’re annoyed about something.”
Her eyes darkened when she looked at him. “I should be complimented, I suppose. A gentleman from church asked me to go with him to dinner and the Historic Home Tour.”
His pulse quickened.
She turned away. “I said no, naturally.”
Was that natural? She didn’t date. She longed for children and marriage one day, but she’d said no. As her employer—her friend—Paul knew he should encourage her to go out with the man, but he couldn’t respond to her in either capacity. He could respond only where his heart led him. “You said no because of the children?”
“It’s not the children, Paul.”
He searched her eyes, wanting to probe. “I was just curious.”
“I know,” she said, her voice as disillusioned as the last kid picked on a baseball team.
He stood there not knowing what to say and knowing he should say nothing. He shoved his hands into his pockets and wandered across the room to the refrigerator. He stood in front of it, not hungry but yearning for something.
“Why did he call here?” Paul asked before he could stop himself.
“I work here. He didn’t know my home phone number. It’s not listed.”
It had been a stupid question. He couldn’t look in her eyes, fearing what she might see. Instead, he stared at the floor and dealt with emotions he hadn’t felt in years. Frustration, anxiety, jealousy. What would he have done if Rose had said yes to the man?
His mind worked like a calculator, trying to figure which man had called her for a date. He supposed the guy had every right, but it seemed…
His stomach twisted. He had no hold on Rose. She could date anyone she desired. She could do anything she wanted. The possibilities left him empty. Rose had become his life. She was the reason he hurried home. She was all he could think about. The realization etched itself on his heart.
He’d felt it coming like a gentle breeze—no sound, no drama, only an awareness, an airy dance of emotion that touched him almost imperceptibly. He was falling in love with Rose.
“I’m going up to check on
the kids and make sure they’re sleeping,” she said.
Before her words registered, she had vanished. He stared at nothing while questions filled his mind.
How could he have missed what was happening? He knew he admired her. He’d been grateful and tried to make her happy. But was that love? Could he want a mother for the children so badly that he only thought it was something deeper? A voice said no. Could he be responding to the social pressure of having a wife? No again.
His feelings were as real as the tension growing in the cords of his neck. He moved to the stove and turned on a burner, then filled the kettle and set it on the stove.
He heard Rose’s footsteps and paused.
“They’re asleep.”
Alien sensations sizzled through his limbs, and he didn’t know what to do or how to react. He gestured toward the kettle. “I’m making tea.”
“That sounds good.” She sat on the edge of a kitchen chair and ran her hand across the back of her neck as she stretched her shoulders.
“Headache?” Paul asked.
“A little one. I’ll be fine.”
Paul watched her a moment until longing spurred him to slip behind her. He used his thumb to massage her upper back, then kneaded her shoulder muscles, working his way up to the cords of her slender neck.
Rose gave a soft moan of pleasure as she relaxed against his hands. She tilted her head back and forth, her silky hair brushing against his fingers.
He struggled to keep himself from running his hands through her locks. The kettle whistled, and he was forced to move away. “Feel better?”
“Thank you. That felt nice.”
He focused on making cups of tea while calming his emotions. He longed to tell Rose how he felt. Perhaps he could tonight if he found the courage.
“Let’s get comfortable,” he said, leading the way. They settled in the living room. Both seemed thoughtful and quiet as they sipped their drinks.
Paul noticed the boxes of candles and remembered their plan. “Are we decorating tonight, or don’t you feel up to it?”
That Christmas Feeling Page 16
