Mr. December

by Macallister, Heather

  All the students had either gone home, or had made arrangements to spend the holidays with friends. Spencer had neither, but he wasn’t about to admit it, so he’d packed enough clothing to allay suspicion and had accepted a ride to the bus station where he’d spent most of Christmas Eve. When he felt it was safe to return, he’d done so. Once he’d broken into the building, he’d spent a cold holiday, since the heat had been cut off, something he hadn’t reckoned on.

  The day after New Year’s, he’d packed once more, then sat on the steps outside and waited for the returning headmaster. The memory was one he’d like to forget.

  “It’s going to be a great Christmas,” he said now. “I’m looking forward to it.” And had been since he’d kissed her last night. It would be interesting to experience a real family Christmas dinner.

  Not that his foster family wasn’t real to him, but he’d always been curious about what being with a regular family at Christmas would be like.

  “You don’t understand—this whole family thing was Gretchen’s therapist’s idea. Knowing Gretchen, she’ll go out of her way to be the center of attention. And Les’s mission in life is to successfully rebel. Thus far he’s failed, so I’m sure he’ll be in a cranky mood. My mother and my aunt Carolyn have a rivalry going and my exalted cousin Emily is taking time off from her fabulous operatic career to grace us with her presence. She’s bringing her adoring husband and her perfectly behaved children.”

  It all sounded great to Spencer.

  “To top it off, my mom is obsessed. The day will be a combination of Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart, with highlights from The Nutcracker and A Christmas Carol thrown in.” She sighed. “God bless us, every one.”

  Spencer had been writing as she talked. “I think I have all your relatives. Sounds like an intriguing bunch.”

  She raised a black eyebrow over those incredible blue eyes. “You really are an optimist, aren’t you?”

  “One of us has to be.”

  He would not look at her incredible blue eyes. He would not think of how she felt pressed against his chest. He would not think of her leg alongside his. He would not breathe in her fancy perfume and speculate on what other areas of her body she’d placed it. He’d been thinking of all that before, and now he’d probably end up with a black eye and his future children would be born with headaches.

  He moved to the next item on the list. “What should I bring to make a good impression?”

  “You mean I haven’t scared you off?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, then.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and he watched it ripple down to her waist. “If you really want to make an impression, bring a smoked turkey or a ham.”

  “But I thought your mother said you were having goose.”

  “I have a bad feeling about the goose. Mother isn’t much of a hands-on cook and, I don’t know. Call it a hunch. By the time you get there, a smoked turkey might be very much appreciated.”

  “You don’t think a pie or a bottle of wine—”

  “Trust me. Smoked turkey.”

  “If you say so.” He had his doubts, but she knew best. Spencer made a note to pick up a bottle of wine just in case.

  As he moved down his list, he learned more and more about her, painting in her character as he went.

  Surprisingly enough, he was using brights when he’d expected to use pastels. She had definite opinions, but they had to be drawn out of her. She wasn’t one to spout off just for the sake of hearing herself speak.

  The more he dug, the more he found he liked. She was passionate about her music, which meant she could be passionate in other areas, as well. Always nice to know. And she had plans. He liked a woman with plans. Women with plans didn’t depend on him to provide the focus for their lives.

  He’d been in clingy relationships before, but not for long. In fact he hated the word relationship. It usually meant expectations on the part of the woman, and Spencer didn’t have time for that now.

  He was enjoying the evening, in spite of their earlier pool efforts, and then she asked him about his family.

  It was a logical question, but Spencer didn’t want to discuss his background. He had a dozen stories he could tell her, all of them fabrications. But he found that he didn’t want to lie to Lexi, and yet he wasn’t ready to tell her everything, either. He’d never told anybody everything, not even the guys at the lab.

  “No brothers, no sisters,” he said abruptly. “My folks retired on a couple of acres outside of Dallas. You want to try a game of pool now?”

  Thankfully she allowed the change of subject. “You sure are brave.”

  They managed one game of pool without further mishap. Lexi probably would have had better luck if Spencer had helped her line up her shots, but every time she bent over the pool table, the curtain of her hair fell over her shoulder, and her sweater rode up to reveal a tantalizing sliver of skin as white as the cue ball. Normally he’d enjoy the sight. A lot. But now when Spencer’s heart kicked up a notch, the blood pounded in his head—not to mention elsewhere-making it hurt.

  So in the interests of physical comfort, he found one game to be all he could stand. It was just as well. Tomorrow was a workday and Lexi not only had an early morning class, she was also performing at the Wainright Inn later in the day.

  Spencer found himself mentally toying with the idea of coming to see her again.

  There was something about her that drew him and, though he’d found her initially attractive, he hadn’t expected to like her. At first she’d reminded him too much of the prep school kids who’d looked down on him. But after tonight the resemblance had faded.

  She’d brought them all cookies. Homemade cookies. After a kiss like the one they’d exchanged, he hadn’t figured her for a homemade cookie type.

  Which meant she was more complex than he’d figured.

  Yeah, he ought to see her again before Christmas.

  Driving along in his car, Lexi directed him across Main Street toward her house. As the car climbed the gentle hill, Spencer automatically looked toward his left. It was the only view in town that cleared the falls to the other side. In the distance, for a fraction of a second, he’d be able to see the research building. Since the falls were lit up at night, the reflection of colored lights in the churning water would give the building a moving tie-dyed effect.

  He slowed, so he could point it out to Lexi, then stopped the car and stared.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I was going to show you the research building. It looks cool at night, but there are lights on in the lab.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  Unusual enough to make him nervous. He hoped there hadn’t been a break-in. Spencer automatically checked his watch. “Rip mostly works at night, but he doesn’t like a lot of light.”

  “Do you want to check it out?”

  Spencer looked down at her. “Do you mind?”

  She shook her head, and Spencer didn’t ask her twice.

  THEY WERE IN the hallway outside the lab doors when Spencer cocked his head. “Is that a cello?”

  Lexi knew the piece. She’d listened to her roommate practice it. “And not just any cello,” she said. “Francesca must still be here. That’s strange. I left my car for her to use, but I didn’t see it in the lot.”

  “What are they doing?” Spencer muttered, opening the door.

  Lexi didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t finding her roommate hooked up to a bunch of wires, concentrating fiercely as she played her cello.

  Murray, a besotted look on his face, sat beside her. Gordon and another man whose name Lexi couldn’t remember hovered around a computer station. Another sat in front of an oscilloscope, and the man with the thick glasses was studying printouts of squiggly lines as fast as they rolled out of the machine. Mr. October was off by himself at a computer, typing furiously and muttering to himself.

  “What have they done to her?” she asked.

  �
�They’ve got electrodes hooked up to her, so they’re studying something.” Spencer’s voice had an absent quality that told Lexi he was concentrating on the scene in front of them. “It’s got to do with the hand and it must be good.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He nodded toward Mr. October. “Because Rip is involved. He’s a purist who doesn’t believe in wasting his time.”

  Spencer started forward, attracting Murray’s attention.

  “Doc!” Everyone, except Rip, looked up and broke into an excited babble.

  Francesca looked like she was a cat and they’d been feeding her cream.

  “Hold it.” Spencer held up a hand. “Murray, what’s going on?”

  “Whoa.” He drew a deep breath and exhaled heavily. “It’s been incredible. We were showing Frankie the beta prototype of the hand and explaining about the tactile interface we wanted.” He had to stop and draw another breath.

  Francesca continued the explanation. “I told them how I can tell if I’m playing in tune by the vibration of the strings against my fingers. I can feel the pitch.”

  Spencer had an arrested look on his face. Lexi felt a twinge of jealousy which she mentally stamped out.

  “So you’ve been trying to identify how her brain gave her that information and translate it into computer language.” He practically ran over to the monitor, ignoring Francesca, which improved Lexi’s frame of mind.

  Until Spencer leaned over the desk, picked up a photo and shot a look at Francesca.

  One glance at Francesca and Lexi knew which photo it was—the one where Francesca was all cello, legs and cleavage. The black-and white picture suggested more than revealed, and the curve of the cello was echoed by the curve of Francesca’s body. It was a beautiful photograph.

  Under ordinary circumstances, Lexi appreciated it as Womancello, part of the portfolio assembled by one of the art students.

  But these weren’t ordinary circumstances.

  She narrowed her eyes and marched over to her roommate. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked in a low voice.

  “I brought them a picture.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it seemed only fair since I’d been admiring their pictures all year. Now they have one of me.” She looked entirely too pleased with herself.

  “Very nice,” Spencer said, and tossed the picture back onto the table without another glance. “Rip? How’s it going?”

  “Prime data,” Rip answered, without looking up from the monitor.

  “I understand that’s high praise,” Francesca whispered.

  “Francesca, could you play again so I can see this in action?” Spencer asked.

  “Sure, Doc.” As she positioned her bow, she said to Lexi, “They call him Doc.”

  “I know that,” Lexi said, but Francesca’s playing covered it up.

  Lexi stood out of the way for several minutes. Spencer didn’t glance up once. Then she wandered over to the snack bar and sat, noticing that only cookie crumbs remained in the box she’d brought. She’d really intended for Spencer to eat more of them than he had, but obviously the others had enjoyed them, so it was okay. Sort of.

  She tried not to be aware of how long she sat in the cluttered snack bar watching Francesca be the center of attention. When she attempted to clear away some of the wrappers, they shushed her.

  Being jealous of Francesca was silly. They were all adults here, and this wasn’t a contest. She should be glad of the opportunity to watch Spencer in action, even if most of the action consisted of him pointing at a screen, gesturing to Francesca, yelling across the room to Rip or running to look at Bob’s—she was learning their names—printout.

  Bashful Bob, she thought. Every time he looked at Francesca, he blushed. But Murray, the chemistry teacher at Littletree, openly adored her. Lexi hoped Francesca would let him down easily.

  She’d go home, if she could, but Francesca had her car keys and Lexi wasn’t sure where she’d parked the car.

  One of Francesca’s electrodes came undone and everyone gathered around her as Murray reattached it. “Are you okay? Can we get you something to drink?” he asked.

  Nobody asked Lexi if she was thirsty, she grumbled to herself. In fact, it appeared they’d forgotten she was sitting back there.

  “Hey, Rip—get us a Coke, okay?”

  The tall, forbidding Mr. October uncoiled himself from his computer and dug in the pocket of his jeans for change. He turned and picked out two quarters before noticing her.

  She saw the surprise on his face.

  “I’d forgotten that you graced our presence, lovely one,” he said as he punched the money into the machine.

  “So has everyone else,” Lexi said, hoping the whine stayed out of her voice.

  Rip whistled. Murray held up a hand and Rip tossed him the canned drink before turning back to her. “Allow me to return you to home and hearth.”

  Go out alone with the Lord of the Night?

  He smiled faintly at her hesitation. “Fear not. I’ve already supped this evening.”

  She was being ridiculous. Laughing, Lexi stood and slung her purse over her shoulder. “In that case, I accept.”

  Rip’s car looked like the Batmobile, but was really a black Dodge Viper. It fit him.

  “Thanks so much for taking the time to drive me home,” she said as they left the parking lot. “It’s not that I’m not fascinated by watching all of you in action, but I do have an early class tomorrow.” She chattered brightly, nervous in spite of her resolve not to be.

  They reached the exit gate. Rip pushed a card into the time clock and looked at her as the wooden barrier arm raised.

  She saw his gaze sweep over her, but instead of feeling warmed as she had when Spencer had done virtually the same thing, she felt chilled.

  “I really appreciate this,” she reiterated because his silence bothered her. “Spencer told me that you don’t like to waste time.”

  Rip smiled faintly. “He is correct. Where we differ is that I can recognize what is worth my time and what is not.”

  He was being kind. Relaxing for the first time in his presence, she told him so.

  “Not at all,” he said. “Spencer Price remains so focused on his goal of achieving validation through his design of the hand, that he fails to enjoy the journey. What he must realize is that spending time with a beautiful woman with skin like moonlight and hair as black as the night should be part of the journey.”

  7

  FRANCESCA DIDN’T GET IN until three-thirty in the morning.

  Lexi knew because she was still awake, fighting a losing battle to keep from feeling miffed.

  She was being so juvenile. Unjustifiably juvenile. Transparently juvenile. Even Rip had seen through her.

  Get over it, she told herself, finally falling asleep after she heard Francesca put her cello in the music room.

  Naturally she overslept. Perfect. No coffee, no breakfast. But at least she wouldn’t have to fake anything in front of Francesca, who was still asleep.

  This was the last day of the semester before music classes were suspended for performance juries the following week. Francesca had left Lexi’s car parked in the garage, safe and sound, which was a relief. She made it to the music building with a few minutes to spare. Racing up the stairs to her third-floor studio—as soon as she made full professor, she was putting in for one on the second floor—Lexi rounded the corner and stopped.

  Sitting on the floor outside her door was Spencer and a gigantic red poinsettia.

  He gave her a weary smile, his teeth very white against a day’s growth of black beard. He still wore the same clothes he’d worn last night, so it wasn’t hard to guess that he hadn’t been home yet.

  He looked great. “You’re almost late for class, missy.”

  “I overslept,” she admitted. “What are you doing here?”

  He stood as she unlocked her door and followed her inside. “I come bearing gifts.”

  She dumpe
d her portfolio on her desk and turned around.

  Spencer held up a small bakery sack and the poinsettia. “If I recall, it’s supposed to be a croissant and coffee—”

  “Coffee!” she shrieked, reaching for the bag. “You brought me coffee? You angel!”

  “I’m forgiven already?”

  “Yes.” She removed the foam cup from the bag and pried off the plastic lid. “Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes.” She took a sip and closed her eyes. “I will live.”

  “Though it’s not in my best interests to tell you this, you should have made me suffer more.”

  Lexi broke off a corner of the croissant. “More than a knock on the head and a jab—” her eyes lowered “—elsewhere?” She popped the flaky bread into her mouth. Fat-gram heaven.

  “That wasn’t anything. I’m over it.”

  Lexi elected not to mention the dark circles under his eyes. After all, they could be from lack of sleep.

  Spencer set the poinsettia on her desk. “There. A bright wildflower. I picked it myself. Just for you.”

  Lexi swallowed. “Spencer? That’s a poinsettia, and judging by the gold foil around the pot, I’d say it was domesticated.”

  “Domesticated wildflowers? Is nothing sacred?”

  “Apparently not the decorations in the lobby.”

  He grinned and Lexi laughed. “You’d better take it back.”

  “I want you to have it. I’ll replace the one downstairs.”

  She snapped the plastic cap back on her coffee and gathered the materials she needed for her class. “Actually, it would be better off downstairs. I kill plants. That’s why I like wildflowers. I figure they’ve got a keen sense of self-preservation.”

  He laughed, then his smile faded. “You’ve got to get to class, I know, but I did want to apologize for abandoning you last night.”

  “I understand.” And she did. Under similar circumstances, she would have done the same thing. “Did you get some good information from Francesca?”