'Twas the Night

by Sandra Hill

  “Need help?”

  Kevin swung around to find Dana standing there, a booty full of yarn and fabric and a bunch of other stuff in her cart.

  Having lost his mind some time between Monday and now, he said, “Do I look like Harrison Ford? The younger version, of course.”

  Much to her credit, she didn’t immediately consider calling medical personnel and having him committed. She just looked him over and said, “Harrison should be so lucky.”

  At that moment Kevin decided Dana would be one of their kids’ godmothers. She was just that kind of sweet-with-great-taste type spirits. He was sure Callie would agree.

  And then his senses stopped swimming in the shallow end of the sanity pool, and he realized what he’d said and where his mind had gone. “I’m sorry. Really. It was just a mini-survey on the Harrison Ford thing. Callie doesn’t seem to appreciate the resemblance.”

  “I’m sure she appreciates your looks a lot. She’s probably just shy about admitting it.”

  Callie, shy. Now that was a laugher if he’d ever heard one.

  Over the PA system, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Maudeen’s, rang out, “Morey Goldstein, your presence is required in aisle nine. Morey Goldstein, aisle nine.”

  “Isn’t aisle nine the ladies lingerie?” Kevin wondered out loud, seeing as he’d visited that part of the store himself. Kevin had to wonder what Santa supplies were needed from aisle nine. Then again, considering it was Morey and Maudeen, he didn’t want to wonder too hard.

  Maudeen continued, “Oh, and by the way, Stan needs Dana to help him in sporting goods. Dana to sporting goods, please.”

  Dana attempted to look irritated at the summons, but Kevin noted that a certain heat shimmered behind those blue eyes. She shrugged. “Looks like they’re calling my name.”

  “If he gets out of line, you have my permission to pelt his hide with a BB gun,” Kevin told her.

  Dana shot him a grin over her shoulder, but hustled away with what one could only call exuberance.

  Kevin headed to the shelves of jeans and waded through them until he found a pair labeled as a size six. He held them up in front of him, marveling that anyone could fit into that itty-bitty piece of fabric. But picturing Callie’s body filling them out in all the right ways was no trouble at all.

  As he made his way back to the dressing room, he pulled a couple of pretty looking shirts off racks. He figured if Callie wanted clothes, she’d get clothes. And if she was grateful enough—

  No, he didn’t think he’d better go there. Somehow he had the feeling that Callie would consider the thought of payback in the form of de-clothing somewhat seedy.

  Too bad.

  “Incoming,” he called in warning as he walked into the dressing area.

  Callie peeked out from behind a curtain, and lust hit him like an A-bomb to the gut. That hair of hers should be illegal. The lips should be outlawed, too. In fact, everything about her radiated S.I.N. in big, neon letters.

  Kevin swallowed and held out his offerings. “I brought you some shirts, too.”

  She looked at them dubiously, but then broke out in a reluctant grin. “Not bad, JD.”

  Kevin winced, but didn’t argue her use of his nickname. Just so long as she didn’t ask—

  “What does JD stand for, anyway?” she asked, as she grabbed the clothes from his hand, then whisked the curtain closed.

  Figures. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Sure, I do,” she said, and he could hear the rustle of clothes as she undressed.

  Just the thought of Callie taking off her clothes behind a curtain that could be flung aside with the flick of his wrist was enough to practically lay him low. Hormones began ricocheting through his lower body.

  “So,” she said. “What does it mean?”

  “Huh?”

  “JD, what does it mean? Obviously it’s not your initials.”

  “Just an old nickname from Snowdon days.”

  “And it stands for . . . ?” she persisted. “It has to stand for something.”

  Damn. “Well, I was . . . rambunctious in my youth.”

  “And?”

  “And some of the adults around town called me that juvenile delinquent.’” He ignored her snort of laughter. “Slick and Stan thought that was real funny, so they shortened it to JD.”

  “So the big and bad law and order guy used to be a hell-raiser, huh?”

  “I wasn’t that bad. In fact,” he said, employing a phrase he thought might win him woman points, “I was misunderstood.”

  If woman points included making a person break out into peels of laughter, he’d just scored big. Somehow, he wasn’t feeling all that victorious, however.

  “That’s cute,” she finally responded, after practically busting a gut. But to her credit, she sounded sincere about it. No sarcasm, no cutting remark. This was progress.

  “How about you?” he asked. “How does Cassandra become Callie?”

  “Well,” she said, her voice sounding muffled, “That came from my little sister. When she was just learning to talk, she couldn’t quite handle Cassandra Lee. About all she could manage was Callie, so it stuck.”

  “That’s kind of neat, too,” he conceded.

  “Damn, it’s stuck!”

  “No, really, Callie’s a pretty name.”

  “Not my name, dummy. The zipper on these jeans. It’s stuck.”

  “Oh.” He swallowed again. “Need some help?”

  “Yeah, right,” she said, huffing and puffing a little with the effort to work the zipper.

  “Hey, I was just offering to be nice!” he lied.

  “Uh-huh,” she grunted.

  Kevin frowned, but seeing as he couldn’t truthfully deny ulterior motives, he said nothing.

  The PA system once again squawked on. “Colonel Morgan, Maggie needs you in health and beauty aids. Please go to health and beauty aids.” This time the voice sounded more like one of the twins.

  “I’m still stuck,” Callie said behind the curtain. And she sounded defeated and near to tears, which just about broke Kevin’s heart. “Honey, let me help,” he said. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she whispered.

  That was enough for him, no matter which way she meant that. “May I come in?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He took a deep breath before shoving the curtain aside, because he thought he’d need the fortification of oxygen just in case his breathing malfunctioned.

  His breathing malfunctioned.

  Her black and curly hair was wild around a face that signaled utter distress, eyes hurt, damp and defeated. She was half-in, half-out of a forest green shirt, and the jeans she wore were peeled back away from her belly to expose a stomach that was too gorgeous for words.

  “Help me, JD.”

  Kevin dragged his gaze from her belly button, feeling helpless and ready to pounce at once. And his heart cracked. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? It’s just a stuck zipper.”

  “Everything,” she said, her voice hoarse. She dropped into a plastic chair in the corner. “I’m a wanted fugitive, it’s Christmas, and I can’t be anywhere near my family, I’ve resorted to pick-pocketing, and now . . . now the zipper won’t . . . work.”

  Kevin hunkered down in front of her. “First of all, I pretty much admire that you skipped out on a date with testifying for the scumball.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I don’t know the details, but I have to believe you have good reason.”

  Her damp green eyes blinked. “I really do. I think.”

  “Tell me, Callie.”

  Once again, the PA system kicked in. “Kevin Wilder, you’re not pulling your load.”

  Kevin groaned at the sound of Mrs. Smith’s admonition. “I guess you need to go,” Callie said, then sniffed.

  “No way, fashion babe. I need to be here. You have zipper issues.”

  “I’m a mess.”

  “You’re
the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Now stand up. Let me fix those jeans.”

  She began to stand, but then Kevin thought better of it, and dropped her back down into her seat. “Wait. I’m kissing you senseless first, okay?”

  And he did, although who went senseless first was a matter of debate. All he knew was that her lips cooperated in the most carnal way.

  Somehow he stood her up and turned her to face the mirror. As he kissed and licked her neck, he raised her blouse and snapped her bra, revealing breasts that God must have had in mind when he created woman.

  “JD . . . uhhh, Kevin,—”

  “You can call me JD.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. It’s faster.”

  “JD, you’re touching me.”

  “Not enough.”

  “My breasts,” she said in a whisper, “aren’t anywhere near my zipper.”

  “Your breasts are so beautiful, I can hardly stand it.”

  “My zipper?” she said, but her words came out in a breath smaller than a whisper.

  “I’m getting there.”

  He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, couldn’t stop himself from inhaling her scent, couldn’t stop himself from wanting her beyond belief. She was beautiful, and she was in his hands right now, and she was responding to his touch.

  “Kevin Wilder, right now!” the PA system boomed. This time it was Betty, and that was almost scary enough to stop, but not quite.

  “You need to go,” Callie said, her voice softer than snowfall.

  “I need to be here with you. You’ve got a fashion dilemma.”

  “Yes, I have a fashion dilemma.”

  He let his hand drift down between the stuck jeans, and touched her. He was shocked at her reaction, not to mention how wet and needy she seemed to be. And it fed his need for her.

  “Wild Child, get your butt out here now or we’re leaving without you!”

  “Damn.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  STAN

  Late Wednesday afternoon, two days ’til Christmas Eve.

  “I don’t believe this!” Reba punched the off button on her cell phone and banged her forehead on the seat back in front of her. Twice. “Things were starting to go right again, now this!”

  Dana looked up from her mending, startled.

  “Reba, honey? What’s wrong?” Slick patted Reba’s shoulder soothingly.

  “Noooo!” said Reba, and pounded the cell phone on the seat back, too.

  “How about if I take this?” JD said, slipping the phone out of her hand.

  “Reba?” said Callie anxiously, bending over her.

  Bits of colored silk were tangled in her hair—a sudden blast from the bus’ fans had caught her when she was tossing sewing scraps in a trash bag—and a long swath of multi-hued silk was draped over her shoulders, accenting her delicate beauty. Her nearness distracted JD for a moment, leaving Slick to press Reba for an explanation of this sudden outburst.

  “Our hotel collapsed!” she said, angrily flinging herself back in her seat. “The roof caved in under the weight of all the snow and now we don’t have anywhere to stay tonight.”

  “Surely there are other hotels—”

  “Nothing. Our hotel’s manager called every decent place around. They’re all either closed for the winter or booked solid with other travelers who’ve gotten stuck in this damned storm.”

  “Well, shi—darn it!” Slick cocked a wary eye at Emma Smith six rows ahead. “There must be someplace around that can fit in a few more strays.”

  “Maybe if we swung farther east,” JD suggested, frowning out at the still falling snow.

  Reba shook her head. “We’re behind schedule now. If we have to go too far out of our way, we’ll never make it home in time for George’s wedding.” Her eyes narrowed as she chewed on her lower lip, thinking hard. The woman didn’t know the meaning of the word defeat.

  The four put their heads together, discussing possibilities.

  Dana watched it all helplessly. She wished there were something she could do to help besides mend doll clothes and tell stories to children. The people on this bus were like a family, and she badly wanted to belong.

  Not that everyone hadn’t welcomed her as warmly as they’d welcomed Stan and Slick and JD and Callie, but she still felt like an outsider in spite of their generosity. Granted, the kids at the shelter this afternoon had enjoyed her stories almost as much as the older kids and the adults had enjoyed Stan’s good-humored, self-deprecating tales of all his fumbles and bloopers during his career, but being accepted wasn’t the same as belonging. And, all right, Callie was an outsider, too, but she was so vivacious and sure of herself that she’d fit in anyplace.

  Besides, there was definitely something going on between her and JD. He might be threatening to turn Callie over to the police, but nobody really believed he’d do it. After all, he certainly hadn’t tipped the police off at the Big-Mart. No, something was definintely heating up between them. Sparks flew every time they were close.

  The same sorts of sparks seemed to be flying between Reba and Slick, though in their case both of them seemed intent on pretending the other didn’t exist. Well, Reba did, anyway. Slick hadn’t managed to hide the fact he watched her every chance he got. Everyone had noticed. Dr. Maggie and Dr. Meg had a private bet going on how long it would be before the two gave in and admitted they’d been crazy about each other for years.

  Dana sighed. It must be wonderfully comforting, being so much a part of a community like that. Reba belonged and Callie fit in, but she’d never found it that easy. And then there was Stan . . .

  Troubled, she tucked her mending back in the basket. She was almost done, anyway, and the dull gray daylight was beginning to fade. She couldn’t see how they were going to make all those Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls by tomorrow, but both Callie and Reba seemed to consider that a done deal, so she’d given up worrying about it.

  She couldn’t help worrying about this new kink in their plans, however. Surely there was something she could do to help the Brigade out now. Her first job had been in this area. There had to be someplace . . .

  An idea stung her, shooting her upright in her seat. Before she could convince herself it would never do, she slipped out of her seat and headed up the aisle toward Stan.

  Most of the Brigade were napping. Stan had claimed two unoccupied seats and stretched out as far as he could, propping his bad leg on a pillow and cramming another pillow against the window to support his head. He looked, Dana thought, about as comfortable as an elephant in an ice box.

  He also looked extraordinarily sexy and dangerously tempting. There was something so very intriguing in watching a strong, competent man suddenly turned vulnerable in the throes of sleep.

  And that, of course, was ridiculous. Stan Kijewski was anything but vulnerable.

  Ever since that hot, disconcerting kiss in the snow and the teasing, deliberately tormenting exchanges he’d instigated since, she’d been fighting against the urge to make the next kiss something more, to let down her defenses and give free rein to her desire. She didn’t have much experience in this sort of thing, but she was quite sure Stan would be willing—more than willing—to go as far as she wanted, if not farther.

  Yet as many times as she’d let that particularly enticing scenario play in her dreams, she couldn’t quite work up the courage to try it. Wrestling a bear would be a hell of a lot safer than letting her heart lead her down such a dangerously slippery path.

  The trouble was, he saw their little exchanges as harmless flirtation. If the flirtation led to sex, she had no doubt he’d enjoy every minute—and make sure she did, too—but once George’s wedding was over, Stan would go back to San Diego and she’d be left with a broken heart.

  She’d had her heart broken too many times as a child to want to risk it now.

  With that stern reminder, she leaned down and poked his thigh to bring him awake. She immediately wished she hadn’t—just touching him wa
s enough to set her nerve ends tingling.

  “Give me your cell phone,” she said when he opened one eye to glare at her. “Please.”

  He grumbled and awkwardly shifted around to dig through his jacket pocket.

  “Thanks.” She slid into the half-vacated seat—even sitting up he took up an awful lot of space—and punched in a remembered number.

  “You’d better not be calling a boyfriend,” Stan growled.

  “Michael?” she said hopefully when a male voice answered. “Mike Parker! How are you?”

  “Dana?” The familiar voice brought fond memories rushing back. “Where in hell are you?”

  “I’m on a bus in the middle of a snowstorm,” she said, grinning, “and I hope you can help me out.”

  “For you, anything . . . if I can.” She could hear the wariness in his voice.

  “Is Moose Lodge still open? Can you take in”—she counted hurriedly—“fifteen weary travelers for tonight?”

  “Fifteen? Don’t tell me you’re camping out with a bunch of crazies in this weather!”

  She explained quickly, conscious of Stan watching her, straining to catch Mike’s end of the conversation. She tried to pretend she didn’t notice, but it was hard when she was so intensely, achingly aware of him and of his thigh where it pressed against hers.

  The silence on Mike’s end of the line was deafening.

  “Mike? You still there?”

  “I don’t know, Dana. I’d like to help you out, really I would, but . . . ”

  Dana’s shoulders slumped. “But you’re all booked up. I understand, Mike. Honest.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Another pause. “The trouble is,” he continued at last, reluctantly, “we’re shutting down the place, Dana. God knows we’ve tried. Penny and I have worked our fingers to the bone, but we just haven’t been able to make a go of it. Right now it’s just us and the kids. No maids, no cooks, no waiters. Just us. Most of the rooms aren’t made up, whatever food’s left is in cans or the freezers, and we haven’t dusted the main lodge for weeks. We figured we’d stay through Christmas, then pack up and let the bank have the place.”

  His despair came through loud and clear.

  “Oh, God, Mike! I’m so sorry. I know how much you and Penny love that old place.”