Geraldine guided Darcie down the hallway toward her bedroom. “He might think that of marriage in general, but he doesn’t think that of marriage in particular, or marriage to you in even more particular. The boy is salivating to marry you. He only has to vault over his prejudices long enough to realize it. I know you’ve been debating whether to wear the long gown I loaned you or the bikini, especially after what Joe said the other night. Wear the bikini. At least for the judging.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely, and for many reasons. For one thing, I picked up a flyer from the information booth at the entrance and learned a very interesting fact. The ratfink will be one of the judges.”
“Your ratfink?”
“Not mine for much longer. The divorce is going along splendidly and money will flow like wine—in my direction, of course. But, in the meantime, if you want to win that contest, you need to appeal to the ratfink’s weakness for feminine pulchritude. And that should also help nudge Joe toward the altar.”
Nudge? That sounds a wee bit gentle. ’Tis a cattle prod I had in mind.
Geraldine reached over and tweaked Gus’s nose. “And what are you up to, you little leprechaun? Something’s going on in that fertile little brain of yours. I can see it in your eyes.”
Been saving this trick all my life, I have. And tonight’s the night.
WEARING A WHITE WIG, white bathrobe and a beard that reached to his toes, Joe stood behind the backdrop and watched the judges huddle as they discussed the display next door. Two men and a woman made up the judging team this year, apparently. The neighbors’ Christmas train was cute, but Joe didn’t consider it real competition.
He’d already heard from the guy with the train decoration that the biggest threat in all of Tannenbaum featured a giant Santa puzzling over his huge computer screen and a host of animated computer bugs dancing and whirling through the display. Rudolph stood beside him with a computer disk in his mouth. The entry was called A Y2K-Compliant Christmas.
Joe admitted it was clever, but nobody, not even the computer-display folks, had Baby New Year. A live Baby New Year.
Behind him, the house was dark so it wouldn’t detract from the lights on the Times Square backdrop. Darcie, Gus and Geraldine stood inside the front door waiting until Joe turned on the sound system playing “Auld Lang Syne.” At least he hoped to hell they were standing there as arranged. They’d had no time for a run-through. Joe had worked on the display right up to the minute he’d raced inside to shower and throw on his costume.
Geraldine had been in Darcie’s bedroom with the door closed. When he’d rapped on the door and asked if they were ready, Geraldine had given him a not-very-reassuring “almost.”
Across the street, the Elderhorns’ display looked abandoned. They hadn’t even bothered to change the sign, so it still announced Christmas Spa, but the mess in the yard didn’t look much like a resort. Music from 2001: A Space Odyssey played, but the speakers weren’t working very well and the sound kept fading and then surging back when a breeze touched the wires and helped them connect again.
A faint light glowed from the Elderhorns’ upstairs bedroom. Red.
Shaking his head, Joe glanced next door. The judges were on their way. Punching the button on the sound system, he adjusted his 1999 sash and picked up his scythe. Then he stooped over like the decrepit old man Geraldine had told him to be, stepped out from behind the display, tripped over his beard and fell on his face.
“Are you all right?” the woman judge called.
Damn beard. “Heh, heh,” he cackled, trying to sound ancient. “When you trip over your beard it’s time to get off the stage,” he said as he staggered to his feet. Then he tossed the beard over his shoulder and proceeded to make his stooped way across the red carpet as the judges chuckled.
Comedy wasn’t a bad thing, he told himself. Now for the special effects. He made it to the far side of the carpet and reached for the switch that would bring the lighted ball up over the top of the display. The motor whirred and the ball rose, exactly as he’d planned, right over the Allied Tower Building.
A collective intake of breath from the judges was his reward. He gazed upward, incredibly proud of himself. If they won the prize, he could take some credit for it after all.
Then the judges gasped again. He glanced at them in surprise. That was his only special effect. Then slowly his attention turned to what had created such a reaction, and his breath caught in his throat.
Darcie stood there holding Gus, who was wearing his sash and top hat. He looked extremely cute, but one look at Darcie and Joe knew the gasp had been for her. She was wearing a tiara, silver spike heels, her Miss Millennium sash…and very little else. A few scraps of material covered the essentials.
His first thought was that she was the most beautiful woman in the entire world. His second thought was that she was practically naked, and he didn’t want any other man to see her that way except him.
But he wouldn’t ever have the right to request that of her unless… Joe winced as the noose tightened around his heart. Then Darcie smiled, and he knew he’d risk anything to be able to see that smile for the rest of his life.
He might have stood there with a dopey grin on his face forever if the judges hadn’t started chuckling and pointing upward. Looking up, he discovered his lighted ball had become a yo-yo.
Fixing it was out of the question unless he took the whole thing apart, which he sure couldn’t do in the middle of the show. Darcie stared at it in dismay, but Gus crowed in delight. The judges acted as if the whole thing had been planned, so Joe tried to look nonchalant. So much for his great special effect.
Darcie raised her eyebrows as if asking whether she should send Gus over anyway. He nodded.
She eased Gus down to the red carpet, displaying quite a bit of cleavage in the process. Joe wanted to take off his robe and throw it around her. Geraldine was responsible for this, he thought as he clenched his jaw.
Thank God the judges were focused on Gus finally. The woman judge looked totally enraptured as the baby started crawling over the red carpet toward Joe. As Gus crawled, his top hat tilted over one eye and the woman cooed like a devoted grandmother. No doubt about it, Gus had the franchise on cute.
This, at least, was going right, Joe thought with relief.
Then Gus stopped and sat down in the middle of the red carpet.
Joe glared at the baby, willing him to start moving again. The rugrat had better not louse up or he’d never get another French fry from Joe. The kid had crawled around the living room like a champ. All he had to do was get back on all fours and make it another thirty feet.
Gus glared back from under the brim of his top hat. He looked as if he’d planted himself to stay.
Joe glanced at Darcie.
She mouthed the words, Call to him.
Joe didn’t know if Gus cared much whether Joe called him or not, but it was worth a try. As it was, the display had gone flat. “Come on over here, Gus,” he said.
Beg me, blarney breath. We’re playing for all the marbles this time.
“Come on, short stuff. Crawl right on over here.”
Down on your knees, then.
Getting desperate, Joe crouched down and put all he had into his plea. “Come to me, little guy. You can do it, Baby New Year. Make us proud, you little leprechaun.”
’Tis more like it. Now for the grand finale. Gus leaned over and put his hands on the rug.
“That’s it, Gus. Come on. Come to Joe.”
Gus got his feet under him, crouching like a little bullfrog. Then slowly, painstakingly, he wobbled to his feet.
“Gus!” Darcie cried.
Don’t bother me, lass. Have to concentrate, I do.
Joe stared in disbelief as Gus took one swaggering step. He looked like a little bowlegged drunk, but he put the next foot out, and the next.
“Gus, oh, Gus.” Tears sparkled in Darcie’s eyes and she sniffed, but she stayed where she was.
And suddenly, Joe knew what he was supposed to do. He held out his arms. “Come on, Gus,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Come to Joe, little guy.”
Gus gave him a grin the size of Phoenix and kept coming. When he was only two feet away, he held out his own chubby little arms. “Da-da,” he said.
Joe gathered him close, his throat tight. “I think you’ve got something there, you little leprechaun.”
THE NEXT FEW MINUTES WERE a blur for Joe as the judges crowded around, congratulating him and goo-gooing at Gus, the man of the hour. Geraldine showed up about the time the judges moved on down the street.
“I think it’s in the bag, your bouncing Times Square ball notwithstanding,” she said.
“Gus won it for us,” Joe said as he tried to keep his beard out of the baby’s grasp. “Who would have thought he’d pick that moment to start walking?”
“He has a sense of the dramatic, which is part of his Irish heritage. Now why don’t I take him for a little bit so you can go congratulate Darcie for her part?”
“Okay. Sure.” Joe handed Gus over, although he was a little reluctant to let go of him. “Where is she?” He glanced around the yard.
“Inside putting on the long dress she intends to wear for the rest of the time you do this display. She’d freeze to death in that outfit night after night.”
“No joke! That was positively indecent.”
“But it worked.”
“I say we didn’t need it.”
Geraldine gazed up at him. “We’ll know that in a little while, won’t we? Now get on in there and say your piece.”
“You mean my congratulations.”
“If that’s all you have to say.”
That wasn’t all Joe had to say, but he wasn’t about to let Geraldine know that. “Be right back.”
“Take your time. The general public won’t be let in for another thirty minutes.”
Joe threw his beard over his shoulder again, picked up the hem of his white bathrobe and hurried in through the front door of the dark house. “Darcie, where are you?”
“Upstairs,” she called back. “Thought I’d get changed while you and Gus soaked up the limelight.”
Joe grinned as he crossed the living room. He started up the stairs and crashed into the baby gate. “Dammit!”
“Oh, sorry.” Light flooded the hallway as Darcie opened her bedroom door. “I closed it in case you brought Gus into the living room.”
Rubbing his banged knee, Joe opened the gate. “Geraldine has Gus. I just came in to…” He paused as Darcie appeared at the head of the stairs dressed in the sort of long white dress he’d hoped she’d wear for the competition instead of the bikini. Emotion lodged in his throat.
She looked like a bride.
“What?” she asked.
He couldn’t find the words as he gazed up at her, the light from the hall surrounding her red-gold curls with a halo of light. She was everything he’d ever wanted, and now that he knew that, he was petrified that she’d refuse him.
“Joe? You look sick to your stomach. Is it the glue from your beard?”
His voice came out as a strangled croak. “It’s you.”
“Me? I make you sick to your stomach?”
“No! You make me…” He took a deep breath. “You make me want things I thought I didn’t want. But now I do. With you. Everything.”
“Joe, I think it’s the glue talking. And the glue isn’t making much sense, sad to say.”
“It’s not the glue, dammit! It’s me! I love you! I want you to marry me, and now I’m afraid you won’t because I told you I thought marriage was as boring as diced zucchini, and so you probably think that I would be that boring! But I won’t be. I promise I won’t.”
He took a deep breath and kept going. “I thought staying free was the way to get somewhere, but I’m going nowhere, Darcie. I need a reason to get where I want to go. You’re that reason. You and Gus. Give me a chance, Darcie.” He finally ran out of steam. “Please,” he whispered, gazing up at her.
She slowly descended the stairs. It seemed to take about five hours. At last she was on the step right above him, their faces level with each other. Her green eyes sparkled as she gazed at him. “That’s quite a speech for such an old man. You must be Irish.”
“Darcie, I don’t think there’s a drop of Irish blood in me. But if that’s what it takes for you to love me, I’ll search my whole family tree until I find a Murphy or an O’Malley or a Finnegan.”
She rested her hands on his shoulders. “Doesn’t much matter if you are an Irishman so long as you can think like one.”
His heart started beating even faster. Maybe she would consider spending the rest of her life with him. Just maybe. “And how would that be at this moment?”
“An Irishman wouldn’t be wasting his time flapping his jaws.” Her saucy mouth tilted up in a smile. “An Irishman would be taking action.”
“Right here on the stairs?”
“No one’s here but us.”
“Okay.” Joe reached for the sash of his robe. “Why not? I’m certainly in the mood for it after watching you running around in that skimpy outfit, which I hope never to see you wearing in the fresh air again, but in the privacy of—”
“Wait!” Darcie grabbed his hand, laughing. “I meant you should kiss me, not get to work with that jib of yours!”
“Oh.”
“We can see about that later on, though. For now, a kiss will do to seal the bargain.”
“What bargain? Did you agree to a bargain? I didn’t hear of any bargain.”
“That’s because I was never asked, just lectured to about diced zucchini.”
“Oh.” Joe cleared his throat. Then he cradled her beloved face in both hands, hardly daring to believe in his incredible luck. Maybe he was Irish after all. “Will you marry me, Darcie O’Banyon?”
“Yes, I will, because I love you with all my heart and soul, Joe Northwood. Would you kiss me now?”
He didn’t know such happiness existed. “Yes, now. And for the rest of our days. Which will be, I promise, much more exciting than diced zucchini.”
“I could have told you that.”
When his lips touched hers, he half expected to hear the sound of a door closing on his other life, a life he was more than happy to leave behind. But instead, all he could hear was the joyous sound of doors opening wide as love flooded into his heart.
Epilogue
WELL NOW, THEY WON the blessed contest, which was destined to happen with me in the title role, of course. Got married, they did. Blarney breath got the license quicker than an Irishman can down a pint in a pub at closing time.
Geraldine landed a fine settlement from the ratfink and determined that she’d fancy becoming a silent partner in an interior decoration and custom cabinetry shop. Cabinet making and interior decorating go together like holly and ivy, they do. Oh, yes, and ’twas a grand Christmas. Nearly pulled down the tree, I did, bringing in the New Year.
’Twill be quite a New Year from the sound of things. Getting a wee cottage with a yard and a sandbox, we are. Maybe even a dog I can be chasing around the yard when I’ve nothing better to do. And I hear talk of competition coming my way in the wee babe department….
As if some red-faced interloper could ever unseat me—the great, the clever, the unforgettable and endlessly darling Angus Sean O’Banyon.
TRACY SOUTH
Frisky Business
Kyle kissed her.
And although he had decided the kiss this morning had been a fluke, Kyle had hoped it wasn’t the last time he’d taste Laura’s lips. She responded with a sigh that sent him reeling.
Laura broke off the kiss. When she looked at him, her hazel eyes completely serious, he felt an ache of responsibility for how open and honest and vulnerable she was.
“Let’s not talk about it,” she said.
“Not talk about what?”
“Why we’ve been kissing.” She lifted her arms from him. �
��You know how I overanalyze things, but since our boss is counting on us to solve this crisis, I need to concentrate on work and not use my brain trying to figure out why we suddenly can’t keep our hands off each other.”
“Because we’re attracted to each other?” Kyle ventured.
She frowned at him. “You’re talking about it.”
“Sorry.” And then because he couldn’t help himself, he smiled. “If you’d like to kiss again without talking about it, let me know.”
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Dear Reader,
My heroes have always been...business majors?
I went through college with no clear idea of where Fraternity Row was. I was into poetry and theater, classes full of pale-faced, skinny young men who needed someone to buy them a cup of coffee. I was so convinced that my soul mate would need to be the “artsy” type that when I met my husband, my first thought was “I hope he’s not a business major.”
He was, but he was also a guitar player, which barely qualified him as “artsy.” Ten years later, I’ve discovered that the heroes I create in my novels are those who share my husband’s spirit and his sense of fun, those who tackle life with humor and style.
Laura Everett, the heroine of Frisky Business, is pretty sure she knows what’s behind co-worker Kyle Sanders’s smile. Thoughts of golf. Thoughts of lunch. Plans to steal the corner office from her. More golf. More lunch. But Kyle’s got more going for him than a set of pearly whites and a line of glib patter. And Laura’s about to find out exactly what that something is….
Books by Tracy South
HARLEQUIN DUETS
8—MADDIE’S MILLIONAIRE
HARLEQUIN LOVE & LAUGHTER
12—THE FIANCÉ THIEF
For my parents, Charles and Becky, who never thought I wouldn’t be a writer.
Bringing Up Baby New Year & Frisky Business Page 16
