by Marta Perry
Tacey tugged gently at Grant’s hand, then pointed. He looked down at her, his face softening.
“Did you find one you like? Show me.”
Maggie followed as Tacey led the way past several scraggly pines. She stopped in front of a small blue spruce.
“This one,” Tacey whispered. Her eyes seemed filled with stars as she looked up at it.
Joey, joining them, scowled. “I want one that goes clean to the roof. Me ’n’ Robby want a big one.”
“Believe me, this tree will look a lot bigger when you get it inside,” Grant said.
Maggie knew that Tacey had just tugged on his heartstrings. She knew, because she felt the same.
“My ceilings are pretty low,” she pointed out. “We don’t want to have to cut the top off to get the tree in.”
Joey looked unconvinced. She made a point of feeling the spruce’s needles.
“I don’t know, though. Blue spruce is pretty prickly. Your hands might not be tough enough to trim it.”
Joey quickly grasped a branch in one bare fist. “That’s nothing,” he boasted. “I can trim this one easy as pie. Let’s take it.”
Over the children’s heads, Grant’s gaze met hers, softening in a smile. “I guess this is it, then.”
Maggie hefted the ax. “Step back a bit.”
“Let me,” Grant said at almost the same moment.
“I can do it.” Her grip tightened on the smooth wood of the handle.
“I’m sure you can.”
Grant took a step closer, his body blocking out her view of the children. It was as if they were alone. He closed his hand over hers.
“I’m sure you can,” he repeated, his voice lower. “But why should you? Do you dislike me so much that you won’t even let me cut down a tree for you?”
Dislike definitely wasn’t the right word, not with his skin warm against hers and a hundred messages racing along her nerves straight to her heart.
“I don’t dislike you.” She was suddenly breathless, and she took a quick inhalation of cold, pine-scented air. She let go of the handle. “I’m just used to doing things for myself.”
His eyes, bluer than the December sky, were serious, as if what they talked about was critically important. “It’s good to be independent. But like the kids say, you should always share.” He smiled then, taking the ax.
Her heart gave an erratic flutter. That wasn’t his polite, professional, well-mannered smile. It was considerably more potent.
She took a careful step back. No, what she felt was definitely not dislike. What she felt could be a lot more dangerous than that.
Grant stood at the front window on Sunday, watching as a little parade composed of Maggie and the children crossed the street and entered the house. They’d stood on the corner for a few moments, talking with Aunt Elly. Then the damp chill in the air must have gotten to them, because they’d raced toward the door.
They’d been to church, obviously. It had looked as if everyone in Button Gap went to Sunday services. Everyone but him, that is.
Maybe going to church would have been better than staying in the dingy apartment on such a gray day.
No, probably not. He’d had enough reminders of his grudge against God the night he’d attended the pageant rehearsal.
He toyed with the idea of taking off in the car. The terms of his servitude didn’t require that he stay in Button Gap when he wasn’t on duty.
But that would feel like running away—from his post, from the unwelcome thoughts of Maggie that had occupied him far too much in the past day.
He frowned out at the now-deserted street. Everyone had headed home for Sunday dinner, probably. A few flakes of snow drifted down from the leaden sky, then a few more.
Joey had been wishing for snow yesterday. He’d talked about it the whole time they were dragging the tree home. He wanted it to snow, and he wanted a new toboggan for his birthday next week.
Well, it looked as if he’d get the snow. As for the toboggan, maybe his mother was taking care of that. Or Maggie.
Every train of thought seemed to lead back to the same place. He turned away from the window, exasperated with himself.
All right, Maggie interested him. Or maybe disturbed him would be a better way of putting it. Admit it, and move on.
It was ridiculous that she was so unwilling to accept any help from anyone. Especially from him. Look how she’d behaved when he’d wanted to cut down the tree. He might have been a mugger, trying to wrest something valuable from her.
Maggie’s prickly, determined personality wasn’t one he could ever be serious about, but still, she intrigued him. He’d like to see her admit she needed help from someone once in a while.
But probably not from him. He opened the refrigerator door and stared with distaste at the meager contents. He wasn’t going to be around long enough for Maggie to learn to depend on him. Another couple of weeks, and he’d be back to his normal life.
He settled for a can of soda, slid into the wobbly recliner and tilted back. He’d concentrate on planning the life he’d have once he returned to Baltimore and started his practice with Rawlins. He should look for a new apartment right away, given how hard it was to find something. Or maybe it was time to consider buying one of the renovated row houses down near the harbor.
By the time he’d finished the soda, the room had darkened so much that he could barely see. A glance out the window told him the reason. The snow had gone from flurries to a steady, dense fall. Already it frosted the shrubs and trees, giving Button Gap a soft, muted visage.
Maybe Joey should have specified how much snow he wanted. Grant reached out to switch on the lamp next to the chair. The bulb came on, then went off. Even as he frowned at it, it came back on again.
Okay, the electricity was flickering. He got up with a protesting squeal from the recliner. He’d better locate a flashlight, in case the power actually went off.
His hand had just closed over the flashlight in the desk drawer when the lamp flickered again, then went out. He waited a moment. Nothing.
Well, all right. He switched on the flashlight. He’d be fine. Bored, but fine.
Then, slowly, his brain identified the grumbling thud he’d heard when the light went out. The furnace. Maggie had told him that the furnace motor was electric. Without electricity, he had no heat.
He was coming back from the bedroom, pulling on a sweater, when he heard someone pounding persistently at the back door. Tugging the sweater down, he opened the door.
Joey had come out without a coat, and he hopped up and down on the porch to keep warm. “Maggie says the ’lectricity is out. Maggie says come over to our place so you won’t freeze.”
An afternoon in close quarters with Maggie and the three kids. And a fireplace. And a wood burner.
Joey danced. “You comin’ or not?”
It was better than freezing.
“You go on back. Tell Maggie I’ll be along in a minute.”
The apartment was already cooling. He picked up an armful of journals he hadn’t had time to read yet. This wouldn’t be so bad. Maggie would undoubtedly occupy the kids, and he could immerse himself in the journals. He could make decent use of the time.
Pulling on his jacket, he hurried outside, slamming the door behind him. A step off the porch took him to his shoe tops in snow. He strode across the yard behind the clinic to Maggie’s kitchen door, gave a cursory knock and opened it.
“Maggie?”
“Come on in.” The croak had to be Maggie’s voice, but it sounded more like a frog.
He crossed to the living room doorway, shedding his jacket on the way. He paused.
Maggie sat on the braided rug in front of the fireplace, surrounded by Christmas ornaments and the three kids. The blue spruce they’d cut the previous day occupied the place of honor in front of the window. They’d clearly been spending their Sunday afternoon trimming it.
The room looked like Christmas. Bright cards decorated the top of the
pine jelly cabinet in the corner, and a rather crooked red-and-green paper chain swung from the white window curtains.
Maggie didn’t look as festive as the setting. She sneezed several times, then mopped her face with a tissue. Her eyes were about as red as her nose, and her usually glossy hair was disheveled.
“I said you were catching something, didn’t I?” He picked his way through the boxes scattered on the braided rug to reach her. “Do you have a fever?”
She evaded his hand. “No. It’s just a cold.”
He touched her cheek. “And a fever. And a sore throat. What have you taken?”
“Nothing.” At his look, she went defensive. “I can’t take something that will make me sleepy, not when I have the children to take care of.”
He glanced at the kids. They stood close together, eyes wary, obviously not sure what to do when Maggie, always strong Maggie, wasn’t herself.
“I’ll watch the kids. You need to take something right now and get some sleep.”
He’d watch the kids? Where did that come from?
Maggie apparently found the suggestion just as incredible. “I’ll be fine.”
He grabbed her arms and hoisted her to her feet, surprised by how light she was. Maybe her assertive attitude made her seem bigger than she was. He guided her to the couch.
“You won’t be fine unless you follow doctor’s orders. Do you have something to take, or do I have to go over to the clinic?”
Maggie sank down on the couch, apparently too sick to argue. That alarmed him more than anything.
“Top shelf above the sink in the kitchen,” she murmured.
He found the vial, nodded his approval and raided the refrigerator for juice. He went back to the living room to find her curled up, eyes half-closed.
“Here.” He stood over her while she downed the pills he doled out, then handed her a glass of juice. “Drink that and relax for a while.”
She nodded, tucking her hand under the bright pillow with a little sigh.
He turned to the kids, to find they were all looking at him. A flicker of panic touched him. He couldn’t suggest they watch television, not without electricity. What was he going to do with them?
“Why don’t you guys sit down by the fireplace and…um, play a game.”
Joey shook his head with a look of disgust. “We don’t want to play any old game. We want to finish trimming the Christmas tree.”
A voice seemed to echo over the years. Jason’s voice.
Don’t you wish we had a Christmas tree of our very own, Grant? One we could trim ourselves?
He swung toward Maggie, ready to demand she get well and take over.
Maggie slept, her flushed cheek pressed against the patchwork pillow that he’d bet Aunt Elly had made for her. Silky dark hair swung across her face, and one blue-jeaned leg dangled from the couch.
He lifted her leg to the couch, moved the orange juice glass and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. It flowed through his fingers damply, clinging.
A patchwork quilt draped over the back of the couch. He pulled the quilt free, then tucked it around her, moving with the utmost care so he wouldn’t wake her. Finally, satisfied that she was comfortable, he turned back to the kids.
He didn’t want to do this. But Maggie needed him.
“So, what do you say we finish trimming this Christmas tree?”
Maggie woke reluctantly from a dream in which she had been warm and safe—a child snug in a soft bed, tucked in with love and kisses.
She blinked, coming back to the present. Firelight—yes, the power was off. The room was warm, and the murmur of voices must have made the background music for her dream.
She sniffed, not stirring. Someone must have been cooking on the wood burner. Maybe Aunt Elly had taken over while she was sleeping.
Still reluctant to move, she snuggled under the quilt. Someone had covered her. Someone had tucked her in and told her to sleep. Grant.
She looked toward the fireplace.
Grant sat on the rug in front of the fire, Tacey on his lap, Robby leaning against his knee, Joey sitting cross-legged holding her big yellow mixing bowl filled with popcorn. The old metal popcorn popper she used for camping was propped against the stone fireplace.
“…so Jack and his mother lived happily ever after. The end.”
If someone had told her yesterday that Dr. Grant Hardesty would be telling fairy tales to the Bascom kids on her living room rug, she’d have thought they were lying. But this was definitely Grant, even though his face looked softer, somehow, with the firelight flickering on it.
Tacey reached up to tug at Grant’s sweater. “A Christmas story,” she said softly.
“Yeah, tell us a Christmas story,” Joey chipped in. He shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth.
She wasn’t imagining the shadow that crossed Grant’s face at that request. Something about Christmas disturbed him at a level so deep, he probably never let it show. Did he admit it to himself?
He ruffled Joey’s hair, and for once the boy didn’t duck away from a touch. “Why don’t we—” He glanced across the room and saw she was awake. “Why don’t we see if Maggie needs anything, okay?”
She roused herself to push the quilt back. Those children were her responsibility, and she’d been sound asleep, leaving them to Grant.
“Sorry I slept so long. I’ll get up and—”
Grant was there before she could get off the couch. He shoved her gently back to a sitting position on the couch. “No, you won’t do any such thing.”
She’d have taken offense at the order, but it was said with such concern that she couldn’t. It must be the cold that made her feel so tearful. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you with the kids.”
He raised an eyebrow even as he touched her cheek and then felt her pulse. “Don’t you think I can manage three kids, a power outage and a snowstorm?”
Her gaze tangled with his, and her breath caught. “I think you can manage just about anything you set your mind to.”
Joey leaned against the couch and eyed her critically. “You look some better, Maggie.”
“Thanks.” Although with Grant’s fingers on her wrist, her pulse was probably racing. “You guys behaving?”
He looked affronted. “O’ course we are. Grant made popcorn.”
“A little fast,” Grant murmured, and he let go of her hand.
She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I’m feeling much better. I didn’t realize you could cook.”
“Hey, if you want popcorn or soup, I’m your man.” He straightened, stretching. “We kept some chicken soup warm for you. You feel as if you can eat some?”
She started to get up and was pushed back again.
“Sit still. Tacey and I are in charge of serving, aren’t we, Tacey?”
The little girl actually giggled. Then she nodded and raced to the kitchen. It looked as if Grant had made a conquest.
Of Tacey, she reminded herself quickly. Not of her.
Something remarkably like panic ripped along her nerves, pulling her upright. She couldn’t let a momentary gentleness and an afternoon’s support make her feel anything for Grant. She wouldn’t. That could only lead to heartbreak.
Chapter Seven
Grant shoved another log on the fire and watched as Maggie tucked blankets around the sleeping children. After several stories and snacks, the kids had finally curled up in the nests of blankets she’d created on the living room rug. Thanks to a busy afternoon the tree was trimmed and the ornament boxes put away.
Maggie looked better, and she had things under control. He ought to go back to his own place.
Instead of moving, he settled comfortably into the spot on the braided rug he’d occupied for the past hour, his back against the couch. He stretched out his legs toward the fire.
The power was still off. His apartment would be cold. Maggie might need something.
Those sounded like good enough reasons for staying right
where he was.
Maggie glanced out the window at the snowy darkness, then came and sat down next to him. The flush in her cheeks looked natural now, rather than fever-caused.
He put the backs of his fingers against her cheek, just to be sure. Her skin was warm and smooth.
“You okay?” He kept his voice low, although he didn’t think anything short of an explosion would wake the kids now.
“Fine.” She withdrew a fraction of an inch. “Would you believe it’s still snowing out? I’d guess we’ll have close to two feet by the time it’s done.”
“Probably just raining in Baltimore.”
She settled back against the couch. “I’ll take snow anytime. Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas.”
Christmas. The holiday was as unavoidable here as it was everywhere else this time of year. A flare of resentment went through him. Why did he have to be reminded?
Maggie seemed to take his silence for assent. She stared into the fire, apparently content for once to sit and watch instead of doing something.
She tilted her head, looking at the battered metal star he’d placed on the very top of the tree. “It looks nice, doesn’t it?”
He assessed the spruce. The branches were crooked, and the top tilted a little oddly in spite of his best efforts to straighten it. Half the ornaments were old and worn, the other half homemade.
“Nice,” he agreed.
She shot him a look, as if he’d argued about it. “I know it can’t compare to a decorator-trimmed tree, but I think it’s pretty good.”
His brother would have loved the tree, right down to the angels made from paper plates and glitter. The thought of Jason’s reaction stabbed him to the heart.
“You have a beautiful tree, Maggie.” The thing to do was keep the focus on Maggie and her Christmas, not his. That way was safe. “The kids are crazy about it.”
“They are, aren’t they?” She smiled in their direction, then got up. “I forgot one ornament.”
She took a small box from the mantel, then opened it and removed something. For a moment she held the object protectively between her hands, and then she lifted it so he could see.
