Make-Believe Mistletoe

by Gina Wilkins

  Because his silence was making her nervous, she asked, “Do you have any special plans for Christmas, Banner? Or did the weather interfere with your travel, too?”

  “I had no plans.”

  “Oh. You don't celebrate Christmas?” Not everyone did, she reminded herself belatedly. She should have thought of that already.

  But he shook his head. “I do observe Christmas-I just didn't have any plans this year.”

  “You don't have a family?” Her admittedly overtender heart immediately twisted. How sad to be alone, especially during the holidays.

  “I have family. I simply wasn't in the mood to travel this year.”

  “None of them live close by?”

  “No.” He put another bowl in her hands, seeming to take care not to touch her in the process.

  Okay, maybe she was asking too many questions. Not everyone liked talking about themselves, though most of the men she had encountered lately seemed obsessed with the subject. Maybe he would rather hear about her, instead.

  “I love Christmas. I always spend it with my favorite aunt and uncle in Springfield-my father's younger sister and her husband and their two sons. My father is an Army major stationed in Texas, and he'll fly in on Christmas day-weather permitting, of course.”

  A hard wind blew against the window over the sink, and the lights flickered again, staying out a bit longer this time. Lucy sighed in relief when they came back on, though she figured it was just a matter of time before the power went out.

  Since that thought made her even more nervous, she chattered on. “My mother died when I was almost thirteen. My father sent me to live with my aunt and uncle after that, so they're almost like parents to me.”

  “Here.” He set the clean, wet stockpot in her hands. “This goes in the cabinet next to the stove.”

  So maybe he wasn't interested in talking about her, either. “Do you think this ice storm will stop soon?” she asked, seizing on the weather as a last-ditch conversational gambit.

  He dried his hands on a paper towel, studying her with a slightly quizzical expression. “You're not one to let a moment of silence slip by, are you?”

  Something about his wording amused her. Totally unoffended, she chuckled. “I'm afraid not. I tend to talk a lot, anyway, but especially when I'm nervous.”

  “You're nervous now?” That seemed to surprise him.

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Because of the storm?”

  It seemed an innocuous enough excuse. “Okay.”

  “You're safe here, you know. Even if the power goes out, I have plenty of firewood and a gas stove to cook on.”

  She found his somewhat awkward attempt to reassure her rather touching. Darned if she wasn't starting to like him-at least a little-despite his curt manners. “I know we're safe. It's just a little…awkward.”

  “Tell me about it.” He glanced toward the doorway as if he still wasn't particularly looking forward to joining the others.

  Lucy glanced at her watch. It was only seven-thirty. What were they going to do for the rest of the evening?

  Bobby Ray wandered through the kitchen door, pushing a meaty hand through his bushy hair. “Miss Annie is asleep,” he informed them. “I talked Pop into lying down, too. Poor old guy's wiped out, though he won't admit it. Stubborn old bird. Reminds me of my grandpa.”

  “I had a great-uncle like that,” Banner said. “Lived on his own until he was eighty-two, when he died in his sleep of a heart attack. Never would accept any help or advice from anyone.”

  It was the most Banner had volunteered about himself since they'd arrived. Lucy wondered exactly how much Banner had in common with the great-uncle he seemed to have admired so much.

  “I threw some more wood on the fire,” Bobby Ray said. “Getting kind of low in the wood box. You want me to bring some more in?”

  “I keep a good supply on the back porch, under cover.” Banner motioned toward the back door on the other side of the bar.

  Bobby Ray nodded. “Good. We're probably going to need it. I just caught a local news report on the TV, and they said electricity's going out all over this part of the state. I imagine we'll be in the dark ourselves directly.”

  Lucy shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

  Banner looked at her in question.

  “I'm not really crazy about being in the dark,” she admitted.

  “Does it make you nervous?”

  She smiled wryly. “Yes.”

  Banner glanced at Bobby Ray. “At least we won't have to worry that it will get too quiet.”

  It was another example of Banner's odd sense of humor-and once again he'd said it without even a hint of a smile.

  “Very funny, Banner,” she muttered.

  He gave her a look that might have held a gleam of amusement. And, darn it, she felt her toes start to curl in response to that hint of a smile.

  Time to get control again. “Okay,” she said, “so what are we going to do with everybody? You have only two bedrooms, right?”

  Banner nodded. “The Carters can have mine, and Joan and the kids can have the other. Bobby Ray and I will bunk in the living room and you can sleep on the couch in my office.”

  “Your office?”

  He jerked his head toward a closed door on the far side of the kitchen. “In there.”

  She nodded. “That will work. What about-”

  Someone pushed her from behind. She turned to find Banner's dog standing behind her, taking up most of the spare room in the kitchen. It was the first time she had seen the beast standing up, and he was nearly the size of a small horse. She hardly had to bend over to look straight into his lazy eyes.

  “He needs to go out,” Banner said. “You're standing in his way.”

  “Excuse me,” Lucy said to the dog, scooting to one side.

  The dog made a grumbly sound that might have been a response, then ambled to the door, where he gave Banner a look over his shoulder. A gust of damp, icy air entered the room when Banner opened the door. The dog gazed dolefully out past the covered porch to the wet, ice-coated yard beyond. He gave a deep sigh, then walked out, his shaggy head already hunched in preparation for the elements.

  Lucy couldn't help smiling at the mutt's behavior. “He's a very…interesting character.”

  Banner gave her another one of those looks that wasn't quite a smile. “He's excited by all the company.”

  “That's excited? How can you tell?”

  “He's awake.”

  She laughed. “I see.”

  Lucy stood back and watched as Banner pulled a big towel out of a cabinet. He opened the back door, letting dog and cold air inside again. After toweling the mutt off, he gave him a bone-shaped dog treat from a box he kept on the counter near the door. With a low “woof” of thanks, the dog strolled out of the room.

  Lucy grinned as she watched the long scraggly tail disappear through the doorway. She was beginning to like that dog a lot.

  She was still reserving judgment about his owner.

  Chapter Three

  Banner couldn't remember this many people being in his house since-well, ever. Having brought in one of the straight-backed chairs from the dining room for himself, he sat uncomfortably in one corner of his living room, studying the others, who were watching a Christmas special on TV.

  The Carters were still resting; Banner wouldn't be surprised if they were down for the night. They had both looked exhausted after dinner.

  Sprawled in Banner's big leather recliner, Bobby Ray rubbed his bearded chin. His eyes were focused on the television screen, but his thoughts were obviously elsewhere.

  Joan and Tricia sat on Banner's brown suede couch, Tricia's head cradled on her mother's lap. Tyler lay on the floor, using Hulk for a pillow. The dog seemed perfectly content to serve in that capacity; his head was on his paws and quiet snores escaped him every so often.

  Though he barely knew them, the children seemed subdued to Banner, probably still upset that their
holiday plans had been disrupted. They watched the TV, but without much enthusiasm.

  Finally Banner turned his gaze to Lucy, who sat in the brown-and-tan-striped easy chair, leaving the Windsor rocker as the only unoccupied chair in the room. Banner had been trying to avoid looking at Lucy, but it wasn't easy. She fascinated him. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the others, it was Lucy who kept drawing his attention.

  She seemed to be trying to watch the program, but judging by her restless fidgeting, she was having trouble concentrating. Banner got the distinct impression that she would rather be moving around and talking at her usual mile-a-minute rate. There was a lot of pent-up energy in that tidy little package, he mused, letting his gaze drift down her figure.

  He and Lucy seemed to be opposites. While he was content to spend days, even weeks, with no company but his own, Lucy probably preferred having lots of people around. She was gregarious, extroverted, impulsive, emotional. He was none of those things.

  A woman like Lucy would certainly have no interest in a socially awkward, frequently tongue-tied, oddball loner like Banner. But that certainly didn't make him any less mesmerized by her.

  Another strong gust of wind rattled the windows, and the lights flickered again. Once, twice, three times before they stabilized.

  Tricia whimpered and Joan comforted her. Banner noticed that Lucy had paled a little and seemed to be chewing on her full lower lip. The prospect of being in the dark made her nervous, and when she was nervous she tended to babble, he reminded himself. She must be making quite an effort to remain quiet so the children could enjoy the television program.

  The singing and dancing gave way to a commercial, and Lucy looked away from the screen. Her gaze met Banner's, and she gave him a tentative smile. “You don't look very comfortable over there.”

  “I'm fine.” He didn't know squat about being a host-and even less about running a bed and breakfast, which he seemed to be doing at the moment. He suspected he should be doing more than sitting in a chair staring at everyone like a silent sphinx. “Um, does anyone need anything?”

  Apparently, no one did. The room fell silent again except for the sounds from the TV speakers and the storm outside. Banner sat back to watch the show, but his attention kept wandering to Lucy, to his annoyance.

  The Christmas special ended at 9 p.m. By that time Tricia, Tyler and Hulk were all asleep, and Bobby Ray looked ready to join them.

  “I'd better get these two into bed,” Joan said, looking at her sleeping children.

  Bobby Ray stirred and rose to his feet. “Want me to haul the boy in there for you?”

  Joan glanced at him, then quickly away, and Banner wondered if the timid woman was unsettled by Bobby Ray's size. But then, she seemed intimidated by Banner, too, and he was two inches shorter and a good seventy pounds lighter than the truck driver.

  “I can manage,” Joan said in the tone of a woman who was accustomed to taking care of herself and her children without assistance.

  Bobby Ray yawned again. “Then I'll have a drink of water before turning in. You take the couch, Banner. The recliner's comfortable enough for me.”

  Banner stood, compelled again to do something host-like. “There are extra blankets in the guestroom closet,” he told Joan. “If you need anything else, just let me know.”

  “We'll be fine,” she assured him, her arms around her sleepy children.

  He nodded. “I put a flashlight on the nightstand in case the power goes out. If it gets too cold, you and the kids can bring blankets and pillows in here and bunk in front of the fire.”

  He had a small gas log fireplace in the master bedroom, so even if the power went out, the Carters should be okay. They had an attached bath, which would give them privacy and keep Miss Annie from having to walk too far. He had already carried blankets and a pillow into the office for Lucy.

  He waited until Lucy emerged from the face-washing and tooth-brushing line for the bathroom, letting Bobby Ray go in after her, and then he motioned toward the doorway that led to the kitchen and office. “I'll walk with you,” he said. “Just to make sure everything's okay.”

  “Thanks.” Slinging her big duffel bag over one shoulder, she went ahead of him, giving him an intriguing view of her tight, compact backside. He lifted his gaze to the back of her head, reprimanding himself for the thoughts running through his head-thoughts she certainly wouldn't approve of from a total stranger upon whom she was temporarily dependent.

  The office was a small, single-windowed room stuck onto the far side of the house. It was furnished with a large desk that held a computer, printer, phone and fax machine. A copier on a stand was shoved into one corner, and a faded and rather worn green corduroy couch had been pushed against one wall. A white-cased pillow, clean sheets and two blankets waited on one end of the rather shabby green couch.

  “It's not pretty, but it's comfortable,” he said, motioning toward the couch. “I've napped on it a few times. So has Hulk, I'm afraid, but I tried to brush off all the dog hair.”

  “I'm sure I'll be fine.” She cast a wary glance at the curtainless window that rattled every time the wind blew. “Maybe you could lower those blinds for me?”

  He moved to do so. “You're sure you'll be okay in here?”

  She gave him a smile that was just a shade too bright. “I'll be fine,” she said again.

  He knew she was worried about a power outage. She'd made it clear enough that she didn't like the dark. Opening a desk drawer, he took out a small flashlight and handed it to her. She accepted it gratefully.

  “You certainly seem prepared for company,” she said, motioning toward the pillow and extra blankets. “Does your family visit often?”

  “No. I inherited most of my household supplies from my great-uncle. He built this house.”

  “The great-uncle who lived alone until he died?”

  He had almost forgotten that he'd mentioned his uncle Joe to Lucy. “Yeah. He died four years ago, leaving me his house and workshop.”

  Lucy was already spreading sheets on the couch, her backside swaying with the movements. Banner stuck his hands in his pockets and half turned away, keeping his gaze focused intently on anything but her. He cleared his throat. “Let me know if you need anything during the night.”

  “Banner?” She spoke quickly as he stepped through the doorway, his hand on the doorknob. “Would you leave the door open, please?”

  He did so, saying over his shoulder, “Keep the flashlight close at hand in case you need it.”

  “I certainly will,” he heard her mutter.

  She really was nervous. He wondered if her fear of the dark had a basis in experience or if it was a quirk. Maybe she was afraid because circumstances had stranded her here in an unfamiliar place.

  All things considered, he was a bit nervous himself. It seemed odd, though, that of all the strangers camped out in his home, Lucy was the only one who reduced him to the almost inarticulate self-consciousness that had plagued him during his awkward youth.

  As Banner had promised, the couch was more comfortable than it looked. Lucy nestled into the covers, trying not to think about the storm outside. At least she couldn't see the creepy, ice-covered branches swaying now that Banner had closed the blinds.

  He had left a dim light on in the kitchen, which provided enough illumination to make her reasonably comfortable. She wondered if he always kept that particular bulb burning at night, or if he'd left it on because she had told him the dark made her nervous.

  To reassure herself, she slid a hand under her pillow, touching the flashlight he had provided her with. He really was trying to be a good host in his own awkward way, she thought with a slight smile.

  She wondered why a young, good-looking guy like him lived alone out here in the back of nowhere. She won dered why he wasn't joining his family for Christmas. She wondered if he had a girlfriend. And as she drifted into the first stages of sleep, she wondered if he wanted one…

  The sound of someo
ne breathing deeply, heavily in her ear brought her eyes open in a hurry. She nearly had a heart attack when she saw a big, dark form looming over her, so close to her face she could feel the heat of his breath on her skin.

  “Oh, it's you,” she said a moment later, not sure if she was relieved.

  Hulk laid his shaggy head on her arm. Moving clumsily, she patted him with her other hand. “I know I'm on your couch, but I'm not moving,” she said. “You'll have to take the floor if you're sleeping in here.”

  He sighed deeply, then removed his head from her arm, curled up on the braided rug in front of the couch and was soon snoring.

  That dog was downright spooky, Lucy thought, shaking her head as she settled into her pillow again. But then, Hulk's owner wasn't exactly ordinary.

  The power went out just as she closed her eyes again. There wasn't a warning flicker this time, not even a hard gust of wind. Everything just quietly went dark. Pitch-dark.

  Lucy sat up with a gasp. She couldn't see the doorway into the kitchen now. Without the background noises of the heater and other electric appliances, the house was completely silent. She could hear the wind and ice outside, and occasional sharp cracks that she knew were more tree branches snapping.

  She hadn't heard the branch that had taken down the power lines.

  Her heart pounded in her throat as she strained to see through the inky blackness. She was growing disoriented, unsure now exactly where the door was. The sounds from outside seemed to grow louder and eerier. Creaks and pops and groans-strange noises in a strange place.

  “Hulk?” she whispered, reaching unsteadily for the dog. Even his presence would be comforting now. But he wasn't there. The shaggy mutt had slipped out as stealthily as he had entered earlier, leaving Lucy alone in the dark.

  Drawing a deep breath to calm herself, she remembered the flashlight under her pillow. It must have been panic that had driven it from her mind before, she thought sheepishly, making a dive for it. She felt better immediately when her fingers closed around the metal cylinder. And then she cursed beneath her breath when she fumbled to find the button that would turn it on. She should have figured out how to work it before the lights went out, she chided herself.