Naughty and Nice (Sunday Cove)

by Webb, Peggy

  Henry looked up at his passing and brayed a greeting. Maybe the jackass was getting to like him. Maybe Ben was getting to like himself.

  The water was still and peaceful, and while Ben stood at its edge a seagull swooped in for a landing. Standing in the water on its skinny legs, it was both awkward and graceful. As Ben watched it the solution to his problem presented itself. That’s the way it usually happened: While his conscious mind thought of something else, his unconscious mind was busy solving the problem.

  He hurried back to the house and told Hines his plan.

  “That’s brilliant, sir. And very generous, might I add.”

  “You understand all the stipulations?”

  “I do.”

  “There’s one more. Holly is never to know.”

  Growing up unloved and unwanted, Ben had learned the hard way that it was impossible to buy affection. Nor did he want Holly to think that he was trying. Love, if it ever came to him, had to come freely.

  o0o

  For two days after she returned from Birmingham, Holly walked with a new spring in her step. She sang along with every song on the radio, whether or not she knew the words. She dragged every box of Christmas decorations she had into the living room and hung them all. Lily complained that the house looked like a garage sale, but even she couldn’t dampen Holly’s spirits.

  Every time the phone rang, she raced to answer it. And every time it wasn’t Ben, her spirits sank.

  On the third day the phone call was from Jo Ann Snipes.

  “Holly, can you take a break this afternoon and meet me for coffee?”

  “Sure. I can always make the time for you, Jo Ann.”

  They met at a Clara’s Restaurant. Jo Ann was already waiting, and the minute Holly stepped inside, Clara raced over with two cups of coffee and a plate of cinnamon buns.

  “Thanks, Clara.” Holly wrapped her hands around the cup, smiling, but she was determined to resist the cinnamon buns.

  “Merry Christmas!” Clara wore a sprig of holly in her hair and an apron stenciled with a smiling Santa. She winked at Holly. “I hear Christmas came early for you.”

  Holly wasn’t even going to pretend she didn’t know what Clara was talking about. Her grandmother would have told everybody in bridge club about Holly’s date, and of course, Clara would have been standing by with plenty of coffee and advice. All of it well meaning, of course.

  “Yes, Santa came early, Clara.”

  “That’s the best news I’ve had today, sugar.” She reached down and pinched off a bite of cinnamon bun. “When’s he coming again?”

  “That, I don’t know.”

  “Shoot. Next time Hines comes in here, I’m liable to tell him to light a fire under his boss.”

  Holly could just picture it: Clara singing her praises and Hines repeating her word for word. Holly would come off looking like an old maid the whole town was trying to marry off.

  She forced a big laugh. “Don’t you worry, Clara. I plan to light that fire, myself.”

  “Wish I could see those fireworks, sugar.” Clara topped off their coffee. “If you need anything else over here, just give a holler.”

  Holly waited until she was out of earshot, and then she reached Jo Ann’s hand.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “How often have you asked me that question in the past year?”

  “More times than I care to think about. What is it, Jo Ann? You look shaken.”

  “I am. Incredible news sometimes does that.” She gave Holly a huge smile.

  “Incredible news? As in good news? Don’t keep me guessing. What is it?”

  “You’re not going to believe this. I don’t believe it, myself.”

  “What? What?”

  “Michael got a call from a lawyer, somebody he’d never heard of. Holly... somebody paid off our mortgage.”

  “Who?”

  “If I knew, I’d fall on the ground and kiss his feet.”

  “Or hers,” Holly said. “It could be a woman.”

  “Nope. The lawyer said he prefers to remain anonymous.”

  “Whoever he is, here’s to him.” Holly lifted her coffee cup. “May peace, love, and all the joy of Christmas be his.”

  “Amen.” Jo Ann touched the rim of Holly’s cup with her own.

  “There’s more, Holly.”

  “You’re driving me crazy with all this suspense. Tell me, quick.”

  “This donor, bless his dear and generous heart, provided us a nest egg to make a fresh start. He also provided a small monthly stipend for one year with the stipulation that I go back to school and that Michael get a job and remain there for that period of time.”

  “That’s wonderful, Jo Ann. I’m thrilled for you.” Holly loved a good mystery. But more than that, she loved solving it. “It must be someone you know. Think, Jo Ann. Who could it be?”

  “I’ve racked my brain, but the only person I can think of who would do such a thing is you.”

  Holly laughed. “When my ship comes in... Hey, maybe it’s some long forgotten relative.”

  “Fat chance. But enough about me. What about you?”

  “Same old same old,” Holly said, but immediately she felt guilty. “That’s not entirely true, Jo Ann. I don’t know how to tell you this. I feel somewhat like a traitor.”

  “You! Never. You’re the best friend I’ve got.”

  “I hope you still think so after I tell you. That early gift from Santa was a date with Ben Sullivan. I really like him, Jo Ann.”

  “Oh, Holly. Sure, we laughed and joked about him stealing the farm, but I never blamed him. Losing the farm was our own doing, but now we’re getting a second chance. I’m glad you are too.”

  “I’m scared to death, Jo Ann. I don’t know what’s real and what’s just a game to him.”

  “What if it is a game? You’re the most resourceful, intrepid person I know. If anybody can hit a home run, it’s you.”

  Holly didn’t have the heart to tell Jo Ann that she wasn’t intrepid at all. The jokes, the laughter, the happy-go-lucky smile were all part of an act designed to cover her own fears and insecurities.

  Shoot. Ben Sullivan hadn’t even called her. It looked as if she wasn’t even going to get up to bat again, let alone hit a home run.

  Chapter 16

  The church kitchen smelled deliciously spicy. Pans of gingerbread boys were cooling on the racks while the last of the batch was baking in the oven.

  “I’ll be glad to get home and get my feet up,” Loweva grumbled. “Whoever heard of having a party at the church this close to Christmas? That’s family time.”

  “It’ll be fun, Loweva. Besides, some of these people don’t have family.” Holly pulled out tubes of icing and set to work.

  “Lordy, what’re you doing to the gingerbread?”

  “Turning pretty boys into sweet jolly Santas. I wish it was this easy in real life.”

  “Is that pretty boy giving you trouble?”

  Holly didn’t even think of pretending with Loweva. “Ben hasn’t called since Birmingham.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, and that’s plain foolish. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “I’m fat.”

  “You’re not fat; you’ve got a little meat on your bones. There’s a difference.”

  “To you, maybe, but not to him. He’s gorgeous. Why would he want a woman with thunder thighs and a jelly roll around the middle when he could have anybody he wanted? I was a one-night stand, that’s all.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Then why hasn’t he called?”

  “Maybe he has his reasons.”

  “What reasons?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “How? I’m not about to be the first to call, and I’m certainly not going to drive out to the farm.”

  Loweva smiled. “All you have to do is turn around. Yonder he is. Hmm-hmmm, he is one fine- looking man.”

  With a tube of icing in one hand and
a gingerbread boy in the other, Holly whirled around. And there he was, standing in the doorway, taking her breath away. Looking at him that way, relaxed, smiling, his jeans pressed just so, his stark white shirt relieved by a flamboyant tie of red and green, Holly remembered all the ways he had touched her, all the things he had made her feel. In Ben’s arms she felt loved and secure and cared for. She felt intelligent and appreciated. She felt pretty.

  She was mad at him for giving her those things and then taking them away. No matter how appealing he was, that didn’t make up for putting her through four days of silent treatment.

  Maybe she wasn’t Vogue material, maybe she wasn’t Ph.D material, but by George, she was somebody, and she deserved to be treated that way. And she was going to march over there and tell him so.

  “What will I say to him, Loweva?” she whispered, turning back to her gingerbread boys.

  “Who do you think I am? Dear Abby? Even if I was I couldn’t get up a bunch of advice in this length of time. He’s headed this way.”

  “Shoot.” Holly squeezed the tube too hard and a glob of red icing plopped onto the top of the work table. The resolute sound of Ben Sullivan’s footsteps reminded her that he was coming closer.

  “My goodness... my hair. I look like a squirrel.”

  Between doing Lily’s errands and getting ready for the church party, she hadn’t even had time to shampoo it. She’d bunched it high on her head in a rubber band, and then added a bit of mistletoe and some jingle bells for a festive touch.

  “You talk to him, Loweva. I’m busy.”

  “All right, I will.”

  Loweva grabbed a tray of cups and headed Ben’s way.

  “I sure am glad you came early,” she told him. “We could use some help back there in the kitchen.”

  Another glob of red icing went astray. Holly could have killed her.

  “It will be my pleasure,” Ben said. “Just tell me what to do.”

  “Ask Holly. She’s the boss.”

  Holly didn’t have to turn around and look through the serving window to see Ben headed her way. Every tingling nerve in her body said he was coming. And when he actually walked into the kitchen, all the air vanished and she couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Where’s the angel costume?” He leaned casually on the edge of the work table as if he were an old hand in her kitchen instead of making his second appearance, as if she were merely the cook and Birmingham had never happened.

  “An angel costume wouldn’t be appropriate.” She bared her teeth at him. “A devil would suit me better tonight.”

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “Is anything wrong?” She aimed the icing gun at him, tempted to shoot. “Now, why in the world would anything be wrong?”

  His puzzlement looked genuine, but she didn’t care. Wounded pride did that to women, made them spit and claw like cornered cats.

  “You tell me,” he said.

  “I’m getting ready for a large party,” she said.

  “I heard. That’s why I’m here.”

  She bristled. “I see.”

  Ben shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “I’m not very good at this.”

  That’s what he had told Jonathan. I’m not a joiner. I don’t believe in institutions... of any kind.

  Including the age-old institution of courtship, obviously. Or else he would have called.

  Her hands shook as she wielded the icing gun over the rest of the gingerbread. It didn’t help her mood that Ben looked cool and collected. It didn’t improve her attitude one bit that she found him desirable even when she was furious at him.

  Why didn’t he say something? This was probably the way he dealt with opponents in Washington, treated them to an overdose of his devastatingly good looks while he stood silently by and watched them sweat.

  She snatched up her pan of gingerbread. “Would you mind moving your...” Her eyes raked over his chest, down his flat belly, to the part of his anatomy she had in mind. The memory of touching him there rendered her speechless.

  “Moving my what?” His voice was soft, seductive.

  She licked her lips. “Hips,” she said.

  As he stepped back all of three inches, he gave her a smile of pure wicked glee. “Certainly. Is that far enough?”

  Holly had been done in by too many gorgeous men to let one more get the best of her.

  “No,” she said, tossing her head. “But I suppose I can make do.”

  Head high, she stalked by him and placed the pan of freshly baked gingerbread on the serving counter. Even the small act of brushing past him had almost set her hair on fire. She’d be mortified if he noticed.

  Out in the Fellowship Hall, Loweva grinned at her. Holly made a slashing motion across her throat. Loweva only laughed.

  Ben was still in her kitchen, too big to be overlooked and too powerful to be ignored. Clutching the edge of the counter, Holly considered what to do next.

  Ask him, Loweva had said. But she had too much pride. Asking why he hadn’t called would be like begging. And she wasn’t about to beg for a man’s attentions.

  But she couldn’t stand idle all night. Soon the Fellowship Hall would contain fifty people who had no other place to go on Christmas Eve, fifty people who for one reason or another wouldn’t be in the bosom of a loving family.

  What about Ben? Why was he there?

  To drive her crazy. That was why.

  She whirled around, intent on stalking by him once more, but his hand snaked out and snared her wrist.

  “Holly, I came to see you.”

  If the shocking currents she felt weren’t enough to keep her still, the grip on her wrist was. But could she believe what he said? Did she dare believe?

  “Why?” she said.

  “Hines is with his family in Virginia, and for some reason I didn’t want to be alone. The newsletter I received said this was a Christmas party for strays.” His eyes sought hers.

  “I see,” she said.

  “No, you don’t, because I haven’t told you the whole truth. But this is neither the time nor the place for it.”

  Whatever the truth was, it would have to wait.

  The door opened to let in a blast of cold and the first of Holly’s strays. Cheery greetings filled the fellowship hall.

  “I have to go and see to the guests,” she said. And then, because he looked so lost and sincere, Holly relented. “I’m glad you came,” she said, simply and truthfully.

  “You mean that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I was hoping that after the party is over, you could come to the farm to help decorate my tree.”

  Holly loved decorating Christmas trees. To her, it was an intensely personal chore, one that ensured warmth and invited reminiscing. Decorating a tree together was intimate in ways that even making love was not.

  She wished she could join him with the full assurance that it meant the same thing to him, but she’d had her hopes built up too many times to see them dashed once more.

  “Lily is home by herself,” she said, which was true. “I don’t like to leave her alone on Christmas Eve.” Also true.

  Though the main reason she didn’t want to go to the farm was self-protection. She didn’t know how many times a woman could pick up the pieces of herself and go on about her business, but Holly figured she was getting close to her limit.

  “I understand,” Ben said, and if he was disappointed, she couldn’t tell.

  The crowd in the Fellowship Hall was growing and would soon demand all Holly’s attention.

  “Thank you, anyway,” she said.

  “If you change your mind, I’ll be there.” She turned to leave, but his compelling voice called her back. “Holly... I hope you do.”

  His voice held her, and his dark eyes made her remember the way he had touched her, the way he had held her, the way he had made love to her. She wanted so much to believe that he was sincere. She wanted desperately to believe that she was not disposa
ble to him.

  But duty called and she had a legitimate excuse to leave him, a valid reason to avoid the kind of soul searching she wasn’t ready to do.

  “Gotta go,” she said. Then she did what she had been doing for years: She gave him a big grin and cheerful wave. “Merry Christmas, Ben. Enjoy the party.”

  She didn’t know whether he did or not. With Ben it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. At least he stayed. That was progress. Maybe.

  When Jonathan and his family, who took time from their own celebration, joined the party, Ben made his way to them. He ate with them, talked with them, and only occasionally did his eyes seek out Holly.

  By the time the party was over, she was exhausted from all the tension, all the uncertainty. It took the last bit of energy she had to stand at the door and wish departing guests a happy holiday.

  “Go on home to your family, Loweva,” she said after the last guest had gone. “I’ll finish here.”

  “I’m not fixing to leave you to clean up all this mess by yourself.”

  “But it’s Christmas, Loweva.”

  “Last I heard, it was Christmas at your house too. If Grover and the kids know what’s good for ‘em, they’ll wait for me.”

  They had deliberately kept the party short and simple, and there wasn’t much cleaning up to do. They worked in silence for a while, which was unusual for them.

  “I take it my little plan didn’t work,” Loweva said.

  Holly didn’t have to inquire which plan. Nor did she feel obligated to answer. The question was purely rhetorical.

  ‘If you want to talk about it, I’ve got big ears and plenty of time,” Loweva added.

  “What is there to say?”

  “You didn’t talk about anything with him?”

  “Nothing that couldn’t be put in a newsletter for the whole congregation to read.”

  “Hmmm-hmmm.” Loweva shook her head. “Honey, I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you.”

  “He invited me over to decorate his tree.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him no. Don’t look at me like that, Loweva. You know good and well I have to spend the evening with Lily.”

  “She goes to bed at nine. What about after?”

  “It’s not a good idea.”