by Judith Yates
Busy stacking the dirty plates, Amy wondered when she’d find out the real reason Bridget wanted to see her. She had the distinct impression Paul wasn’t supposed to be part of that picture. Yet he was close by their sides, helping out in the kitchen.
Paul took the sponge from Bridget’s hand. “The three of us will finish up in here. You should lie down and relax a bit while you have the chance.”
“And miss this opportunity for adult conversation? No way.”
Bridget sat on one of the counter stools and began chatting with them while they worked. She discussed her erratic newspaper delivery with Paul and asked Maura if she was getting many Christmas shoppers at New Worlds.
Then she turned to Amy. “I’ve been out of touch with Mom and the inn these past few days.” she said as Amy loaded the dishwasher. “Have you decided what to do about the Blue Sky yet?”
“Not yet.” Amy replied. So much had been happening, so much had changed from day to day. She’d come to Tremont with every intention of unloading her half of the inn, one way or another. Now, she realized, the path ahead was no longer quite that clear.
Maura handed over one more dirty glass for the dishwasher. “For what it’s worth, Amy, I’m still on Mom’s side. Stick around, help her keep the inn going.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Maura.”
“You told Mom you’d be leaving by Christmas,” Bridget reminded her. “That’ll be here before you know it. You’re going to decide before then, aren’t you?”
“Or will you stay here through Christmas?” Maura chimed in hopefully. “Wouldn’t that be great, Paul?”
“Wait a minute,” Amy interjected before Paul could react. “I promised my mother that I’d be home in time for Christmas. And my partner will have my head if I don’t get back to the office after the holidays.”
Actually, Julie and the agency were doing just fine without her, and Amy had begun to feel the daily phone calls were pointless. Although she cared about her pintsize clients, feeling temporarily dispensable didn’t bother her that much. Her business life seemed so disconnected from the emotional cyclone she’d been caught up in these past weeks.
“But, Amy, you must be leaning one way or the other by now,” Bridget prodded.
“And haven’t you and Mom been discussing this?” added Maura.
“Come on, you two, leave Amy alone.” Paul said, stepping into the fray. “She’ll decide when the time is right for her. Okay?”
With an incredible melange of emotions welling inside her, Amy gazed at Paul with grateful eyes. This man, this self-appointed guardian angel of the Ryan women, this very same tall, gorgeous hunk of man was defending her now. Over the inn yet! Things were changing very fast indeed.
As Paul winked at her from across the room, Willy crept in, pushing a bright blue plastic storage box on the floor. “Are you done eating your sandwich, Paul? Can you fix my train now?”
“Let’s check with your mom,” Paul said, turning to Bridget. “He told me George had promised to set it up before he got sick. Do you mind if I do it?”
“Are you kidding?” Bridget hopped off the stool. “I’ll be forever in your debt. He’s been dragging that box around for two days.”
“Where do we put it?” Paul asked. “In the family room?”
“We usually set it up in there by the bookcases.”
As Paul stooped to pick up the heavy storage box, Amy caught Maura poking an elbow into her sister’s ribs. Then Maura pointed to the upstairs as Bridget nodded. Amy kept a straight face, pretending not to notice the sisters’ antics. Her curiosity, however, was aroused.
“On second thought, Paul,” Bridget said quickly, “Maybe you should set it up in his room. We’ll be putting up the Christmas tree in the family room soon—that train will just be in the way.”
“Upstairs it is, then. Come on, pal.”
Willy started bouncing with excitement. “Wait till you see my train, Amy.”
Maybe Amy would like to help us,” Paul said to Willy while looking directly at her with smiling eyes.
The sexy gleam in his eye sent little shivers down her spine, provoking her to return the smile. “I’d love to,” she murmured.
“But let me show you the house first,” Bridget declared, clamping her hand on Amy’s arm. “It won’t take long.”
Maura tossed her dish towel onto the counter. “I’ll help the guys.”
Paul looked from one sister to the other. The two of them were as transparent as plastic wrap. They were cooking something up, all right. Damned if he knew what it was, though.
“Never mind, Maura. Willy and I can manage on our own. I’m sure you don’t want to miss the house tour,” he added with a deliberate tinge of scorn. Just so they’d realize he wasn’t one bit fooled.
“I’ll be up soon,” Amy called after them as he and Willy headed upstairs.
He glanced back at the lovely, petite brunette standing between his tall, fiery-haired cousins. Heaven help Amy if those two were in their Lucy-and-Ethel antics mode.
Reminding Willy to keep his voice down because his daddy was sleeping, Paul led the boy upstairs to his room. Balancing the blue box in his arms, Paul switched on the light and found dozens of action figures and building blocks strewn across the floor.
“Why don’t you pick up your toys to clear a space for the train?” he suggested to Willy, “and I’ll start going through this box.”
The boy agreed readily and began tossing the wooden blocks into a bin against the wall. Paul put the box down on the floor and sat beside it. As he sorted through the train-set pieces, Willy gathered the colorful action figures into a plastic milk crate.
“Look at this one, Paul,” he said, holding up a mouse in alien attire and a jazzy silver motorbike. “Auntie Maura bought me this because I was sick.”
Before he dropped each figure into the crate, Willy described each character in detail, from alien mice to GIs to turtles. Paul listened, fascinated by the imaginative attributes the kid assigned to his hero figures. The scamp was all boy, and an articulate one at that.
Paul recalled when he had returned to Tremont. Willy had been maybe two or three months old at the time. Now he was a talkative, rambunctious preschooler—a completely different being from the infant Paul had held in his arms. The change in four short years was startling. But that’s how it was with children, he told himself; they and their worlds changed quickly.
He thought about Shelly’s letter. After four years of their own momentous changes, why was his ex-wife proposing a visit? What possible good could come out of seeing them again? What would be the point? They didn’t know each other anymore.
“All done!” Willy announced. He plopped down next to Paul, stretching out on his belly.
His eagerness made Paul chuckle. “Good timing, pal. We’re ready to lay out the tracks.” Paul glanced at his watch, wondering how much longer his cousins would hold Amy captive.
Paul had forgotten that setting up a miniature train was so time-consuming. By the time he had wired the tracks and connected all the cars, Willy had grown bored and had hauled out his action figures again. And Amy hadn’t yet appeared.
After testing the power box, Paul called the boy over. With Willy nestled in his lap, they pulled the switch together, watching intently as the motor buzzed with electricity.
“All aboard,” Paul called.
“Choo-choo-ooh-ooh,” Willy sang out.
The tiny car came to sluggish life, gradually picking up speed as it moved forward. Willy let out a whooping cheer. Applause broke out behind them.
Paul turned to find Amy clapping. “It looks great, guys,” she said.
“Finally back from your tour?” he teased.
She grinned. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”
“All?” He shot her a skeptical look.
“Every single word that was said. I promise.” She crossed her heart with her hand.
Willy waved her to come over. “Watch me make it go b
ackward, Amy.”
She sat on the floor with them, her subtle scent stirring Paul’s memories of last night. He watched her watch Willy switch the power into reverse and he listened to her giggle with him over how funny the train looked going in the opposite direction. When Willy handed Amy the controls, Paul felt her delight as she sent the train cruising at breakneck speed.
He gazed at her out of the corner of his eye, an unexpected contentment washing over him. Sitting here, warm and snug with Amy and the child while the cold sky darkened outside, felt right. For Paul, it was a moment lush with belonging—something he’d rarely experienced in his life. He wanted to bask in the sensation while it lasted, because he knew it couldn’t last long.
The spell was broken when Maura stuck in her head to say she was leaving. “You’ll take Amy back to the inn, won’t you, Paul?”
“I had planned to.”
A few minutes after Maura left, Bridget brought Jenny in to see the train. By then it was completely dark outside, and rain could be heard pelting the roof. It sounded as if it might be freezing up.
“Paul, you’re a natural at this stuff,” Bridget noted as he adjusted a derailed caboose. “You should have yourself some kids.”
Her comment zinged a nerve. Yet in a way he was glad, because it snapped him back to reality. Willy and Amy were not his. Being with them like this had been sweet, but he should have known better than to drift too long in this fantasy of belonging. He’d given up hope of that long ago.
Bridget invited them to stay for supper, but he and Amy agreed they should leave. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, and now it was sleeting heavily.
“I should get you back to the inn right away,” he said as they carefully walked the few slick steps between the house, and his truck. “These narrow backroads around here ice up fast.”
“Then I am glad we have your truck instead of my car.” Amy winked before climbing into the truck.
Although the drive back to the Blue Sky took longer than the usual five minutes, Paul had little trouble steering his truck up the slippery, steep hill leading to the inn. Still, they both breathed easier when they pulled into the parking lot.
He turned off the engine and turned to Amy. “Now, I believe you promised to tell me all about your so-called house tour.”
“So-canear?” she echoed with a laugh. “I told them you weren’t fooled.”
“What are those two plotting?”
Amy put a hand on his shoulder. “Paul, it’s a long story. How about I buy you a hot chocolate? Then we’ll talk.”
They walked arm in arm through the main hall into the Pub Room. There were plenty of guests milling about, kept in by the ice storm. The Pub Room was buzzing with business. Paul noticed that Joey, the regular Sundaynight bartender, had brought his brother along to help.
“I guess our services won’t be needed tonight,” he murmured in Amy’s ear.
She went up to the bar to order hot chocolates while he snagged one of the few remaining tables. He looked around the crowded room. What an apt ending for a day he had hoped to spend alone with Amy, he thought dryly. He hadn’t counted on two plotting cousins, an ice storm and a packed house. Fate had not been kind.
Yet as he watched her carry two steaming mugs across the room, her pert body maneuvering through the crowd with agility, Paul figured he was still the luckiest man in the room. Fate be damned. He’d take Amy Riordan any way he could get her.
Placing the hot chocolates on the table, she sat down across from him. “These are very hot.”
Paul scarcely heard. He was too busy feasting on her eyes. Somehow her thick, teal turtleneck sweater made them appear even bluer. He hadn’t thought it possible.
“I’m sorry about today,” he said, his gaze still locked on hers. “About Maura and Bridget disrupting our plans, I mean.”
“I was disappointed, too. But now I know it was for a good cause.” Her eyes twinkled like starry sapphires.
“Good cause? I thought those two were cooking up some secret scheme.”
“A secret scheme for a good cause,” she explained. “Except now it stops being secret. That’s where you come in.”
“Me? You were the one they were hot to get out to the house.” Paul lifted the cup to his lips, keeping an eye on her over the rim.
“They wanted me to help,” she said, cupping her hands around the mug. “You see, George’s attack of flu has caused a real problem. Bridget thought I might be able to persuade you to help.”
“Since when do I need persuading to help my own relatives?” he asked, baffled. This just didn’t sound right. “I’d help them any way possible. Anytime!”
“Don’t speak too soon, Paul. This is kind of an unusual request,” Amy warned, clearly trying not to smile. “Although I think you should give it serious consideration.”
Somehow he knew he wasn’t going to like this. He leaned in resignation. “Okay, give it to me straight.”
“They want you to take George’s place as Safety Santa.”
“As what?”
“Safety Santa. Don’t you know about it?”
Her glared at her. “I know it’s something that makes George dress up in a dang fool Santa suit every year. That’s all I need to know.”
“I take it you don’t think much of the idea.”
“Why can’t they get one of George’s buddies from the firehouse to do it?”
“Apparently George wasn’t the only one from the fire station stricken with flu. Their duty roster is already down to a skeleton crew. They can’t spare anybody.”
“You’re awfully knowledgeable about all this.”
“Why do you think the ‘house tour’ took so long?” she said with a shrug. “Bridget made sure I knew everything. She’s convinced that if she or Maura asked you to do this, you’d refuse.”
“Bridget is right.”
“Didn’t I just hear you say you’d do anything for your relatives?”
Paul tapped restless fingers on the table as he contemplated Amy. It dawned on him that she actually thought he should do it.
“If it involves their health, well-being, livelihood, children or ultimate happiness, I’m theirs,” he told her. “But expecting me to parade around in an overstuffed red suit goes over the line. Way over the line.”
“Come on, Paul, where’s—”
He put up a hand to stop her. “Please don’t ask me where my Christmas spirit is.”
“Sorry.” She stared down at her hot chocolate.
“Look, sweetheart, it’s not in my nature to go around town ho-hoing my head off,” he tried to explain, her wounded look hitting a bull’s-eye on his conscience. “I’m not that kind of man.”
“If it makes you that uncomfortable, of course you shouldn’t do it.”
Thank goodness she saw the light.
“I’d really make a terrible Santa Claus. The kids would be disappointed.”
Amy sighed. “They may be disappointed anyway. George will never be well enough by Friday night to do it. And from what I gather, Bridget’s already exhausted all other possibilities.”
“You mean I was the last resort?”
She nodded, but told him not to worry.
It then dawned on Paul that Amy hadn’t given up. “So you’re saying if I don’t do it, there will be no Safety Santa.”
“It’s a shame. Bridget has told me how much the program means to George. He’ll feel terrible about letting kids down. Then again, there’s always next year.”
“Am I really the absolute last resort?”
“Fraid so.”
It sounded like an apology, as if she thought his resistance was weakening. Which it was, Paul realized with some ire. He couldn’t believe he was even considering such a thing! Now he knew how Amy had built a successful business—she was one shrewd cookie. Yet what a great way she had about her, he mused with admiration.
He refused to be a complete pushover, however. If he was going to actually submit to the indig
nities of bushy, white brows and a jelly belly, Paul figured he should get at least one perk.
“Okay, Amy, you win. I’ll be Safety Santa.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let the children down.” Beaming, she reached across the table to clasp his hands.
“I have one condition, though,” he informed her, feeling uncommonly light hearted. “You have to come with me.”
“You want me to go with you to all those houses?”
“Hey, even Santa has helpers. And it is for a good cause.”
Amy stared back at him, clearly realizing she’d been cornered. Her lips quivered with the beginnings of an unstoppable grin and then her shoulders vibrated with laughter. The low, drawling peal of her laugh tantalized him with its bewitching resonance. Paul loved the sound of it.
He loved the effect she had on him even more.
Finally, she breathed in deeply. “You have yourself a deal, sir.”
Her beguiling smile sparked another rush of warmth through his veins. His entire body quickened with excitement.
“In that case,” he began, his voice growing more husky as the heat inside him intensified, “I suggest we go out to the veranda and seal it with a kiss.”
Chapter Ten
Amy gazed out from her room’s front window, watching for Paul’s red truck. The cold, overcast day was quickly dissolving into dusk; off-and-on snow flurries dusted the inn’s grounds. A big snowstorm had been predicted to hit by tomorrow afternoon. She studied the darkening sky, wondering if the storm would actually hold off till then.
She hoped so. Her car was packed with wrapped Christmas toys and a Santa costume was down at the front desk, pressed and ready. Tonight was Safety Santa night.
All she needed now was Mr. Claus.
But Paul had been called to Richmond three days ago on urgent business, his return continuously delayed by “problems” he hadn’t even tried to explain. And Amy didn’t ask. If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her.
She couldn’t wait to see him again, though. His latest run to Richmond had come at the worst time, when so many things—said and unsaid—were up in the air between them. And the clock was ticking on her time here in Tremont. Although Paul had called her from his hotel every night, these phone conversations lacked the immediacy needed by two people starting out on the tricky tightrope of mutual discovery. Amy couldn’t help feeling disappointed. She had believed Paul when he said he’d be there for her.
