A Miracle for Christmas (Harlequin Romance)

by Grace Green

  ‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m not. Our movie date was a one-shot deal.’

  Stephanie felt her cheeks turn warm. ‘I’m sorry. I know I put him on the spot. It was very rude.’

  With a weary gesture, Janey shoved back her hair. ‘You didn’t put him on the spot. We would have gone out on a date even if you hadn’t suggested we take in that movie.’

  Stephanie swallowed. ‘So...you were instantly attracted to each other.’ Why did she find that notion so painful? ‘Then why haven’t you gone out again?’

  ‘Steph, let me get something off my chest.’ Janey sat down on the chair opposite Stephanie, and leaned forward, her expression serious. ‘That night, when I came back from the CakeTin and came up on you and Damian at the front door... well, let’s just say that the electricity between the two of you could have lit up the whole of Boston—’

  ‘Janey, I don’t want to listen to—’

  ‘And when we came up here, and you took off into your room—apparently upset because Damian had accepted my invitation...he and I talked. And it became obvious within seconds that we both thought Tony Gould was the wrong man for you. And we both hated to see you make a mistake by marrying him.’ Her chin tilted stubbornly. ‘We decided to do something about it. Before it was too late.’

  Stephanie stared disbelievingly. The date had been arranged for the sole purpose of making her jealous? Humiliation quickly flared into anger. ‘So even had I not pushed him into asking you out, you’d have gone out anyway? Well, that takes a weight off my mind.’ Her tone was icy cold, and heavy with sarcasm. ‘And here I was agonizing over having been merely rude, when all the time the pair of you were deceitful and sly and treacherous and—’

  ‘We had the best of intentions, Steph—’

  Stephanie surged to her feet, her eyes burning with tears. ‘And that’s supposed to make it all right...that my best friend betrays me?’

  Janey brushed aside the insults. ‘Damian likes you, Steph.’ Her tone was sorrowful. ‘I mean... really likes you.’

  ‘Oh, he may want me—’ tight-lipped, and fighting her tears, Stephanie stalked to the window ‘—but that’s all.’ She pulled back the curtain, and peered down grimly through her blurred gaze.

  ‘It’s more than that—’

  She whirled around. ‘I’ve just come out of one disastrous relationship, Janey. I’m not ready for another—specially with someone like him.’

  ‘Someone like him? What does that mean?’

  ‘I want to get married.’ Her anger had dissipated, as quickly as it had arisen, leaving her feeling shaky and helpless. ‘I want the little house, the picket fence, the 2.4 kids...the whole ball of wax. I’ll not settle for less. Damian McAllister’s been married once, and he’s made it clear he’s not planning to go to the altar again. Even supposing I were interested in him, which I’m not saying I am, I’d never go out with him. What would be the point?’

  ‘But if he fell in love with you, surely he’d—’

  ‘Janey.’ Her voice had steadied. ‘The man doesn’t even celebrate Christmas! It would take nothing short of a miracle to change him into the kind of man I want. Besides, my judgment’s off. Look how wrong I was about Tony. No, I plan to wait a while before I throw myself back into the marriage market—perhaps, given time, my judgment will improve to the point where I can trust it again.’ She took in a deep breath. ‘So—’ she forced a smile ‘—tell me who is responsible for the dreamy look that was in your eyes when you came in.’

  Janey must have seen that their discussion about McAllister was over. And though her eyes had been troubled, they soon began to brighten as she told Stephanie about the new man in her life, someone she’d met through the parents of one of her day-care children.

  Stephanie rejoiced in her friend’s uncomplicated happiness, but even as she listened to her, she found herself wondering if McAllister had found out yet that she and Tony were no longer an item.

  If he had, he would know she was free. And surely he must know by now? But if indeed he did, he had made no effort to contact her.

  She had just told Janey she wouldn’t date the man even if he called; then why did she feel so piqued by the fact that he hadn’t!

  ‘I’ve been searching the mystery section for James West’s Untimely Graves,’ Stephanie told the gum-chewing clerk behind the bookstore counter, ‘but you don’t seem to have a copy on the shelves.’

  ‘Let me check.’ The clerk looked bored as she pressed a few buttons on her computer keyboard and stared for a moment at the monitor before looking up again. ‘Sorry, Untimely Graves is one of his earlier books and it’s now out of print. I doubt you’ll find a copy anywhere.’

  She flicked her gaze past Stephanie, and preened herself visibly as she addressed the next customer. ‘Good morning, sir.’ Her smile was ingratiating.

  Wrapped up in her disappointment, Stephanie turned away, only to find herself trapped by the man behind her...who showed no signs of budging.

  She lifted her head, a cool ‘Excuse me’ on her lips, but the words died unuttered.

  The man was McAllister.

  He was wearing a teal bomber jacket with jeans and a beautiful taupe sweater, and energy and good health positively radiated from him. His tanned skin glowed, his clear eyes sparkled...and his dark hair was windblown, just begging to be smoothed. Stephanie’s fingers ached to oblige. She curled her hands into fists at her side.

  ‘You’re looking for Untimely Graves?’ he said. ‘I’ll lend you my copy.’

  Her senses reeled from his tantalizingly familiar male scent. ‘What are you doing here?’ The question came out breathlessly.

  He raised his brows. ‘Surely you recall Janey’s telling you this was my bookstore of choice?’

  ‘Yes...but—’

  ‘So...I come here often. I read a lot. Now, about the book—’

  ‘I read the first few chapters at your place, and I hate starting a good book and not being able to finish it—’

  ‘But you’re having a hard time tracking it down. I’ll phone the woman who caretakes my place in Vermont, have her root my copy out and courier it to you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Stephanie’s tone was as stiff as her body had become. ‘But you know what Shakespeare said. “Neither a borrower, nor a lender be.”’

  ‘Ah, but Pythagoras said, “Friends share all things,” and I think if we worked on it, we could qualify as fr—’

  ‘Besides,’ she blurted out, ‘I don’t think you really want to part with that particular book, even temporarily. It seemed to... mean a lot to you.’

  A shadow darkened his expression for a moment, but it passed so quickly she decided it must have been a trick of the light. When he spoke, his voice was steady.

  ‘You’re a book lover,’ he said. ‘I’d trust you to—’

  ‘Next please!’ the clerk said sharply.

  ‘—look after it.’ McAllister dropped a hardback copy of Dick Francis’s latest bestseller on the counter.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘If I can’t find a copy to buy, I’ll check it out of the library. It’s just that I have all West’s other books, and I’d like to add Untimely Graves to my collection. But thanks anyway, for the offer.’

  ‘Hang on a sec till I pay for this.’ He reached into his hip pocket for his wallet. ‘And I’ll buy you a coffee.’

  He took a Visa card from his wallet, and moved past Stephanie to hand it over the counter to the salesclerk. While his back was turned, Stephanie slipped away.

  The store was jammed with shoppers and browsers, and it took her a few moments to weave her way through the crowd. Once outside, she saw a bus about to leave from a stop in front of the store. She set off at a run, and managed to jump aboard, just before it set off.

  Friends, he had said. If they worked at it, they could become friends. But she could never be just friends with him. And anything more was out of the question.

  Ten minutes and one bus transfer later, she was sitting in a
quiet corner of the Comfort Zone, her favourite Espresso bar. A copy of the Sunday paper was spread out on the small table, a mug of cappuccino wrapped in her hands.

  She sipped from her mug, and started reading.

  McAllister tucked his copy of the Sunday paper under his arm, paid for his cappuccino and started across the coffee bar towards his quarry.

  She had draped her jacket over the back of her chair, and he could see she was wearing a navy-and-white striped shirt and dress pants. Her hair was loose, and a tumble of chocolate brown curls had fallen forward as she leaned over her paper. She pushed them back absently, revealing her brow, and the sweet curve of her cheek.

  Her beauty did odd things to McAllister’s heart.

  As it always had done.

  Which was why, ever since their last phone encounter, when he’d harshly told her to grow up, he’d stayed away from her. But when he’d caught sight of her unexpectedly in the bookstore, a rush of heady excitement had obliterated all sense of caution and self-preservation. He wanted to spend time with her. Was that so bad? Just to have a coffee with her? In a public place? No harm in that, surely?

  So he’d invited her to join him...

  But she’d taken off.

  While waiting for his receipt, he’d glanced out the window and had seen her jump on a bus...and that was when he’d recalled what Janey had told him. Gould played squash every Sunday morning, and Stephanie had her own routine, a routine that never varied and always ended up at the Comfort Zone.

  Like a lemming rushing headlong to a watery death, he’d set off in his Mercedes to search for the elusive coffee bar.

  It had taken him almost twenty minutes to find it, and during those twenty minutes the thrill of the chase had pumped adrenaline through his body till he felt as high as a kite.

  He came to a stop at her table. She was still engrossed in her paper. Her perfume drifted up to him. Green moss. Pink roses. Lingering kisses. Images swam through his brain. Images that were out of place, in this busy coffee bar, on a Sunday...or any other... morning.

  ‘Well, now.’ Lazily he tossed down his paper. ‘Hello again!’

  She jerked her head up. Her eyes were wide with surprise, her lips parted in dismay—those luscious lips, red and full and as tempting as sun-warmed summer strawberries. ‘What are you doing here?’ she gasped.

  ‘You’re repeating yourself, honey!’ He put down his mug, slid off his jacket and slung it over the back of the vacant chair. ‘May I?’ And without giving her time to say ‘No!’ he drew out the seat and sat down.

  He gulped down a mouthful of his cappuccino.

  Licked the froth from his upper lip.

  Extricated the Sports Section from his paper.

  And throwing her an absent smile, started to read.

  Stephanie stared at him, shock pounding her pulse.

  It was surely no coincidence that he had turned up in this particular coffee bar. There were hundreds of coffee places in Boston. So...why had he ended up in this one? Oh, she knew the answer to that, only too well!

  ‘You followed me!’ Her tone was hard with accusation.

  He looked up...and his expression was all injured innocence. ‘Followed you? Hardly! I was still at the counter when I saw you jump on a bus! Hell, I’m not Superman.’

  Not? Stephanie had to fight an urge to debate the point! He was the closest thing to Superman she had ever seen. ‘So you’re telling me this is pure coincidence?’

  He smiled, his eyes teasing. ‘Now you’re putting words in my mouth!’

  ‘Then if you didn’t follow me, and your being here isn’t just mere luck—’

  ‘Good luck, right?’

  ‘Now you’re putting words in my mouth!’ she retorted dryly.

  ‘This is nice, isn’t it? Spending Sunday morning together at your favorite coffee bar? I could easily be persuaded—’ his eyes had a mischievous twinkle ‘—to make this part of my Sunday morning routine, too.’

  So he knew this was her routine.

  And the person who had told him must have been Janey.

  The two had been in cahoots. She already knew that. She also knew they had gone out together only once. But how much had he learned about her, during that one date? Too darned much, she thought frustratedly.

  ‘I really resent this intrusion,’ she snapped. ‘Being alone is the part of this particular routine that I appreciate the most. Did Janey forget to mention that?’

  ‘No,’ he said mildly, ‘she mentioned it.’

  ‘Then why—’

  ‘A routine can become a rut.’

  ‘A rut,’ she retorted, ‘can be good.’

  ‘If it’s shared with the right person,’ he said. And grinned.

  She melted.

  And smiled back.

  She couldn’t help herself. He was just so damned charming, appealing, disarming...whatever. All three and more. ‘Okay.’ She shoved her paper aside. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Dangerous question,’ he said, his eyes laughing.

  ‘Talking with you is like walking over a minefield.’ She glared at him. ‘Blindfold.’

  He shrugged. ‘You asked.’ His lips were twitching.

  ‘I’ll rephrase the question. Why are you here?’

  ‘I was curious to see the kind of place you liked to spend your Sunday mornings,’ he said.

  ‘Well, now you know.’

  ‘Yes, now I know.’

  His suddenly serious tone implied... what? Stephanie looked at him quizzically.

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me that you’re not frequenting some trendy joint—’

  ‘I’ll have you know I frequent some very trendy joints!’ She sounded indignant.

  ‘Through the week, possibly. Or on Saturdays. But never on a Sunday.’ He looked at her levelly. ‘On Sundays you come here, because that’s the day you miss your family most...and because this place is so cosily tucked away from the bustle of the city, and it has such a homey atmosphere.’ With a wide sweep of his hand, he indicated the piles of newspapers strewn on a low table in the bay window; the two ginger cats lying dozing on the cushioned window seat; the Norman Rockwell prints on the walls; the posy of winter pansies on the table. ‘Am I right?’

  ‘You forgot the fire,’ she said wryly, gesturing toward the brick hearth just two yards away, its alder logs crackling lustily up the chimney’s sooty throat.

  McAllister’s husky laugh tore loose the armor plating her heart; and made her heart tremble.

  ‘I rest my case,’ he said.

  ‘I wasn’t going to argue it.’ She cupped her mug in her hands, and tried to appear calm as she met his unwavering gaze. ‘When I lived at home, we all went to the early-morning church service on a Sunday. After I moved here, I kept up the custom. But on my own. And afterward, when I came out of church, I always felt... depressed...’

  ‘And lonely.’

  ‘Mmm. I chanced on this place one day when I was wandering aimlessly... and liked the ambience. It... seemed to fill a gap. I know a lot of the Sunday regulars now. It...almost...feels like home.’ She felt a trifle teary. Clearing her throat, she said with an attempt at briskness, ‘How about you? Do you have any family in town?’

  His gaze had been fixed on her keenly, interestedly. Now his features tightened. ‘No,’ he said. He got to his feet. ‘Your coffee must be cold. Here, give me your mug. I’ll get you a refill.’

  Stephanie felt her face become pale. He’d done it again—shut himself off from her. It was all right, it seemed, for him to pry into her life... which she didn’t mind, because she had no secrets. But slamming the door on her when she tried to get to know him a bit better—it hurt.

  She got to her feet, too.

  “Thanks, but one cup’s enough for me.’ She swung up her jacket from the back of the chair. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m going home now and please don’t follow me—or offer me a drive,’ she added coldly as he attempted to do just that. ‘I like to walk. It clears my head.’

&n
bsp; She marched away from him, but even as she did, she felt a stab of remorse.

  Was he, perhaps, as lonely as she?

  But if he was, that was his problem, not hers.

  So she kept on walking, and didn’t look back.

  Joyce’s daughter was getting married on a Monday in mid-March, and Joyce invited her employer to the wedding.

  Stephanie splurged on a new spring outfit for the occasion—a green silk dress and short matching jacket—but though she knew she looked fantastic in it, it did nothing to lift her depression. She’d been in the doldrums ever since breaking her engagement, and despite her best efforts, had found it impossible to regain her old bounce.

  She’d decided she’d have to take a cab to the church, but when she mentioned this to Joyce a couple of days before the wedding, as they were getting ready to go home, Joyce told her Gina had arranged to have someone pick her up.

  ‘She has?’

  ‘Mmm. Her fiancé’s mother’s boss will call round for you—I haven’t met him,’ Joyce said in a vague tone, ‘but apparently he’s a very nice man. He’s not married, and like you, he’s not taking a partner.’

  Was she being set up? A blind date? Stephanie tried to see some sign of that in Joyce’s expression, but her eyes were clear, her smile guileless. Stephanie relaxed.

  ‘That was thoughtful of Gina. When should I be ready?’

  ‘He’ll pick you up at four.’

  They went out into the street, and as Joyce took off for her car, Stephanie saw, from the corner of her eye, a movement in one of the windows of the M.A.G. building. Unable to stop herself, she turned her head and looked up.

  Two people were outlined in profile at one of the windows. One was McAllister. The other was Tiffany Whitney. They were standing quite close, and the blonde was looking up into McAllister’s eyes. Stephanie felt her throat tighten as she sensed an intimacy between them.

  At that very moment, as if he had felt her gaze on him, he turned his head and looked out. Their eyes met. Locked. Only for the briefest of moments...yet heat instantly flamed Stephanie’s cheeks. As if pricked by a spur, she hurried away along the sidewalk.