Mrs. Scrooge

by Barbara Bretton

  "Know it well," said Teddy, extending his paw of a hand. "Spent many a happy hour in there. How's your dad doing?"

  Murphy's hazel eyes widened. "Great. He should be back behind the bar full-time in a few weeks."

  "Glad to hear it. I know he had a rough spell of it there for a while."

  "I love small towns," Murphy grumbled, just loud enough for Sam to hear. He looked at Teddy. "And you're--?"

  "Sammy's cousin. Teddy Dean."

  Teddy looked from Sam to Murphy then back again, and she didn't like what she saw in his eyes. In the best of times her family was both curious and talkative. Murphy's visit would be common knowledge from Rocky Hill to Trenton and back before Murphy finished his first cup of coffee. That was, if he had come to stay.

  She cleared her throat. "Teddy dropped by to tell me my cousin Frank is getting married on Sunday."

  Murphy nodded politely.

  "And you'll work the stand Sunday during the wedding?" Teddy said, forcing his full attention back to Sam.

  "What stand?" asked Murphy.

  "A chestnut stand." Sam laughed at the expression on his face. "You know—`Chestnuts roasting on an open fire . . . ' "

  "You're kidding."

  "Hell, no!" said Teddy. "Frankie's got the best location in Manhattan. Right near Rockefeller Center."

  Sam thought of the many kindnesses both cousins had showed her over the years. "Of course, I will."

  "You can keep the profits," Teddy offered.

  She waved away his words. "That's my wedding gift to them."

  "He'll be back on Monday morning, bright and early."

  Murphy snapped back to attention. "He only needs one day off?"

  Teddy shrugged his huge, uniformed shoulders. "He's in love but he's not crazy. There's time for a honeymoon after the holidays. Too much money to be made in December."

  "What a family," muttered Murphy, and Sam gave him a sharp jab in the ribs with her elbow. "Do you all sell food?"

  "Just about," said Sam. "What else do you do when you love to eat as much as our clan does?"

  Teddy looked down at his ample belly. "Only our Sammy here can eat and not pay the price."

  "I'm lucky," said Sam. "Fast metabolism."

  "I think she could use a few pounds," offered Murphy, dodging Sam's elbow.

  "So do I," said Teddy.

  "And I think it's time to call it a night," said Sam with a glance at Murphy. "Don't you have crime to fight, Teddy?"

  As if on cue, Teddy's squad car erupted in a series of squawks. "I think I'm being paged." He hesitated, once again looking from Murphy to Sam.

  "Good-bye, Teddy," said Sam, opening the door wide.

  Teddy winked at Murphy then chucked Sam under the chin. "Good night, you two."

  Sam closed the door after her cousin then bolted the lock with a flourish. She leaned against the jamb and wiped imaginary perspiration from her brow. "Sorry you had to meet Teddy so early in our friendship. He's quite a character."

  "That squad car gave me a scare," Murphy admitted as she led him into the kitchen. "I was afraid something had happened to you or Patty."

  "Impossible," said Sam, switching off the television and putting up water for coffee. "Patty and I have too many guardian angels hovering over us."

  Murphy straddled a chair, his gaze never leaving her. She caught her reflection in the door of her microwave oven. No wonder. She looked rotten. The ubiquitous ponytail. No makeup. Cheeks smeared with cake flour; vanilla extract instead of French perfume. And for sheer glamour, there was nothing like a faded blue chenille robe and sweat socks.

  If she had a brain she'd take the cake out of the oven and stick her head in there instead.

  "Excuse me, Murphy," she said, inching her way toward the door. "I'm going to change my clothes."

  "Why?" He looked genuinely confused. "You look fine to me."

  Of course you do, Sam, she thought. He's looking for a cup of coffee, not a romantic encounter.

  She turned back to the counter and fussed with coffee beans and filters as if kitchen chores were foreign to her. At that moment, everything felt foreign—the fit of her skin, her thoughts, the odd sensation of having a man like Murphy in her country kitchen on a cold winter's night. "How was your day in the big city?"

  "Okay."

  She caught the hesitation in his voice and turned around to meet his eyes. "That bad?"

  He nodded. "That bad,"

  "I'm a good listener." The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the smell of cinnamon and cloves.

  He reached for her hand and drew her closer. "I need one tonight, Sam."

  Her heart thundered wildly inside her chest. "Well, I'm here."

  "I'm glad."

  "So am I," said Sam. "Now tell me all about your day."

  And, while you're at it, tell me who you're taking to the Masquerade Ball.

  * * *

  STRANGE.

  Murphy was only halfway into the story of his rotten day in the Big Apple when it happened. His anger, his fatigue, the general sense of going nowhere fast vanished completely. He finished his story, camping it up to make Sam laugh, then realized that the rage that had fueled it was gone.

  She had a great laugh, full-bodied and unself-conscious, tinged with the innocence of childhood but all woman. Definitely all woman. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just sat in a real-life kitchen and talked with a woman who listened. Really listened. Sam was warm and attentive and not shy about telling him when he was acting like a horse's hind quarter—which apparently was a hell of a lot.

  "More coffee?" He watched as she walked over to the refrigerator for the pitcher of milk. Amazing how many curves she had hidden beneath that shapeless robe. A clear picture of the way she'd looked running across the parking lot that first morning at the bar passed before his eyes and he grinned. Long slender legs leading into gently rounded hips with a waist he could span with his hands and—

  She was looking at him curiously. "Was that a no, Murphy?"

  "No—I mean, yes." What it was, was a groan. He had no business thinking about Sam like that. "I should be hitting the road. This is the bar's busiest time."

  She didn't disagree, and he suddenly felt awkward and clumsy, as if he'd overstayed his welcome.

  He followed her into the hall—doing his best not to imagine the way she looked beneath her robe—mumbling all sorts of apologies for barging in on her.

  She tossed him his coat, her lovely face lit with laughter. "Good grief, O'Rourke! I hate it when you get all humble."

  "You probably had plans for tonight."

  She looked down at her attire. "Right. I was going to whip up a gown for the Masquerade Ball."

  "You're going?" Maybe wasting a Saturday night with a bunch of stuffed shirts would have a compensation.

  "No," she said. "I was just kidding."

  "Any chance you'll change your mind?"

  "Maybe one in seven million."

  "I'll be banking on it, Sam." Stupid, sappy line, O'Rourke, he thought. Since when do you spout mush like that? This is Sam you're talking to, not some air-headed bimbo from the Upper West Side.

  "Have fun tomorrow," she said, tossing her ponytail back over her shoulder. Did she have any idea how graceful such a simple gesture could seem?

  "I'd say I have a one-in-seven-million chance of that."

  "Congratulate Scotty on his award for me."

  He nodded. Her dark brown gaze moved from his chin to his mouth and back to meet his eyes. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lower lip and he had the urge to pull her up close to him and kiss her thoroughly.

  Ridiculous. She would probably laugh in his face and tell him he'd been out of circulation too long.

  Which, all things considered, was probably right.

  "See you Monday?" he asked, turning up the collar on his jacket and stepping out onto the cold front step.

  "See you Monday," said Sam.

  Head down against the wi
nd, he ran toward his car and made his way back to the bar.

  "You okay?" asked his father when Murphy took over.

  "Fine," said Murphy.

  "You figure out whatever was eating at you?"

  "No," he said, "but somehow it doesn't matter anymore."

  His problems were still there, waiting to be solved, but for one evening Sam had made them all seem very far away.

  Chapter Ten

  "Mom."

  Sam groaned and pressed her face deeper into her pillow. "Oh, Patricia," she mumbled. "It's not even dawn yet."

  "Mom, wake up."

  "At least let me sleep until the sun comes up."

  "Get up, you lazy wretch!" There was only one woman on earth with the sugar-coated voice of a martinet.

  "Go home, Caroline. Go bother someone else."

  "We're going to have to resort to drastic measures," she heard Caroline say through her still-sleepy brain.

  I'm dreaming all of this, she thought, drifting back toward sleep. This isn't really happening.

  "Maa-a-a!" Patty's voice was high with anxiety. "You absolutely must wake up this minute!"

  "No," said Sam, squeezing her eyes closed as tight as possible. She was in the middle of the most delightful dream about Murphy and their unexpected time together last night, and she wanted it to go on and on. "I am not waking up. Not for anybody."

  "But you're a mother." Patty sounded scandalized and Sam smiled.

  "No, I'm not. I hereby resign the position until a decent hour."

  "Sorry, kid." Sam felt a hand grip the edge of the blankets. "I didn't want to play rough with you but. . . "

  With that, the hand executed a perfect snap of the wrist that sent the bedclothes flying to the floor, and Sam sat straight up, gasping in the cool morning air in the bedroom, as Patty and Caroline looked on, amused.

  "This is barbaric." She grabbed for the blankets but Caroline kicked them out of reach.

  "Rise and shine," said her best friend.

  "It must be six in the morning."

  "Nine on the dot," said Patty with a smug smile.

  Sam fell back against the pillows and covered her eyes with her hand. "I need caffeine."

  "At your service." Caroline stepped out of the room, then returned with a white wicker tray heaped with serving dishes. "Caffeine, carbohydrates and an egg to balance it out."

  Sam uncovered her eyes and leaned up on her elbows.

  Patty scrambled across the mattress and sat by Sam's uncovered, icy-cold knees. "Merry Christmas from Aunt Caroline."

  Caroline placed the breakfast tray over Sam's narrow hips and removed the lid on the platter of perfectly toasted blueberry muffins. "Say one word about not exchanging presents, Samantha, and you'll be wearing the eggs."

  "But we promised!" Sam felt awash in pleasure, embarrassment and a touch of righteous dismay. "No presents until our businesses are in the black."

  "Mine's been in the black for two years now, and I refuse to wait any longer."

  If only the muffins didn't smell so incredibly delicious. "I said only Patty gets presents this year."

  "Oh, stop being so tedious, Ms. Scrooge, and eat your damned breakfast!"

  Patty giggled as Caroline sat down in the slipper chair near the window.

  Sam uncovered the fluffy yellow eggs and lifted the lid on the china pot of English breakfast tea. "I do hate to waste food."

  Patty poured the dark tea into Sam's cup and liberally sugared it. Sam didn't have the heart to tell her daughter that she hadn't used sugar in her tea for at least eight years.

  "Aunt Caroline has a whole day planned for you."

  Sam almost choked on her sip of tea as she turned to face her best friend. "What is Patty talking about?"

  Caroline leaned back and stretched her legs out in front of her. "Luxury, Samantha. Pure, unadulterated luxury."

  The sweet, fruity smell of the blueberry muffins proved to be too much for Sam and she bit into one greedily. The plump, warm berries burst with flavor inside her mouth. "I can deal with breakfast in bed," she said, with a sheepish smile.

  Patty's small frame relaxed beside her, and her daughter cadged a piece of the second muffin. "There's more, Mom." Patty turned toward Caroline, who still looked as if she hadn't a care in the world.

  "This is your day, Sam," said Caroline. "Today your secret wishes will all come true."

  Sam's cheeks reddened as she remembered one of the more interesting dreams about Murphy. "You painted the store for me?"

  "Something more personal than that."

  "You paid my phone bill."

  Caroline waved her manicured hand in the air. "Small potatoes."

  A tiny thrill blossomed way down deep, in a part of Sam's heart that hadn't seen daylight in a very long time. "The masquerade ball tonight?"

  "The masquerade ball," said Caroline.

  Sam's heart was thudding so wildly she could scarcely think. "I can't," she whispered. "My hair . . . my nails . . . I don't have a thing to wear."

  "Yes, you do." Caroline rose from the chair and disappeared into the hallway.

  Sam grabbed Patty's hand to keep from spinning away in pure excitement as she heard Caroline's footsteps returning.

  "Voila!" Caroline called from just outside the bedroom door. "Instant glamour, at your service."

  "Oh, my God!" Sam's eyes swam with tears as she stared at the glorious sapphire-blue satin confection draped across Caroline's arms. "Old Frosty's gown!"

  "Yours for the night, Cinderella!"

  "But, look at me." Sam stared down at her work-roughened hands, her unpainted nails, the reflection of her unmade up face in the mirror across the room. "I'm a disaster."

  "After I'm through with you, you won't be."

  "Please, Mom!" Patty gave her an awkward hug around the breakfast tray. "Please go to the ball tonight!"

  "There's so little time. I still have the food trays to make for O'Rourke's and—"

  "Everything's been taken care of," Caroline broke in. "All you have to worry about is being beautiful."

  "And I suppose you're my fairy godmother?"

  "Yes. That's exactly who I am tonight."

  Forget it, her mind warned. He has a date. It didn't matter what magic Caroline wrought, for even the strongest alchemy couldn't turn her into a cuddly blue-eyed blonde.

  But her woman's heart was sending out some strong messages of its own.

  "I'll do it," she said, laughter bubbling through her apprehensions. "I'll go to the ball!"

  Even if it meant watching Murphy O'Rourke having the time of his life with the type of woman Sam could never be.

  * * *

  Ten hours later her mom stepped out of her room and looked down at Patty.

  "So what do you think?"

  "Wow!" Patty managed over the great big lump in her throat. "You look . . . oh, wow!"

  "I think we're a success," her mom said to Caroline with a nervous laugh.

  "You're beautiful," said Caroline who looked wonderful in a slinky beaded black dress that seemed to stay up through sheer willpower alone. "You look like a princess in a fairy tale."

  "You're Cinderella," Patty said, touching the shimmering sapphire folds of the full satin skirt.

  "Well, I'm certain I won't find Prince Charming at the Tri-County Masquerade Ball." Sam tilted her head slightly and Patty caught the delicate tinkle of her rhinestone drop earrings as her mother looked into the standing mirror Caroline had brought over. "I don't think I'd recognize myself in a crowd." She held the sequined and feathered white velvet mask up to her face. "A woman of mystery! Who would have believed it possible?"

  "I would," said Caroline, smoothing Sam's Gibson Girl upsweep with one gloved hand. "I always knew the potential was there, didn't you, Patty?"

  Patty nodded vigorously. She knew her mom was pretty, but never in a million years had she imagined that under Sam's baggy cords and shapeless sweaters and straggly ponytail hid movie star material! Maybe growing up had some ad
vantages besides being able to start work on a PhD. Could Patty possibly have such a wonderful surprise in store for her in another fifteen years?

  "Wow!" she said again.

  Grandma Betty came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "I never thought I'd see the day!"

  "Neither did I," said Sam as she pirouetted gracefully.

  Patty sighed as the full skirt of the satin gown made wonderful swishy noises.

  "You're beautiful, Samantha," said Grandma Betty, who would watch Patty until the sitter showed up.

  Sam's eyes sparkled like the rhinestones twinkling at her ears. "I feel beautiful," she said in a voice as soft as her shiny dark hair.

  The doorbell chimed and everybody jumped in surprise. Patty leaped up to answer it, swinging the front door open wide.

  "If the ladies are ready, their car awaits," said a tall gray-haired man in a chauffeur's uniform.

  "Come on, Cinderella," said Caroline as she draped a wrap about Sam's shoulders. "The coach has arrived,"

  Sam kissed her lightly on the forehead and Patty almost swooned. Instead of smelling like cinnamon and sweet cream, her mom smelled like Shalimar. Her everyday mother was now exactly the kind of woman Patty imagined a man would love.

  She looked over at her Aunt Caroline who flashed a thumbs-up sign. Patty waved good-bye from the front door. A full moon splashed across the snowy street. Winter stars twinkled high in the sky while Christmas carols seemed to blossom all around.

  The limousine eased silently down the driveway and headed up the street toward her mom's destiny. Unless she missed her guess, her mom and Murphy O'Rourke didn't stand a chance tonight, which was one hundred percent okay with Patty because she knew way down deep in her heart that this was the answer to all of her dreams.

  * * *

  MURPHY GAVE a final tug to his bow tie, straightened his cummerbund then headed downstairs to meet up with Scotty.

  Joe and Frank whistled and applauded as Murphy made his entrance. "Will you look at Beau Brummel there?"

  Murphy didn't dare look over at his dad who was tending bar tonight. Bill's rumbling laugh was enough.