Emily and Ray followed him.
“Give her time,” Emily said, squeezing his forearm with one mittened hand.
Ben glanced at her. “She isn’t interested in me anymore.”
Emily hung her head, fearing her daughter hadn’t given her a single thought, either.
Sensing her mood, Ray placed his hand on Emily’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.
She nodded. Nothing she said or did now would make a difference to what Heather had done or how Emily felt about it. But Ben seemed like a decent, hardworking young man and she felt bad that her daughter had so obviously hurt him.
“With Christmas this close, we don’t have much to choose from,” Ben apologized. He picked through several trees, then chose a tall, full one. “This is probably a little bigger than you wanted, but it’s the best I’ve got.”
Ray looked skeptical and circled the tree. “What do you think?” he asked Emily.
“It’s perfect.” She winked at Ben.
“We’ll take it,” Ray said and reached for his wallet.
Without a car they were forced to carry the tree back to the condominium. They walked in single file, Ray holding the trunk in one hand and a stand in the other, and Emily behind him, supporting the treetop. They must’ve been something of a spectacle, because they got lots of stares along the way.
Once inside the condo, they saw the message light blinking again. Ray checked the caller ID and groaned. “It’s my mother. Again.”
“Are you going to call her back?”
“Of course, but not anytime soon.”
Emily smiled. While Ray fit the tree in the stand, she took out the decorations she’d brought from Seattle.
“You got all that in a single suitcase?” Ray marveled when she spread everything out.
“Two very large suitcases if you must know. Don’t forget the stuff already on the mantel.”
He shook his head, but Emily could tell he was enjoying this.
The living room was compact, and after a long debate, they decided the best place for the tree was by the window, although that entailed moving the furniture around.
“It’s beautiful,” Emily told him. She handed him the first decoration—a felt snowman complete with knitted scarf. “I made that for Heather the year she was in kindergarten,” Emily explained.
Ray placed it on a tree limb and picked up a second ornament. “Does every one of these have some significance?”
Emily nodded. “Each and every one.”
“That’s wonderful.”
She was surprised he’d appreciate her sentimentality. “You don’t think I’m silly to treasure these ornaments?”
“Not at all. You’ve given your daughter a lovely tradition.”
At the mention of Heather, Emily bit her lip, overwhelmed by sadness.
Ray wrapped his arms around her. “My guess is she’s got just enough freedom to be miserable,” he said softly.
Emily doubted it, but she was grateful for his encouragement.
“Everything’s going to work out for the best,” he assured her. “Just wait and see.”
Emily hoped he was right.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Faith woke up to the sound of Charles rummaging around in the kitchen. Grabbing her housecoat, she hurried down the stairs.
“Morning,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”
Faith rubbed the sleep from her eyes. He had to be joking. But then she glanced at the kitchen clock and couldn’t believe she’d slept this late. It was the deepest, most relaxed sleep she’d had in months. She hadn’t realized how tired she’d been.
“Coffee?” Charles lifted the glass pot.
“Please.” She tightened the belt of her velour robe and sat down at the table, shaking the hair away from her face. Charles brought her a mug, which he’d filled with coffee. She added cream and held it in both hands, basking in the warmth that spread through her palms. They’d spent the most enjoyable evening talking and drinking wine and…
“What are your plans for today?” he asked.
Faith hadn’t given it much consideration. “Maybe I’ll walk into town a bit later.”
Charles mulled that over. “Would you object to company?”
“You?” she gasped.
He shrugged in a self-conscious manner. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t come with you.”
“But I—what about your work?” Naturally she’d enjoy his company but Charles had insisted he was in Leavenworth to work and didn’t want to be distracted from his purpose.
“I was up early this morning and got quite a bit done.”
“Oh.”
“I felt I should leave the project for a while, now that the rough draft is done. I’d like to give my mind a rest.”
“Oh.” All at once Faith seemed incapable of words consisting of more than one syllable.
“So—it seems I have the luxury of some free time.”
“Oh.” She sipped her coffee. “But I thought you hated Christmas?”
“I do. For…various reasons. It’s far too commercial. The true meaning’s been lost in all the frenzy of the season.”
“Christmas is what each one of us makes it,” Faith felt obliged to tell him.
“Exactly.”
Faith swallowed. “I was going into town to do some shopping. Uh, Christmas shopping,” she added. She met his eyes as she looked for some indication that he’d be interested in accompanying her. Men were notoriously impatient when it came to browsing through stores. And an avowed Christmas-hater…
He didn’t say anything for a moment, then set his mug aside. “I see. Well, in that case, I’ve got other projects I can work on.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t disguise her disappointment.
Charles frowned. “Would you like my company?”
“Very much,” she said quickly.
“Then I read you wrong.”
“I’m just afraid it wouldn’t interest you,” she explained.
“I’d enjoy being out in the fresh air. I’ll get my coat.” He was like a kid eager to start a promised adventure.
“Whoa.” Faith raised one hand. “Give me time. I’ve got to shower and dress, and I wouldn’t mind a little something to eat first.”
“Okay.” He seemed amenable enough to that.
Faith wasn’t quite sure what had prompted the change in him, but she wasn’t complaining. She poured cereal and milk into a bowl, and ate every bite. Drinking the last of her coffee, she hurried back up the stairs and grabbed her jeans, a sweater and fresh underwear. She showered, dressed and dried her hair. When she came out of the bathroom, she found her boots, put them on and laced them up.
“Charles?” He didn’t seem to be anywhere around. “Charles,” she called, more loudly this time.
By chance she happened to glance out the window—to discover him surrounded by half a dozen neighborhood boys and Sarah. The children were apparently trying to talk him into something, but Charles clearly wasn’t interested. Several times he shook his head and gestured dismissively with his gloved hands.
Faith threw on her coat and dashed out of the house, fastening her buttons as she went. She could see that Charles had begun to sweep the snow off the porch steps and had apparently been interrupted in his task by the children.
“Hi, Faith,” Thomas called out. “You want to go sledding with us?”
“Ah…” She looked to Charles for some indication of his feelings. “What about you?”
Charles shook his head. “The last time I was on a sled, I was thirteen years old and too young to know better.”
“It’s fun,” Thomas Kennedy promised.
“Go down the hill just once and you’ll see what we mean.” Mark’s young voice was filled with excitement.
“You just gotta,” Sarah insisted, tugging at Charles’s hand.
Several of the older kids had lost interest in persuading Charles; they were already across the street, pulling the
ir sleds.
“Come on,” Faith said. “You need to do this or you’ll lose face with the kids.”
“Faith, I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
“Faith, listen, I’m not entirely comfortable with this.”
“They’ll pester you until you give in, you realize?”
Charles seemed to need more convincing. “I’ll go first,” she told him. “Just do what I do, and you won’t have a problem.”
“People can get killed sledding,” he mumbled to no one in particular.
She looked both ways before crossing the street. “People get killed on their way to work, too.”
“This isn’t encouraging.”
“I’ll go first,” she said again.
“No,” he countered as they trudged up the hill. “If this has to be done, I’ll do it.”
Thomas proudly showed Charles how to lie flat on the sled and how to steer with his arms. Charles still seemed unsure, but he was enough of a sport to lie prone, his feet hanging over the sled. He looked up at Faith with an expression that said if he died, it would be her fault.
“Are your life insurance premiums paid up?” she teased.
“Very funny,” he grumbled.
Faith laughed, but her amusement soon turned to squeals of concern as the sled started down the snowy hill. Because of his weight, Charles flew downward at breakneck speed. His momentum carried him much farther than the children and straight toward the playground equipment.
“Turn!” she screamed. “Charles, turn the sled!” He couldn’t hear her, so she did the only thing she could—and that was run after him. She stumbled and fell any number of times as she vaulted down the hill. Before long, she was on her backside, sliding down the snow and slush with only the thin protection of her jeans. The icy cold seeped through her clothes, but she didn’t care. If anything happened to him, she’d never forgive herself.
Charles disappeared under the swing set and continued on for several feet before coming to a stop just short of the frozen pond.
“Charles, Charles!” Faith raced after him, oblivious now to her wet bottom and the melting snow running down her calves.
Charles leaped off the sled. His smile stretched from ear to ear as he turned toward her. “That was incredible!”
“You were supposed to stop,” she cried, furious with him and not afraid to let him know it.
“Then you should have said so.” He was by far the calmer one.
“You could’ve been hurt!”
“Yes, I know, but weren’t you the one who said I could just as easily die on my way to work?”
“You’re an idiot!” She hurled herself into his arms, nearly choking him. She felt like bursting into tears of relief that he was safe and unhurt.
Charles clasped her around the waist and lifted her off the ground. “Hey, hey, I’m fine.”
“I know…I know—but I expected you to stop where the kids do.”
“I will next time.”
“Next time?”
“Come on,” he said, and set her down. “It’s your turn.”
“No, thanks.” Faith raised both her hands and took a step backward. “I already had a turn. I went down the hill on my butt, chasing after you.”
He laughed, and the sound was pure magic. He kissed her cold face. “Go change clothes. As soon as you’re ready we’ll go into town.”
“Are you staying in the park?”
Charles nodded. “Of course. A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”
Shaking her head, she sighed. What on earth had she created here? One ride down the hill, and Charles Brewster was a thirteen-year-old boy all over again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Heather could hardly hear a thing over all the noise in the Hog’s Breath Tavern in Key West, Florida. Peaches was eyeing Elijah with the voluptuous look of a woman on the prowl. Heather gazed across the room rather than allow herself to be subjected to such blatant attempts to lure Elijah away.
Slipping off the bar stool, she squeezed past crowded tables in a search for the ladies’ room. This entire vacation wasn’t anything like she’d imagined. She’d pictured sitting with Elijah on a balmy beach, singing Christmas carols and holding each other close. His idea of fun was riding twelve hours a day on his Harley with infrequent breaks, grabbing stale sandwiches in a mini-mart, and drinking beer with people who disliked and distrusted her.
Inside the restroom, Heather waited in line for a stall. Once she was hidden by the privacy of the cubicle, she buried her face in her hands. It was time to admit she’d made a mistake—hard as that was on her pride—but she’d had about as much as she could take of Elijah and his so-called friends.
When she left the ladies’ room, Elijah was back at the bar with a fresh beer, which he raised high in the air when he saw her, evidently to tell her where he was. As if she hadn’t figured it out by now. If Elijah didn’t have a beer in his hand, then he was generally with a woman and most of the time it wasn’t her.
“Babe,” he said, draping his arm around her neck. “Where’d you go?”
“To the powder room.”
He slobbered a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Want another beer?”
“No, thanks.”
“Hey, this is a party.”
Maybe—but she wasn’t having any fun. “So it seems.”
His smile died and a flash of anger showed in his eyes. “What’s your problem?”
Frankly, at this point there were too many to list. “Can we talk?” she asked.
“Now?” He glanced irritably around.
“Please.”
“Sure, whatever.” Frowning, he slid off the stool. With his arm still around her neck, he led the way outside. “You don’t like Key West?” he asked as soon as they were outside. His tone suggested that anyone who couldn’t have a good time in this town was in sad shape.
“What’s not to like?” This had become her standard response. And she did like Key West. But the things she wanted to do—take history walks, visit Hemingway House, check out bookstores—were of no interest to the others.
“Well, then?” Elijah took another swallow of beer and pitched the bottle into a nearby trash can. “You’ve been in a sour mood ever since we got here.”
“Maybe I don’t like you clinging to Peaches.”
His laugh was short and abrupt. “You’re jealous. Damn, I should’ve figured as much.”
“Not really.” She hadn’t fully analyzed her feelings. The only emotion she’d experienced watching the two of them had been disgust. That, and sadness at her own misguided choices.
“So what’s the big deal?” he demanded.
“There isn’t one.”
They stopped walking and faced each other. Elijah crossed his arms, leaning against his motorcycle as the din of raised voices and loud music spilled out from the Hog’s Breath. Elijah looked longingly over his shoulder, as if he resented being dragged away from all the fun. The partyers continued their revelry, apparently not missing either of them.
“Dammit, tell me what you want.”
His impatience rang in her ears. “What are your—our plans for Christmas Day?”
“Christmas Day?” Elijah said. He seemed confused by the question. “What do you mean?”
“You know, December twenty-fifth? Two days from now? What are we going to do to celebrate Christmas?”
He looked at her, his eyes blank. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. Why?”
“Why?” she repeated. “Because it’s important to me.”
He considered this. “What would you like to do?”
Her throat clogged with emotion as she remembered the way she’d celebrated Christmas with her mother, all the special traditions that had marked her childhood. She hadn’t realized how much she’d miss those or how empty the holidays would feel without her family.
“I was hoping,” Heather said, being as forthright and honest as she co
uld, “that we’d find a small palm tree on the beach and decorate it like a real Christmas tree.”
This seemed to utterly baffle Elijah. “Decorate it with what? Toilet paper?”
“I…don’t know. Something. Maybe we could find sea shells and string those and cut out paper stars.”
Elijah shrugged. “Would that make you happy?”
“I…I don’t know. I dreamed of sitting in the sand with you and looking up at the night sky, singing Christmas carols.”
Elijah rubbed his hand over his face. “I don’t sing, and even if I did, I don’t know the words to any of those carols. Well, maybe the one about the snowman. What the hell was his name again? Frisky?”
“Frosty.”
“Yeah, Frosty.”
“But you can hum, can’t you?” Heather had a fairly decent voice. It didn’t matter if he sang or not; all that mattered was being together and in love and sharing something important. Maybe creating a new tradition of their own…
“Heather, listen,” Elijah said as he unfolded his arms and slowly straightened. “I’m not the kind of guy who decorates palm trees with paper stars or sings about melting snowmen.”
“But I thought—”
“What?” He slapped his hand against the side of his head in frustration. “What were you thinking?”
“I like to party, too, but a steady diet of it grows old after a while.”
“Says who?”
“Me,” she cried. She’d never asked Elijah where he got his money, but she was beginning to think she should. “You didn’t even consult me about having all these other people along.”
“Hey,” Elijah snapped, thrusting up both palms in a gesture of surrender. “You didn’t consult me about all this Christmas junk you’re so keen on, either.”
He was right, but his sarcasm didn’t make her feel any better. “I thought it would be just the two of us.”
“Well, it isn’t. I’ve got friends, and I’m not letting any woman get between me and my people.”
“Your…people?”
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