by Carol Henry
Nope. No one.
As if he read her mind, he said, “It’s just me and Kurtis. Natasha is no longer with us.”
“Natasha is your wife?”
“Was my wife. Long story, short—she died shortly after Kurtis was born.”
“Oh, Mark, I’m sorry to hear of your loss.” How devastating. Poor Kurtis. She looked down at his questioning expression. Did he miss not having a mother?
“So, Kurtis suggested it, did he?” She smiled at the small boy who hadn’t taken his eyes off her all the while he hung on to his father’s hand, his head resting against Mark’s leg.
“Tree.” Kurtis pointed to the car.
“Perfect timing. I was just about to drag it inside. Guess I could use some help, after all.”
“If it’s okay, Kurtis can wait on the porch.”
“He can wait inside where it’s warm.”
“Cocoa. Want hot cocoa.”
“Kurtis! That’s not polite. We’ll have hot cocoa when we get back to grandma’s house.”
“Want cocoa, now.”
“No—”
“Of course he can have some hot cocoa. I was about to have a cup myself.” She leaned in closer to Kurtis, took his hand, and ushered him inside. “You can wait in the living room. No need to take your boots off, the floor is child proof. Do you like marshmallows in your cocoa?”
He hopped on to the large, old-fashioned stuffed sofa, kicked off his rubber Batman boots, and nodded. “Like ’mallows.”
“You don’t need to do this, Katie. We were just offering to help with the tree—nothing more.”
Mark stood in the doorway as if he was afraid to cross the threshold. His lack of confidence surprised her. He’d never been hesitant while she’d known him, and in his line or work, if what everyone said was true, she was sure any hesitation on his part could be deadly.
“No trouble. Like I said, I was about to make a cup for myself after I took care of the tree. Give me a minute to put the water on to heat, and I’ll be right back.”
Memories of their time together flooded her mind. She held her breath, then shook her head as she made her way to the kitchen. Good Lord, what was she doing? She shouldn’t be resurrecting memories from the past. Kurtis’ pleading gaze, identical to his fathers, melted her heart. How could she refuse his request for hot cocoa? His trusting hand in hers had her yearning for a child of her own. The one she’d lost. Kurtis was a typical two-year-old—precious. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and hug him to pieces. But he wasn’t hers to hug. It would only lead to heartache all over again.
“Not a good idea. Not a good idea. Definitely not a good idea to let Mark Logan back in my house. My life,” she muttered under her breath. She filled the tea kettle, set it on the stove, and switched the burner on high. Her vision blurred as she assembled the hot chocolate packets, pulled cups out of the cupboard above the counter, and grabbed the bag of miniature, colored marshmallows. She leaned against the counter. Elvis’ sultry voice filtered from the other room as he continued to recount decorations of red and things not being the same without you. The words stabbed her heartstrings. Her first Christmas without Mark had been bad enough. She’d cried herself to sleep countless nights.
The second Christmas hadn’t been much better. Now, her mind flitted back to Sven, and she wondered why she wasn’t as disappointed as she should be that he wasn’t here to help her with the tree, the decorations, instead of Mark and his son. She gripped the countertop, sucked in a deep breath in an effort to try to calm her shaking insides. Her hands were no better. When she ripped open a packet of cocoa mix, half the contents spilled all over the counter top. It was a good thing she had a large supply of mix. She wiped down the counter, sighed, and then headed back to the living room while she waited for the water to boil.
She stopped in the doorway and closed her eyes. I can do this. I can do this. When she opened them, she discovered Mark had already brought in the tree, and taken his boots and heavy winter jacket off. A teal wool sweater, a pair of worn, tight blue jeans showed off his lean, but muscular body. His military style haircut was starting to grow out—she’d loved running her fingers through his hair when they’d been dating, when they’d made love. Her fingers itched to do so again. The man had her heart racing overtime.
“Wow,” she all but stuttered. “That was fast. You should have waited for me to help.”
“Not a problem. It wasn’t heavy. Where do you want me to put it?”
With those muscular biceps, broad chest, and shoulders, she wasn’t surprised he didn’t feel the strain. He certainly appeared more fit than when he played football back in high school, not to mention drop-dead sexy since she’d seen him last. Those arms—arms that once held her…No! She couldn’t go there. She wouldn’t.
“Umm, you can center it in front of the window. Give me a minute, and I’ll get the tree stand.”
Thankfully, the next song on the CD was a recording of “Jingle Bells,” sung by someone other than Elvis.
Another escape. But this time, little footsteps followed her down the hallway. She extended her hand behind her back, and wiggled her fingers, an invitation for Kurtis to latch on to them. Kurtis clasped his tiny fingers around hers; his touch warmed her insides. She smiled as she quietly led him toward the hall closet where she opened the door, dug among the many containers of scarves, mitten, hats, and an assortment of odds and ends, until she uncovered the tree stand way in the back.
“Here.” She squatted to his level and held the stand out to him. “Do you think you can help me carry this back to your father?”
“Me help.” He nodded, his fine dark hair flying forward, his wide-eyed grin tugged at her heart as he grabbed one of the green metal legs. He tucked it in toward his tummy, swiveled, and then ran as fast as his little legs could carry him all the way back to the front room.
“Ho, ho, ho. I see you have a helper,” Mark chuckled.
The sound of Mark’s ho, ho, ho washed over her like a tsunami. She froze. His eyes twinkled and gazed into hers, his smile beaming. She felt like a reindeer caught in strobing police headlights. Oh. My. God! Santa? Mark’s ho, ho, ho sounded an awful lot like the lodge’s Santa’s ho, ho, ho! She gulped. Could it be? Mark? Santa? Was he the one who had played Santa last Sunday? And seen her dressed in that dorky elf outfit? No way! Her body flamed as the blood rushed to her neck, her cheeks, and clear to the roots of her hair, and scorched her insides. Oh, no! Please, no! She gulped again, took the tree stand from Kurtis, studied it like a lifeline, and with eyes averted, handed it to Mark in silence.
The tea kettle whistled. Oh, crap. She’d forgotten all about the tea kettle and the hot cocoa. She practically ran to the kitchen to escape, saving her from making a complete fool of herself.
Good, Lord. Why hadn’t he said something? And why hadn’t he gotten in touch with her afterwards? He’d had all week.
Katelyn shut the burner under the kettle off, mixed the cocoa, poured a bit of milk in each cup, and set them on a tray. How could she face Mark in the other room after this unsavory revelation? She turned on the kitchen faucet, ran a cloth under the cold water, wrung it out, and pressed it to her face. Why had she ever let her father talk her into playing an elf? Never mind inviting Mark in to help with the tree—him and his son. It was too late—the only thing she could do now was go back in there, face him and hope he wasn’t still laughing at seeing her in that ridiculous elf outfit.
She returned to the front room carrying the tray of warm, steaming cups of cocoa, and a dish of pumpkin sugar cookies her mother had sent home with her the night before. The aroma of warm chocolate, sugar, vanilla, and spiced pumpkin filled the room. Mark was on his knees trying to pacify Kurtis, who had gone from a smiling kid to a distraught, sulking, almost in tears unhappy tot standing straight in defiance, his lips pursed, challenging his father. She hated to see Kurtis upset when they had been enjoying a special holiday moment.
“Can I help?” Katelyn set the tray on t
he coffee table. The look in Mark’s eyes almost silenced her, but she loved kids, was comfortable around them, and wanted to resolve whatever issue was causing such conflict between the two. Perhaps a distraction would help.
“Anyone up for Christmas cookies to go with cocoa?”
Kurtis eyed her, and then looked back at his father as if trying to decide how far he could push his father’s buttons to find out what he could get away with without dire repercussions. Typical two-year-old. He frowned, waiting for Mark to give him the go ahead. Mark finally nodded his assent. Only then did Kurtis slowly walk over to Katelyn and ask for a cookie. She wanted to pick him up and hug his cuteness, but knew better than to pit father against son. Instead, she handed Kurtis the smaller mug of coca, and a cookie on a red Christmas napkin.
“Let’s sit on the floor next to the fire to enjoy our cocoa,” she said, leading the way.
Kurtis plunked down as if nothing had transpired between him and Mark, and bit into a cookie. With Kurtis occupied with his snack, Katelyn could hold her tongue no longer.
“What was that all about?” she asked over the top of Kurtis’ head.
“He wanted to help you decorate the tree. I told him we’ve imposed enough. We only planned to help you bring the tree in the house, and set it up. In his own words, he insisted that meant decorating it, too.”
“He’s such a sweet boy, Mark. You should be proud he wants to help others. I can get the decorations from the attic. Of course, he can help.”
“Katie—”
“Done deal. Unless you have someplace else to be?” What the hell was she thinking? The sooner he left, the sooner she could address her own confused melancholy emotions, and decorate her own tree—and sit and sulk alone.
“You don’t have to do this. He’s only two. No need to cater to him. You don’t know the kid like I do. Once you give in, it’s never ending. He’ll have you wrapped around your finger in no time.”
Katelyn laughed. “Too late. I think he already has. Come on, Mark, it’ll be fun to have a little kid help me decorate. What’s Christmas for, if not to get pleasure in watching children enjoy and share the excitement of the Christmas season?”
Was she making herself miserable on purpose? Having Kurtis here—Mark’s son…
As if to emphasize her words, the music on the CD switched to “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” She smiled, and became mesmerized when Mark’s solemn expression turned upside down—his grin stirred memories better left tucked away.
“Finish your hot cocoa while I get the decorations.” She stood and placed her cup on the tray. Mark followed suit.
“Let me help. If I know you, there’ll be several boxes.”
Katelyn was aware of every movement Mark made as he followed her up the stairs to the second floor, and then down the hallway to the attic door. Her grandmother had insisted a regular stairway be put in to make it easier to access the attic. Visions of having to climb a ladder to squeeze through a square hole in the ceiling, like most of the older New England homes sported, had her thankful for her grandmother’s foresight. Otherwise, she would never have contemplated using the attic to store her decorations. Or anything else.
The door wasn’t locked, and opened easily. A cold draft of winter air whooshed down the stairs and into the hall, blowing at Katelyn’s hair.
“I forgot how cold and damp Maine winters could be,” Mark said. “I hope we don’t have to rummage around up here too long.”
“Everything should be just to the left at the top of the stairs. I try to keep things as organized as possible. Makes it easier to retrieve when I need something. Not that there’s much to rummage through.”
Mark climbed the stairs, ducked so his head wouldn’t bump into the rafters, and made his way to the center of the dark space where he was able to stand.
“There should be a pull-string for the light right about where you’re standing.”
“Got it.”
She heard the click of the string attached to a single fifty-watt bulb that hung from the rafters, and was relieved that the bulb hadn’t blown as the attic became illuminated.
“Wow! This is the neatest attic I’ve ever seen.”
“Not much to clutter. Mom and Dad took care of most of my grandparents’ things after they died. There are a few boxes with items they saved for nostalgia purposes, and then a few of my own things from my childhood I can’t seem to part with. I keep them labeled so I know what’s in the boxes.”
Katelyn climbed the last two steps and joined Mark. Despite the cold air, the body heat from Mark’s closeness in the small space was intoxicating. Still, she wrapped her hands around her arms and rubbed them.
“Here”—she pointed—“these containers are the decorations.” Four bright red plastic containers with green lids were stacked neatly to the left.
“You’re freezing. Wait at the bottom, and I’ll hand these to you.”
Katelyn didn’t hesitate. Not only did she want to get out of the frigid space, she needed to put space between her and Mark.
Together they lugged the containers full of decorations to the living room. When the last one was down, they found Kurtis trying to open one, a devilish, cookie crumb and cocoa mustachioed smile on his inquisitive face. He stopped in his attempt, and looked up at Katelyn in anticipation. Once again her heart melted. She had all to do not to lift him into her arms and squeeze him. Instead, she took his hand and drew him toward a container full of ornaments he was sure to enjoy. She helped him open the lid.
“Let’s start with this one. You choose any of these bulbs or decorations to put on the tree. You can put it wherever you think it would look best.” The box was sectioned off with small Disney ornaments her parents and grandparents had given her each year for Christmas. All the princesses where there, as well as the Mickey Mouse clan. She figured Kurtis would like them best, and handed him a couple to start putting on the branches.
“What about the lights and garland? Are you sure you want him to load the tree with bulbs first, only to have to reassemble everything later?”
“Hush your mouth. Why, these decorations will stay right where Kurtis puts them.” She gave him what she hoped was a conspiratorial smile, and winked. “Besides, we can work around anything he’s able to get hung before we finish stringing the lights. Somehow I don’t see him sitting quietly aside while we work on the lights. As for the garland, I gave up on that a long time ago. Never been able to get it exactly where I want it to go. It just seems to hang there looking all loopy and pathetic.”
“We can’t have loopy, now can we? So, which box has the string of lights?”
After checking to make sure each strand was in working order, Mark helped her string the lights around the tree, stepping around Kurtis, who had at least two ornaments on each branch along the very bottom of the tree. Katelyn held the string of lights, while Mark placed them in among the branches. Their shoulders bumped into each other, their hands touched, and the scent of the pine mingled with memories of earlier days. A smile, a laugh, the sight of Mark and Kurtis in her home, as if they were family, had warmth washing over her clear to her toes. What would life be like if Mark hadn’t gone away? Would they be together now? Like this? Would they have had other children?
She turned, stepped away from the tree, sniffed back a tear, and hated herself for getting emotional. It had to be the season. Or the sight of Mark again, with his son, igniting memories she thought buried forever.
Mark plugged in the lights. Although she hadn’t finished decorating the house yet, the sparkling colors from the tree brightened the room. Kurtis had curled up on the sofa, his head resting against one of the plush pillows, his eyes drooping. The latest Christmas CD clicked off, and like a dose of reality, Katelyn’s festive mood disappeared with the awkward silence.
“I think that’s my signal which proves we’ve overstayed our visit. Kurtis will be hungry as a bear if I don’t get him home soon.” Mark stood and went to his son’s side. �
�Time to go, bud.”
Kurtis didn’t fuss—he willingly sat up, his head lolling sideways.
Having Mark and Kurtis share these special moments was bittersweet. She couldn’t be drawn into Mark and Kurtis’ lives. She had to remember that this was a one-time occurrence.
“Thanks so much for your help this morning,” she said, bending to snap a lid on one of the now empty containers. “I loved having someone share the fun.”
“Thank you, Katie. Kurtis really enjoyed it. It hasn’t been easy for him, losing his mother at such an early age. I’m hoping this Christmas will be a special one for him. You’ve given us the opportunity to get the ball rolling in the right direction.”
Katelyn didn’t know the story behind Mark’s wife and her death, but now wasn’t the time to enquire. However, it didn’t stop her heart from aching for Kurtis. Just thinking about a motherless child at Christmastime broke her heart. Not to mention a childless mother. A knot twisted inside—she knew all too well the desolate ache of losing a child. Even an unborn one.
Katelyn started picking up the remaining ornaments and tucked them back in one of the empty containers. Mark walked to the sofa, lifted Kurtis onto his lap and proceeded to put on his son’s boots.
“Come on, bud. Let’s get your coat on and get you home before you fall asleep.”
Mark carried Kurtis to the front door, set him on the floor and helped him on with his outerwear. Katelyn followed. About to say goodbye, Mark startled her when he swept her into his arms and kissed her smack on the lips. His long, lingering kiss threw her into a tailspin of remembered passions. Before she could wrap her arms around his neck and sink into his embrace, he let her go.
Stunned, Katelyn could only stare as a hot, searing heat of embarrassment washed over her.
“I’ve wanted to do that since you walked in the lodge dining room wearing that sexy elf outfit last Sunday. I know you’re engaged, but I’m not going to apologize for that kiss. This has been the best home-coming I’ve ever had. Thank you, Katie, for letting us come into your home.”
