He left Lenny drooling and went back in the office and ordered the belt. Then he called Livi to find out where she’d dumped the guy so he could deliver his duffel bag.
“Actually, he’s staying here,” she said, cheerful as an elf.
“He’s staying with you?” The tool hadn’t wasted any time. How had he managed that?
“There isn’t anyplace else. River Bend was full up.”
There had to be someplace.
“How perfect is that?” she said, and chortled.
“I don’t like it,” Morris said.
“What do you mean?”
“That kind of guy chews up women and spits ’em out.”
“Oh, honestly,” she said in disgust.
“He’s a user.”
“He is not. You don’t know anything about him,” she argued.
“Yes, I do. I know he’s got money.” Morris may not have earned a fancy college degree but he was no dope. He knew about men like Joe Ford. People sucked up to them and they took advantage of it. Livi was already sucking up and this guy would be more than happy to take advantage of her.
“That hardly makes him a bad man,” she said. “In fact, it makes him a real godsend.”
“Money isn’t everything,” Morris said irritably.
“It is when you need it. Morris, this is a blessing in disguise, a Christmas bonus. He’ll be staying right here with Dad and me and I’ll have plenty of opportunities to show him everything Christmas from the Heart does for our community. I’m sure he’ll give us a donation.”
“Guys like that are takers, not givers,” Morris said.
“Morris, you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
Oh yes, he could. And he could judge a man by his choice of wheels. A muscle car said, “I’m as buff as my ride.” A Prius said, “I care about the environment...and getting good gas mileage.” A truck grunted, “I haul my stuff to the dump myself.” Motorcycles sang, “Born to be wild,” even when they were driven by retired dentists. But a sports car, that said, “I’ve got money and I don’t care if you give me a speeding ticket ’cause I can afford it. I take what I want, and whatever I want I deserve.” A man like that didn’t deserve Livi—that was for sure.
Saying all that to her would be a waste of breath so Morris tried a different argument. “You judged that book by his cover. You think because he’s rich he’s gonna be generous.”
“A lot of rich people are.”
“A lot of ’em aren’t. Or have you forgotten Guy Hightower?”
“Of course I haven’t. And that’s another reason to get to know this man. He might be willing to step in and fill the gaping hole in our funding.”
“Well, you be careful around him,” Morris cautioned. “A rich playboy like that wouldn’t think nothing of breaking your heart.”
“You’re sweet to worry about me, but there’s no need. Just bring over his things.”
“All right,” Morris said. “I’ll bring ’em.”
But he made no promise not to worry. He was worried. Joe Ford was trouble and Livi couldn’t see it and Morris had no idea how to get through to her. This was going to be like trying to guard the henhouse with two broken legs, two broken arms and no gun.
* * *
If Joe Ford had any intention of breaking Livi’s heart or even a passing interest in the rest of her, Livi thought, he sure wasn’t showing it. He’d seemed interested when he first got into her car, and that flirty smile of his had sent a jolt through her that about set her bra on fire. But something had shifted. She could still feel the electric current zipping between them like a downed wire, but he was skirting as far around that wire as possible.
He’d looked at David’s bedroom, which was now the guest room, and nodded approval. Then, after she’d shown him the bathroom and where the towels were, he’d thanked her and strode purposefully back to the room and shut the door. A clear message that he wasn’t looking for new friends.
How frustrating! A handsome, charming stranger—rich stranger—was here in town under her very roof and instead of being sociable, he was hiding in his room.
Maybe he was shy. Except he’d seemed anything but shy when she first met him. Maybe he thought there was something between her and Morris. Yes, that was probably it. She’d have to make sure he knew there was nothing there but friendship.
Morris appeared shortly after she’d gone downstairs to think of a way to lure her houseguest out of his room. He was carrying a duffel bag and a laptop case.
He looked past Livi into the living room. “Where is he?”
“Upstairs, in the guest room.”
Morris nodded. “Good. Maybe he’ll stay there.”
She frowned at him and took the duffel bag.
“I guess he doesn’t want to hang out. So how about you and me do something tonight?”
“I can’t. I have to make dinner for Dad. And you know I’ve got a ton of things to do to get ready for the fruitcake competition tomorrow.” Actually, most everything was done but she did need to check in with her judges, and Bettina was swinging by to drop off a couple of last-minute entries she’d been given.
“Okay.” Morris pointed a finger at her. “Just don’t go getting all starry-eyed over Mr. Money Man.”
She made a face. “Honestly, Morris. How shallow do you think I am?”
“You’re not shallow at all. But I know you’d do anything for Christmas from the Heart. And he’s got a sports car. That doesn’t work,” Morris added.
As if there was some symbolism in that.
She snagged the laptop case. “Thanks for bringing these by.”
“You’re welcome,” he said grudgingly, then turned and slouched down the porch.
Of course Morris was jealous. But darn it all, they weren’t a couple so he had no right to be. And she had no need to feel guilty for being attracted to a good-looking man.
She would have been attracted to Joe Ford even if he didn’t have a penny. There’d been something about his smile when he first got into her car that made her want to know more about him. His current unease made him a fascinating mystery. A mystery she was determined to solve.
She took his overnight bag and computer upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door. He’d shed his coat and shoes and met her wearing a gray cashmere sweater with his jeans. Oh, but he filled out that sweater beautifully. He wasn’t as husky as Morris. He was toned but slimmer. And polished-looking. Elegant.
He caught her checking him out and her cheeks flamed. “My friend Morris brought your things,” she said. Friend. As in just friends.
“Thanks,” he said, and took them from her.
“You’re welcome to hang out in our living room if you want,” she offered.
“That’s okay. I have some things I need to do.” He held up the laptop case as proof.
“Of course. I just wanted you to know you didn’t have to stay stuck in here.”
“I don’t feel stuck. It’s a nice room.” His smile had lost its flirty vibe.
Okay, there would be no luring him out until dinner. “Whatever works for you,” she said cheerfully. “Dinner’s at six.”
“You don’t have to feed me,” he protested.
“I know. But you don’t want to starve. It’s nothing fancy, just meat loaf and baked potatoes.”
“Sounds good.”
“It is,” she said. “Not to brag or anything, but I make a mean meat loaf.”
“I look forward to trying it.”
And then there was nothing left to say other than, “See you later. Just come on down to the kitchen.”
“Will do.”
“Okay,” she said, and backed away, giving him a little wave as she left.
He acknowledged it with a nod and shut the door.
Once downstairs she hurried to the kitchen
to bake some cookies. Cookies melted hearts and sweetened the sourest of temperaments. Cookies put people in happy moods. And after having his car break down and his trip delayed, poor Joe Ford could probably use some cheering up.
Okay, and buttering up. There was a hidden agenda behind her baking binge. But so what? It was a worthy agenda.
She was pulling out the makings for gumdrop cookies when her father came into the kitchen in search of coffee. “Did I hear someone at the door?”
“Yes. We’ve got somebody staying with us.”
Dad’s brows knit. “We do?”
“His name is Joe Ford and his car broke down. I gave him a lift into town.”
Her father looked horrified. “You picked up a stranger? Livi, what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking he had a long way to walk in the snow. And I was thinking about the story of the Good Samaritan,” she added.
“That was a parable,” Dad said firmly. “And now he’s staying with us? How did you go from giving him a lift to bringing him here?”
“There’s not room at River’s Bend.”
Her father still looked far from happy.
“It’s okay, Dad. He’s not going to rob us.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he was driving a fancy car. He’s a businessman. A rich businessman,” she couldn’t help adding.
Now Dad got it. But he looked at her disapprovingly. “I hope that’s not the reason for this kindness.”
“Of course not.” Well, it wasn’t the only reason. “I didn’t know a thing about him when I stopped to pick him up. Anyway, he’s on his way to see his family for Christmas and he’s stuck here until Morris can get the part for his car, and he’s eating dinner with us.”
“Then we’ll do our best to make him feel welcome,” Dad said, his stern expression slipping away.
He almost sounded like his old self, the man who used to welcome company with a smile and a hearty handshake. Maybe this stranger dropping into their lives so unexpectedly was exactly what they both needed.
* * *
“I’m going to get over there later than I thought,” Guy said to his mother.
She sounded suspicious. “Why?”
“My car crapped out on me. I’m stuck in a little town off Highway 2.”
“Oh no. We’ve all been looking forward to seeing you.”
He doubted that. His mom, yes, but the rest of the crew... What did they care about a newly inherited family member?
“You’ll make it for Christmas, though, won’t you?”
“I should. It depends on how long it takes to get the part.”
“Oh, Guy,” she said in disgust as if he’d planned for this to happen. “If you’d only get a dependable American-made car. Or taken the plane.”
“There is no plane anymore. Remember?” They’d ditched their Beechcraft G36 Bonanza a year ago at Guy’s insistence. Mike had mourned it like a lost lover.
“Well, then you should have flown business class.”
“You’re forgetting I had to go pick up a chocolate pot.”
“Now I wish I’d never asked you to pick it up. Oh, darling, I am sorry. If it wasn’t for me you could have flown and been here by now.”
“No worries,” he said. He’d actually preferred to drive. He enjoyed driving his fancy baby, and he liked having the time alone to clear his head, listen to music or an audiobook.
“I’ve been looking forward to having you with us,” she said again.
And he’d been up for seeing his mom. They’d always been close, but he didn’t see her or talk to her as much now that she was remarried.
Not that he begrudged his mom her new life. With her sons so busy working long hours, not to mention marrying and divorcing and remarrying, she’d gotten little enough family time. Guy had felt guilty about not doing more with her and had been almost relieved when she’d met Del and hit Restart on her life. They’d met at a swanky benefit dinner and she’d gotten swept along on the euphoria of new love and carried off to Lake Coeur d’Alene where Del had a little lodge with six bedrooms, four bathrooms and six thousand square feet.
Guy was sure when he finally did arrive he’d find a twelve-foot tree in the living room and the mantel on the stone fireplace would be swathed in fir and pine and decorated with Mercury glass vases and candles. Del’s daughters Lizbeth and Melianna would be present, Lizbeth with her bratty kid and Melianna probably with the latest two-second love of her life. Not that he could talk. His relationships didn’t last much longer. But the trip would be worth it to see his mom and get some of that shortbread she’d promised to make him. So no matter what, he’d be there. Late, but better late than never. Maybe he’d luck out and miss seeing the stepsisters.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll get there,” he assured her. There was nothing in this town to keep him hanging around.
“How about me?” whispered the vision of a curly-haired little doll with kiss-me lips.
“Nope,” he told it. A woman like that would never understand him. And he didn’t need someone in his life to be his judge and jury. He opened his laptop and caught up on some work.
He was finishing his last email when she knocked on the bedroom door. “Dinner’s ready.”
Simple words. They made him think of his life as a little kid. They’d had a gardener and a housekeeper but Mom had claimed the kitchen for herself. During the school year, when the family was home, she’d insisted on cooking dinner during the week. Weekends were for eating out and catered affairs, but weekdays were for stuffed pork tenderloins, seafood Alfredo and, her sons’ favorite, pizza with her homemade crust. She could outbake the best French pastry chef and her chocolate eclairs had been the stuff dreams were made of. As her sons got older and busy with sports, she’d found it harder to gather her family for meals, but it hadn’t stopped her from trying. Sometimes, when he wasn’t stuck at the office, Dad had even joined them. That was rare.
So was making it to any of Guy’s lacrosse games or tennis matches. Dad had been up to his clogged arteries in the rat race. And now his sons were following in his footsteps, doing what had to be done to keep the Hightower legacy going.
“I’ll be right there,” he called to his hostess. He sent the email, shut the laptop, then slipped on his Ferragamos and went downstairs. The aroma of cooked meat and onions drew him past a small formal dining room, where a ceramic church and a bunch of corny-looking candles sat on an empty table, to the kitchen, which was warm and cozy. An ancient red Formica table occupied one corner and was set for three with white plates and red napkins.
Livi was setting a couple of bottles of salad dressing on the table. She wore the same long-sleeved green top she’d worn when she brought his things up to him. It brought out the green in her eyes and accentuated her curves.
A man in his early sixties already sat at the table. He gave Guy a polite smile and stood to shake hands. “I’m Andrew Berg. Welcome to our home.”
“Joe Ford,” Guy said, stumbling over his new name.
“Good to meet you, Joe.”
“Thanks for opening your home,” Guy said.
“Can’t let someone be homeless at Christmas,” said Mr. Berg as Olivia set a platter with slices of the promised meat loaf on the table. It looked like sliced dog food. With mushrooms.
Meat loaf. His mom had never made it and they’d never eaten it in any of the restaurants the family had frequented. It wasn’t steak, that was for sure. But it smelled good and his stomach, deciding not to be picky, rumbled. A bowl with baked potatoes sat next to the meat dish as well as a tossed salad. He was smelling something else, though, something that said bakery. He looked to the counter and caught sight of what looked like oatmeal cookies sitting on a cooling rack.
“That’s dessert,” Livi told him with a dimpled smile.
“Looks good,”
Guy said.
“It is. Livi’s a wonderful cook,” her father said. “So, let’s say grace before this gets cold.”
Grace? People still did that?
They did in the Berg household. Heads were bowed and Mr. Berg offered up a short prayer, which he ended with an “Amen.”
“Amen,” his daughter echoed.
“Amen,” Guy said, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. It had been way too long since he’d heard that word.
“Coffee?” Livi asked him.
“Sure.”
“Do you take anything in it?”
“Sugar.” If she knew who he was, she’d have put arsenic in it.
“Tell us a little about yourself,” Mr. Berg said, as he passed Guy the platter of sliced dog food.
“Not much to tell,” Guy said. “I live in Seattle.” Livi handed him a mug of coffee and he thanked her, all the while casting about in his mind for a topic other than himself to introduce into the conversation.
“Livi went to school there, at the University of Washington, my old alma mater. You a Seahawks fan?”
“I am.” His family had a full season suite at CenturyLink Field. The airplane had been a line item they could cut. That suite was a necessity. All three brothers were football buffs and the company used the suite for business as much as for pleasure. Many deals had been made in that suite and many loans secured. And extended.
“Having a pretty good season this year,” said Mr. Berg, and Guy agreed. Sports, always a safe topic.
Guy was about to take them further down that road when Mr. Berg said, “Sorry you’ve got car troubles. My daughter tells me you’re on your way to see family.”
“I was.”
“It’s important to be with the people you care about this time of year,” Mr. Berg said, and a shadow crossed his face.
Guy knew that kind of pain. He’d felt it, seen it in his mom’s face.
His host shook off the shadow. “What kind of business are you in, Joe?”
Oh boy. Now it was getting dicey. “Just a family business,” Guy said. “How about you, Mr. Berg?”
Christmas from the Heart Page 9
