A Miracle for Christmas (Harlequin Romance)

by Grace Green

  Stephanie shoved back an unruly clump of curls that had come trolloping forward over her shoulder as she worked, and skimmed a satisfied glance over the back room’s shiny-clean floor. Resting her hands atop her mop handle, she said, ‘Well, that’s it, Joyce. We can call it a day.’

  Joyce was over by the doorway, stuffing odds and ends into a small garbage bag. Before she could answer, the phone rang at the front counter.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Joyce said quickly, ‘while you empty your bucket.’

  Stephanie crossed to the sink, squeezed out her mop and emptied the bucket. She tidied up the sink, and after washing her hands, she sauntered to the front.

  Joyce was still on the phone.

  Stephanie had assumed the caller was a customer. It had not occurred to her that it might have been a personal call for Joyce, but when she heard her assistant say something about ‘The McAllister’—and say it in a hushed voice that implied secrecy—Stephanie cleared her throat to make her presence known.

  Joyce looked around sharply. At the sight of her boss, she bit her lip, and her cheeks turned bright pink. Averting her gaze, she listened to the person on the other end of the line for a few seconds more, before saying, ‘Will do, Marjorie. Talk to you later then.’

  When she put down the phone, she threw Stephanie a smile, but the smile seemed forced.

  Not for the world would Stephanie have admitted to the curiosity she was feeling; if Joyce and Marjorie wanted to discuss The McAllister, that was their business, not hers.

  ‘Well, we can leave now,’ she said in a brisk tone. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here—’

  ‘Oh, let’s have a cup of coffee, since we’re ahead of schedule. There’s just enough left in my thermos, I think. It would be a pity to let it go to waste.’ Joyce peeked at her watch, and Stephanie could have sworn she saw a look of anxiety cross her face, but it was gone so quickly she thought she must have imagined it. ‘If you take off now,’ Joyce went on, ‘you’re going to have to wait about twenty minutes for the next bus, and it’s darned cold out.’

  Slightly bemused, but deciding Joyce was just loath to end their day, since it would, after all, be their last together, Stephanie said, ‘Oh, sure. Let’s do that.’

  They returned to the back room and Stephanie leaned against the countertop as Joyce poured the coffee into two foam cups and handed her one.

  ‘Thanks, Joyce.’ Stephanie took a sip from her cup before saying in a deliberately idle tone, ‘How’s your friend Marjorie these days?’ Mentally she rolled her eyes; so much for keeping the lid on her curiosity!

  ‘Marjorie? Oh, I’m afraid she’s down. Really down.’

  ‘What’s wrong? No problem with Gina’s pregnancy, I hope?’

  ‘No, Gina’s doing well. It’s The McAllister.’ Joyce’s sigh sounded as if it had been dredged up from her toes. ‘Marjorie’ thinking of giving up her job. The man’s impossible to work with’.

  ‘But I thought—’

  ‘That she enjoyed working for him? Yes, I remember telling you that. But that was...before.’

  ‘Before...what?’

  ‘Before he fell in love.’

  ‘In love?’ Her voice sounded rusty. ‘The McAllister? No, you’re wrong there, Joyce. That man would never...allow himself to fall in love!’

  ‘Whatever you say, dear, but Marjorie’s a bit of an expert on these matters—she has six brothers and over the years she swears she’s learned to spot the signs—and all I know is what she tells me. The McAllister has turned into a bear. An absolute bear. Grouchy, rude, unpredictable, and sometimes even downright nasty.’ Joyce shook her head sadly. ‘Poor Marjorie. It’ll be hard for her to find another job at her age, and—’

  ‘I’m sure it’s only temporary.’ Stephanie wished she’d never enquired about Joyce’s friend—whoever said ‘curiosity killed the cat’ had been spot on. ‘You should tell Marjorie not to make any rash decisions... and she should try to make allowances. Everybody’s entitled to the odd mood, from time to time—why should The McAllister be any different!’

  She turned away so Joyce wouldn’t see the bleak look in her eyes. She knew only too well that she was the woman Joyce and Marjorie believed The McAllister had fallen in love with. Well, she had news for them both: What the man felt for her was not love, but raging lust.

  And that raging lust, unslaked and destined to remain forever unslaked, was at the root of his rotten moods.

  Sexual frustration did not engender a sunny temper.

  Of that, she was herself only too well aware!

  Marjorie Sutton whisked off the sheet covering the sign propped against her office wall. She grinned as she recalled how she and Joyce had driven down to the Warmest Fuzzies at midnight last night, and by flashlight, hunted in the back shop for the box containing the Christmas display.

  ‘This is illegal.’ Joyce had chuckled.

  ‘I know,’ she had responded, with a snicker. ‘Who’d ever have guessed that stealing would be such fun!’

  It had taken about fifteen minutes to carry the box over to the M.A.G. offices, lug it up in the elevator, set it against the wall in Marjorie’s office and drape it with the old sheet Marjorie had brought for that purpose.

  ‘Won’t The McAllister wonder what’s under there?’ Joyce had asked.

  ‘Uh-uh. He pays no attention to anything in my office. But how about Miss Redford...won’t she miss the sign, when the movers come in?’

  ‘Stephanie’s so unhappy, she wouldn’t notice if her gray velvet elephants ran amok and thundered out of the store!’ Joyce had replied.

  And she’d been right.

  They’d both been right: The McAllister had noticed nothing amiss, and Smoover Moovers had come and gone without incident.

  And now...

  Marjorie felt her heartbeat quicken. From the adjoining office she could hear her boss pace back and forth, back and forth, as he fought the battle raging within himself.

  A glance at her watch told her it was time to make her move.

  Reaching under her chair, she retrieved the ghetto blaster she’d borrowed last night from Joyce. Setting it beside her computer, she slipped in the tape they’d chosen for the occasion, and then she clicked the player on. Immediately soft music drifted faintly to her ears.

  Pulses pounding, she turned the volume knob to High.

  Then feeling as if she was going to explode with excitement, she sat up straight and gazed in breathless—and somewhat fearful—anticipation at the adjoining door.

  ‘Well, I really ought to get along now.’ Stephanie tucked her empty foam cup into the garbage bag. ‘Are you ready to go?’ she called after Joyce, who had wandered—somewhat restlessly, Stephanie thought—through to the front shop, her footsteps echoing hollowly in the now-empty area.

  ‘Stephanie,’ Joyce’s voice held a lilt of excitement, ‘guess what? It’s snowing! Isn’t it odd, after the wonderful spring weather we’ve been having?’

  ‘Very odd indeed,’ Stephanie called back. She wandered through to join Joyce. As she did, she heard music. ‘Where’s that coming from?’ she asked casually. ‘I thought you took your ghetto blaster home yesterday.’

  Joyce paid her no heed. She was standing at the front door, which she’d flung open. Large snowflakes, as ragged as paper scraps, were drifting down in the street outside—and it was from outside that the music was coming. Feeling a sense of confusion, Stephanie moved forward. Now she could hear quite clearly... and what she heard was Christmas music.

  ‘Joy to the World.’

  She was hardly aware of brushing past Joyce and stepping out into the wide doorway. The sidewalks were busy, as they always were in the lunch hour... but the four lanes of traffic had slowed, almost to a stop. Stephanie soon saw why. A long canary yellow Oldsmobile was coming slowly up the street, every window open, and from its stereo speakers the Christmas carol was blasting out full force.

  As she took in the scene, Stephanie was suddenly struck by the weirdest se
nsation. Like déjà vu...only in reverse! A vivid image flashed before her eyes, an image of her next Rockfield family Christmas... and the vision made her blood run cold: she was with all her relatives, in the old family home, but instead of being blissfully happy as she would have expected, she was gut-wrenchingly miserable. There was no joy in her heart, and the reason for that was—

  Something...a movement, maybe...caught her attention and made her look up at the second story of the building directly across the street.

  Her eyes flew wide open, and blood rushed so wildly through her veins that she thought they might burst. In the huge window...McAllister’s window... was a sign, with blinking red and green neon lights.

  It was her sign. There was no mistaking it. She would have recognized it anywhere...and its message.

  Merry Xmas To U And Yours

  ‘That’s Marjorie’s car,’ Joyce said proudly. ‘And that’s Marjorie driving. Isn’t she something?’

  Stephanie’s eyes were glued to the sign. ‘What’s going on, Joyce?’

  ‘I think,’ Joyce said, with a soft chuckle, ‘that The McAllister is trying to tell you something.’

  ‘What?’ she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

  ‘Why don’t you go across and ask?’

  It wasn’t going to work.

  McAllister paced his office, hardly hearing the Christmas music blasting down below in the street. All he wanted was to make her happy, to see her eyes light up the way they used to...but no matter what Marjorie Sutton had said, it wasn’t going to work.

  And who’d have thought the scrupulously principled Mrs. Sutton could have been so sneaky? He’d almost choked when he’d strode into her office to order her to turn off that damned Christmas music and he’d been confronted with the huge sign propped against the wall. The sign from the Warmest Fuzzies. He’d have known it anywhere.

  Merry Xmas To U And Yours.

  That cursed sign, there was apparently no escaping it! He’d fled from it in December; now here it was again, probing relentlessly—and painfully—at the very core of him. In April, yet!

  He’d stared at it for an endless moment, with despair and yearning and need all jumbling chaotically inside him, till it was a wonder tears hadn’t spurted like hot geysers from his eyes. But though he’d managed by a thread to keep control of himself, at least on the surface, his emotions, so intense they were almost unbearable, must have communicated themselves to the woman sitting watching him.

  ‘You’re going to lose her, if you don’t do something,’ Marjorie had said quietly. ‘And you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life.’

  ‘What can I do?’ he’d asked helplessly.

  And she’d told him.

  She’s right, he’d decided. This is what I have to do.

  But it wasn’t going to work. If she came to him... and Marjorie had assured him she would... she’d see in a minute, by the look in his eyes, that he was just going through the motions. He’d never known a real Christmas; he didn’t even know what Christmas meant. Oh, he knew about the gifts, and the tree, and the food, and the parties. But, deep in his gut, he sensed that there must be more. A whole lot more. And he didn’t have a clue in the world what that whole lot more entailed. No, she would come over, and she would see the emptiness of his gesture, and that would be it.

  Finito.

  Forever.

  He moved over to the window, and looked out. The snow was still falling, though it was starting to taper off; Marjorie’s canary yellow Olds had reached the intersection; the strains of ‘Joy to the World’ were steadily becoming fainter; and the door of the Warmest Fuzzies was closed.

  ‘McAllister.’

  He closed his eyes as he heard her voice. Oh God—his prayer was silent and soul-deep—make this come out right.

  Slowly he turned, and feeling as if his life had been put on hold, he searched her face, desperately hoping she’d been fooled by his uncharacteristically sentimental gesture.

  She was standing in the doorway, her cheeks slightly flushed, and snowflakes in her hair. She was wearing jeans and a cherry red sweatshirt, and no jacket. Her eyes were shimmering, so he couldn’t read their expression. There might have been stars there...but he couldn’t be sure.

  ‘I thought I was dreaming,’ she said, ‘when I saw your sign.’

  ‘Your sign,’ he corrected her, hardly able to breathe.

  ‘And I thought—’

  ‘You thought I had changed.’ His heart lay heavily behind his ribs. ‘I have to be honest.’ He must be out of his mind, to be saying what he was, and throwing away all his chance to win her. ‘I haven’t changed, Stephanie. I’m sorry. You see, I was going to tell you I’d celebrate Christmas with you, every year till the end of our lives, and I would have, but it would have been a sham. It was just that I couldn’t bear to see you so unhappy, and I thought...if only I could put the stars back in your eyes...’

  Stephanie’s heart was pounding harder than it ever had in her life. He’d never looked so good, and she ached to throw herself into his arms. He was wearing a soft gray flannel shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of pleated navy pants, the navy leather belt fastened with a pewter buckle of a plain design. His dark hair looked as if he’d been running distraught fingers through it, and his eyes—those beautiful steel blue eyes—were strained and shadowed. Yes, she ached to throw herself into his arms, ached to kiss away the taut lines around his mouth, but that would come later. Instead she said lightly, ‘I’ve come over to take you up on your offer.’

  It was obviously the last thing he’d expected. He blinked. Frowned. Blinked again. ‘Offer?’

  ‘Your offer to find me a new location for my store. If it still stands, that is...?’

  ‘Well, sure...it still stands, but—’

  ‘I’ve decided I’m going to stay. After all, I love Boston... and you were right—I sure as heck can cut it in the big city! Besides...’ She managed to keep her voice steady. ‘I have some unfinished business here.’

  ‘You have?’ His eyes had the blank look of someone who has completely lost the gist of the conversation.

  ‘You need educating, McAllister.’ Stephanie shook her head at him, in mock-chastisement. ‘You don’t put up red and green lights in April, for pity’s sake! You’re an impatient man...and besides, you’re far too ambitious...’

  ‘Ambitious?’ If anything, he looked even more dazed.

  ‘A person who’s never “done” Christmas,’ she explained with exaggerated patience, ‘can’t just leap in and celebrate the occasion without any preparation. You have to walk before you can run, McA! And fortunately, December is at the end of the year, a long way down the road, so by the time it comes around, you should be ready for it.’ She saw his Adam’s apple jump convulsively, and compassion welled inside her, the mere mention of Christmas distressed him, because his memories of that time were so very bad. But bad memories would surely fade and die, if new memories... good memories...joyful memories... were piled on top of them.

  He wasn’t ready to hear that yet, though, so she kept her tone casual as she continued. ‘Normally I’d start you at New Year, work you through Valentine’s Day, then St. Patrick’s Day, and Easter weekend...but in your case, I’m willing to bend the rules and start you off with Mother’s Day. The fourteenth of May this year. We’ll set off at the crack of dawn, drive up to Rockfield and spend the day with my folks. That is—’ her gaze challenged him but inside she felt as wobbly as half-set Jell-O ‘—if you feel up to it?’

  She hadn’t realized the depth of her love for him till she’d been visited by that mind-shattering image of her next Rockfield Christmas. She’d known when she’d seen it that without McAllister she’d never again be happy... and it had been like stepping from firm land onto quicksand. From the known... to the unknown. Oh, she loved her family, loved them dearly, but wherever McAllister was, that was where she wanted—no, that was where she needed!—to be. It was time to step from the security of all that had
been familiar since childhood, to uncharted territory. It was a move that was not without risk, but it was a risk she was ready to take. There would be sacrifices, she knew, but they were sacrifices she’d gladly make. She was willing—at last—to accept him on his terms. And if those terms had limitations, she could happily live with them.

  She was prepared to settle for less.

  But she had asked for more.

  Not for her own sake. For his.

  He had to let go of the past, before he could become the man he was capable of being, a man able to celebrate life to the fullest. She had asked him if he was up to it; she wasn’t certain that he was. But she prayed it would be so.

  She braced herself for his response.

  He started toward her, and in his eyes she saw a purposeful glint. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said softly, ‘if I do feel up to spending Mother’s Day with your folks.’ He reached her, and looped his arms around her. Her heartbeat picked up speed. ‘They sound intimidatingly perfect, the Redford family...’

  He pulled her hard against him. ‘It’s not easy,’ he murmured, ‘being around people who are perfect.’

  ‘Oh, they’re not so perfect.’ Stephanie was finding it difficult to breathe, with her body pressed right against his, and his lips brushing the crown of her head, and his hands running up and down her back. ‘My aunt Prue drinks a little too much and tends to flirt at parties, my uncle Herb’s more boring than a woodworm, my dad has no sense of time so he’s always late, my mom spoils the grandkids rotten, and my two grans have been feuding since the year dot over some supposed slight they can’t even remember—’