In Love by Christmas: A Paranormal Romance

by Nathan, Sandy

  “No.”

  “I figured not. Probably would be good for your soul if you did.”

  “I lost my temper and mouthed off at Ashley’s fiancé.” The words came out: Ashley, fiancé.

  “I didn’t know she was engaged. I thought you put her in jail.”

  “Vanessa, she is not in jail, she is in a very fine mental hospital.”

  “I run a fine mental hospital. Cass—or does she like Ashley now?—is in jail. Probably a medieval type one where they torture people.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Months ago, when Cass was rescued and you announced your plans for her, I looked up the Havertin Institute on my Numenon Ranger. That new Internet is handy. They have a very nice website laying out their treatment program and introducing their staff.

  “I talked to Rudy about the place. Have you met him, my Chief of Psychiatry? Brilliant and with the credentials of God. He knew the director and key staff personally and felt they were highly qualified. Rudy didn’t like their prohibition of family and patient contact, but he said it fit with their therapeutic modality and wasn’t bad for a mid-term program. He said that the hospital should try to reintegrate the patient with the family and rebuild the family structure, but that was a long-term goal.

  “Rudy was satisfied, so I was satisfied, for the moment.

  “I looked up Havertin again today and couldn’t believe my eyes. New director, almost all new staff. Rudy’s never heard of any of them. He’s investigating them now. Same treatment program, though it looked as though they simply hadn’t changed that portion of their website. Did they contact you to tell you this?”

  “Yes, Vanessa, they did. It was a corporate buy-out. A larger medical group now owns Havertin. The director of the overarching corporation is also a friend of mine. Cass has her existing psychiatrist and counseling team, though they have changed some players at the administrative level. And I’ve talked with her psychiatrist. Cass is fine. Does that satisfy you?”

  “No, Will, it doesn’t. Given Cass’s propensity to attract demons, I’d be very suspicious of any staff changes, anywhere in the organization. Why don’t you have your famous lawyers check them out? I’ll let Rudy continue researching their shrinks. Why don’t you hop on a plane and demand to see her and meet her doctors? I know you’re assertive enough to manage that.” He was silent. Why didn’t he do that?

  “Will, I don’t understand why any hospital would prohibit the patients from contact with their families? If their families are also their drug dealers, I can see it, but you? Have they involved you in any of her therapy?”

  “No.”

  “There’s a big mistake. You’re at least as crazy as she is. I’m sure half of what’s wrong with her is due to you.”

  “Did you call to insult me, Vanessa, or was something on your mind?”

  “I called to invite you to Christmas dinner.”

  “Christmas dinner. Just like that? Out of the blue?”

  “Yes. I had to find out about Cass first. The dinner is on Christmas Day. In a couple of months. I know I’m early, but I forget everything even with my staff to help. I’ll probably call and invite you again. I wanted to make sure I got on your busy social calendar. Three o’clock sharp. You’re coming, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Do you need Driver to pick you up?”

  “No. I have my own driver.”

  He shivered when he hung up. God, that old woman scared him. She was a witch, he knew it. Her house was way up on the top of Skyline Boulevard in the middle of the redwoods. Looked like a haunted house. It had to be a haunted house. The stone gargoyles on the walls moved. The carvings on the wood paneling winked. Ancestor portraits circled the staircase, going up four stories. They winked, and waved.

  Why did he say he’d go? The mental hospital portion of her property was so much more normal than the rest of the estate. What could Christmas be like up there? Why did she even celebrate Christmas? She couldn’t possibly believe in it.

  But it was months away. Plenty of time to think of an excuse. Plenty of time to calm down from Leroy’s attack. Plenty of time to forget what he had said. All the time he needed to adjust to the fact that the Native Americans he had brought home from the Meeting had announced that they would be leaving. Leroy hadn’t called them and told them about their fight and what Will had said; Carl made the announcement before he and Leroy fought.

  He’d asked Carl why they were leaving. “‘Ain’t workin’ for us here. We can’t help you anymore.”

  This Christmas, he’d be alone in his luxurious mansion on his expansive estate that could hold all those people without much fuss, really. Once he got used to being around people everything was fine. The children would be gone and the baby. Bud and Bert let him hold the baby whenever he wanted. He had bright brown eyes and glossy black hair. Four new teeth! And the two little ones would be gone. He was going to get Junior a puppy for Christmas. He was having a hard time adjusting to Woodside. Tore at Will’s heart to see Junior’s sad brown eyes.

  They would all be gone. The estate would be silent. He would be alone. He’d been alone most of his life. What was the problem? If he was lonely, he could go to the ranch in Montana and have his cook make a fabulous spread for him and the ranch hands. Or dig up some corporate party. How about having Frank Sauvage and his family over? Hysteria tinged his short laugh.

  Will struggled, chest heaving. He would go to Vanessa’s for Christmas and he knew it. Why? Because she was more a mother to him than his real mother could have been if she’d gone to therapy every day of her life. Vanessa knew everything about him and accepted him.

  Her voice was gruff and so was she, but that was a front, just like her crazy mansion. She made him feel good, and safe, and at home. She loved him. He’d go to Christmas at her house when the day came. If it came.

  30

  War Chief

  Will wouldn’t let Leroy see Cass or know where she was, but he wasn’t done in England, anyway. His royal marmalade, Lord Ballentyne, had invited him to play polo and go fox hunting at his country estate in two months, right before Christmas.

  “That’s when you wanted to come, wasn’t it, Leroy?” Ballentyne called to reconfirm his invitation. He was polite as ever, but Leroy could feel that every door to his heart was closed. “We’re redoing the grounds and house ‘til then. Redecorating. Won’t be presentable until December, old fellow, so we can’t have guests. We can get up an exhibition match once we’re done.

  “If the weather holds. Could be a monsoon then. Or snowing like the North Pole. But if we can get decent weather, we should have a good game. Private game, of course. The club will be finished for the season. But we’ll get you a horse to ride.”

  “Thank you, Your Lordship.” He had no intention of playing a part in Ballentyne’s show on a borrowed horse.

  Leroy called Tom into the room. “Tom, why are you working as a valet? You’re smart and can do anything. I heard you had a university degree.”

  Tom blushed to the roots of his dark red hair. “Uh. I …”

  “Tell me the truth, Tom.”

  “Well, Leroy,” he dropped the “Sir” that once, “I’m Catholic and I’m from Scotland. There’s a bit of tension between Scotland and the English. Has been for ever. I have a Scots’ accent.” Leroy had noticed his accent was different from the other Brits, but they all had accents.

  “That keeps you from getting a good job?”

  “Sir, I like working for Numenon at the London manse. I like working for you. I’m not complaining.”

  “I got that. Would you like to come to the United States with me, some day?”

  “Oh, yes. What would I do?”

  “Don’t know yet, Tom. I’ve got a ranch, but maybe I’ll start a company too, something like that. That may take time. But I’ve got something that needs doing real fast. Any of your Scottish friends play polo?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. Like demons.” Leroy blanched at the word. “We
love polo. Only ones like it more than us are the Irish.”

  “You have any friends in Ireland?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “They feel about the English like the Scots do, don’t they?”

  “Yes. Worse, most likely.”

  “Tell me about polo. How many players on a team, Tom?”

  “Four, sir.”

  “How many horses do they need to play a game?”

  “Six or more each, sir.”

  “Do you know any Irish and Scottish polo players who’d like to beat the shit out of Lord Ballentyne’s team just before Christmas?”

  “I know dozens who’d like to do that, but you can’t play then.”

  “Why?”

  “The estate will be frozen tight.”

  “Don’t worry about the weather. I’ll take care of that. Call your friends. And get grooms for the horses. Whatever they need. I’ll get the horses. We have two months to become a champion team. Also, we’re moving. Can you find me a place up in Scotland where we can all stay? With a polo field and stables? Cheap?”

  Leroy would have made the kindest and most conciliatory war chief in history, until something happened that pushed his buttons. Finding out that Arabella’s father would reject him because of the color of his skin pushed almost all of his buttons. What Will had said pushed the rest.

  He thought he’d push back—as hard as he could. There were two more things he wanted to do in England; he’d do them and leave. He didn’t need his dad to buy a plane ticket for him. He’d buy his own. He had enough money to buy pretty near anything, even though it was Will Duane’s money. He hadn’t spent but the tiniest fraction of his stipend. He could finance the polo team himself. He wouldn’t fly back in Will’s stinking jet, nor would he have anything to do with the man.

  “It’s great, Tom. You did good.” Leroy knew he was messing with the English language, just like he was messing with everything else. They had just arrived at Glamisdale Castle in Scotland, his new headquarters.

  “It’s been on the market for ages. I got it for a super price for the two months. Polo field is in great shape, and so is the hunt field. Castle’s pretty good, except for the part where the roof fell in. Rains back in ‘93 nearly did the place in. Snow on the roof froze and then melted. Flooded the galleries.

  “His Lordship—he’s a Scottish laird, not an English one—fixed what he cared about and lived with the rest. He died just a month ago. Plenty of room for the team to stay. Sir Glamis’s cook an’ housekeeper ‘r’ here, but that’s all.”

  “Let’s see the stables.”

  Leroy nodded as they walked around the U-shaped stone building that was the main barn. “He cared about his horses. This is kept up nice. I never liked box stalls, ‘cept in winter. Looks like it’s winter here a lot.”

  They walked out behind the barns. Flat polo fields spread out, with rolling hunt fields beyond that. They were well-kept, but not summer green. The fall cold had burned the grass. It wasn’t optimal and would only get worse in the next two months.

  “Do you think the weather will hold, sir, Leroy, sir, so we can practice?”

  “I expect it will hold fine, Tom.” Leroy chuckled. “Yeah, the laird did take care of what mattered to him. Now, it matters to us.

  “When does the team arrive, Tom?”

  “About supper time. I got ‘em a lorry to get up here. It’s only a mile from the train, but with the saddles and all.”

  “That’s the Rules. Nothin’ alcoholic on this place or at that game or near me ‘til this is over.” Leroy held forth in the large dining hall. He made sure he’d have enough riders and grooms for the rigorous training schedule he set out, plus Tom and himself. All Scottish nationalists cruising for a way to beat the British.

  “No drinking? But man, this is Scotland,” one of them howled. His new team, their backups, and the associated grooms and barn boys, were horrified when he announced the Rules. They were the same as Grandfather’s Rules for the spirit warriors.

  “No. This is not Scotland. This is …” He said the name of his tribal lands in his language. “This is Indian country and will be until I leave. I am the boss. We’re going to find out which of you are warriors and which of you are drunken cry-babies. I don’t think any of you, except Tom, could last a day under the rules I grew up with. Now eat your stew and get to bed. We start at dawn.”

  “Start what, man? An’ where are the horses? Are none in the barns.”

  “We’re going to begin getting them tomorrow. We’ll visit the local farms for prospects. I’ll start their training, and you’ll finish them.” He was a little short, budget-wise.

  “Anybody breed race horses around here?” Leroy asked in the morning.

  “Everyone who can afford a horse has a race horse, mate. Might be a racehorse only in the eyes of the ol’ codger who’s got him, but it’s a Derby winner, sure.” The evening’s lack of libation had not improved his crew’s temper.

  “Then we’d better start looking everywhere …”

  “Man, ninety percent of the game is the horse,” a rider said. “I could ride a mule, but it would still be a mule. I came up here to win.”

  “I got a higher opinion of mules. What’s that grey horse out there in the pasture?”

  “That’s Sir Glammis’s polo pony. Good horse, but seventeen years old and lame.”

  Leroy continued to study the animal as it grazed. “I think that’s my polo pony.” He walked out to the field without a halter or a backward glance.

  “The man’s daft. We’re wasting our time.” Three of them left right then, riders and grooms alike. Those that left didn’t get to see Leroy ride the old horse up to the castle without a saddle or bridle. The animal was sound and strong, pricking its ears like lances, and strutting like a warhorse.

  “Holy Mother! What did you do to him?”

  “I told him he’d get to kick some English butt if he let me ride him. Now, the rest of you are going to get around to the farms and tell folks what we got going here. We need horses. I can pay up to £1,000 pounds to rent or buy horses I approve. You go out and look, bring the good ones here.”

  They went through a few more riders as the training progressed. Leroy ended up importing some from Ireland. They weren’t happy about the no-drinking clause, but when they saw Leroy lead out a rank, crabby Thoroughbred that had been standing in some old lady’s paddock for five years and turn it into a horse that could win in any reined stock horse class in the planet, they were impressed.

  “Sure’n he can ride like St. Eligius, the patron saint of horses and horsemen. But how’re we gonna play polo with that horse?”

  “I don’t know how to play polo, but I can set a horse up to work cows. You have to make polo ponies out of them.” Leroy said. He swung off and approached another unbroken horse about sixteen and a half hands high.

  “Too big.”

  “If this horse has the heart I think he does, he wouldn’t be too big if he was an elephant.”

  Scotland was a strange place, and they were discovering that Leroy was a stranger man.

  “Ah, feel hooched,” He heard one of his team say. “Jus’ being near him, I feel like I did on St. Bride’s day four years past, when I slept for three days after. But no headache w’ Leroy.”

  “Aye. An’ ye noticed it hasn’t rained here more ‘n’ necessary to wet the lawns? Nor has it gotten cold?”

  31

  Damsels in Distress

  Will picked up the receiver. The English codes on the incoming call made him think it was Leroy. He could apologize; they could clean things up. “It’s Will.” Silence. “Hello? This is Will Duane. May I help you?”

  “Oh, I was disconcerted when you answered, Mr. Duane. Leroy said that it was your personal number but I thought …”

  “I’d have a secretary. Not when I’m home.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m sorry to disturb you …”

  “Don’t hang up.” The voice was that of a young, supremely upper c
lass Englishwoman. That was enough to hook Will. “Leroy gave you my number?”

  “Yes, at the Ball. He said that he didn’t know where he would be going and couldn’t give me his phone number, but he wanted me to be able to contact him.”

  “He’s in Scotland somewhere, getting a polo team together.” Will had kept an eye on Leroy.

  “Oh, yes. Everyone knows that. He’s got Scots and Irish getting ready to tear our team apart. I think he’d like to tear my father apart.” And me, thought Will. She sounded sweet and troubled. “But it’s you I’d like to talk to, if you have time. I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

  Oh, shit. Leroy didn’t get her pregnant?

  “You see, since Leroy left, things have changed terribly in our family. I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Arabella Faxmore, Lady Arabella. My father is Lord Ballentyne.”

  Will recalled that Leroy had stayed with them. Lord Ballentyne had raved about him. Will had visited the family in London, but not when Arabella was there.

  “It seems years ago since Leroy was with us. May I confide in you? Leroy said you were a very nice person and liked to help people. He spoke so highly of you, and, well, I’m in the most dreadful difficulty.”

  “Certainly. Go ahead.”

  “Well, when Leroy was here, my father saw what a rotter Dash—Dashiell Pondichury, the ninth Duke of Lancature—was. He almost hit my brother in the eye with a bolt from a crossbow. Papa threw him out. I thought all was well. Father has wanted me to marry Dash forever, but he saw the man’s true colors that day.

  “Leroy went away, and Dash came slinking back. One evening, he and my father went into Papa’s study. When they came out, they were smoking cigars and smiling at each other. Papa wants me to marry Dash again, most insistently.” Her voice broke.

  “I can’t marry him. He’s a really bad person. I can tell, and Leroy could tell too, but no one else. Since that evening, Dash practically has lived with us. He’s replaced most of the staff. He wanted to sack Fulton, our butler, but I said that the village would talk. Fulton has been with us forever. They’re already talking about all the Spaniards …”