The 24 Days of Christmas
Page 8
“Come upstairs and have some coffee,” she said.
Frank grinned, started the climb. “You looked pretty good in that green outfit tonight,” he told her.
She’d exchanged her good suit for jeans, sneakers, and a flannel shirt. “Lissie stole the whole show,” she said with a laugh. The wind was cold, and it was snowing a little, but the closer Frank got, the warmer she felt. Go figure, she thought.
He ushered her inside, paused to admire the Christmas tree. They’d decorated it together, and it had been a sentimental journey for Addie. She’d been surprised to realize how many memories those old ornaments stirred in her. They hadn’t been able to use the bubble lights—they were ancient, and the wires were frayed—but Frank had anted up some spares, and the whole thing looked spectacular, especially with Henry’s much-handled presents wedged underneath.
Floyd, lying in the kitchen doorway, got up to waddle across the linoleum and greet his master. Frank closed the door, ruffled the dog’s ears, and then went to stand next to the couch, looking down at his sleeping daughter.
“They were something, weren’t they?” he asked quietly.
Addie smiled. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “What a pair of hams.”
They went into the kitchen, and Addie put on the coffee. Frank sat down at the table and rubbed his face with both hands. It was a weary gesture that made Addie want to stand behind him and squeeze his shoulders, maybe even let her chin rest on top of his head for a moment or two, but she refrained.
“The last thing I need,” Frank muttered, “is a shot of caffeine.”
“I’ve got decaf,” Addie said.
“Perish the thought,” Frank replied.
She laughed. “You’re a hard man to please, Frank Raynor.” She moved toward cupboards next to the stove, meaning to get out a bag of cookies, but Frank caught her hand as she passed.
“No, actually,” he said, “I’m not.” And he pulled her onto his lap.
She should have resisted him, but she didn’t. Her heart shimmied up into her throat.
For a moment, it seemed he might kiss her, but he frowned, and touched the tip of her nose instead. “How come you gave back my engagement ring, Addie Hutton?” he asked, very quietly.
Tears burned behind her eyes. “I was young and stupid.”
He moved his finger and planted a kiss where it had been. “Young, yes. Stupid, never. I should have waited for you, Addie. I should have known you needed an education of your own.”
She touched his mouth very lightly. “You wouldn’t have met Maggie,” she reminded him. “And you wouldn’t have had Lissie.”
He sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “But you wouldn’t have met Bozo the Mortgage Broker, either. And you wouldn’t have gotten into all that trouble in California.”
She couldn’t speak.
“What are you going to do now?” Frank asked, his arms still tight around her. “You can’t work at the Wooden Nickel for the rest of your life, selling classified ads. You’re a journalist. You’ll go crazy.”
“I’ve been thinking about writing a book,” Addie admitted.
Frank’s eyes lit up. “Well, now,” he said. “Fiction or nonfiction?”
“A romance novel,” Addie said, and blushed.
He raised one eyebrow, still grinning. “Is that so?”
Just then, the phone rang.
Because it was late, which might mean the call was important, and maybe because the atmosphere was getting intense in that kitchen, Addie jumped off Frank’s lap and rushed to answer it with a breathless, “Hello?”
“Addie,” Toby said. “I hope you weren’t in bed.”
Addie blushed again. “No—no, I was up. Is everything okay? Where are you?”
“Connecticut,” Toby answered. “Addie, I have news. Really big news.”
Addie closed her eyes, tried to brace herself. He was coming to get Henry. She’d known it was going to happen. “What?” she croaked.
“Elle and I are going to have a baby,” Toby blurted. “Isn’t that great?”
Addie’s eyes flew open. Frank was setting the cups on the counter.
“Great,” she said.
“I guess you’re wondering why I’d call you to make the announcement,” Toby said, sounding more circumspect.
Actually, she hadn’t gotten that far. She was still trying to work out what this meant to Henry, and to her. “Right,” she said.
Frank raised his eyebrows, thrumming the fingers of one hand on the countertop while he waited for the coffee to finish brewing.
“The pregnancy will be stressful,” Toby went on. “For Elle, I mean. That’s why I was wondering—”
Addie held her breath.
“That’s why we were wondering if you’d keep Henry for a while longer.”
Addie straightened. “You’ll have to grant me temporary custody, Toby,” she said. “I won’t have you jerking Henry back and forth across the country every time it strikes your fancy.”
“Is that what you think of me? That I’d do something like that?”
What was the man’s home planet? “Yes,” she said. “That’s what I think.”
Toby got defensive. “I could send Henry to stay with my dad and stepmother, you know.”
“But you won’t,” Addie said. She’d received a check from Toby’s father in that day’s mail. It would pay some bills, and provide a Christmas for Henry, and she was very grateful. According to the enclosed note, Mr. Springer and his third trophy wife were spending what remained of the winter in Tahiti.
“All right,” Toby admitted. “I won’t.”
“Ground rules, Toby,” Addie said, as Frank gave her a chipper salute. “I want legal custody, signed, sealed and delivered. And you will call this child once a week, without fail.”
“You got it,” Toby agreed with a sigh.
“One more thing,” Addie said.
“What?” Toby asked sheepishly.
“Congratulations,” Addie told him.
Frank poured the coffee, carried the cups to the table. He’d taken off his uniform jacket, hung it over the back of a chair. His shoulders strained at the fabric of his crisply pressed shirt.
“Thanks,” Toby said, and the conversation was over.
“I take it a celebration is in order?” Frank asked.
Addie jumped, kicked her heels together, and punched one fist in the air.
“Not much gets past a Sherlock Holmes like me,” Frank said.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Frank’s tree glittered, and a Christmas Eve fire flickered merrily in the hearth. Three stockings hung from the mantelpiece—Lissie’s, Henry’s, and Floyd’s. Nat King Cole crooned about merry little Christmases.
“They’re asleep,” Frank said from the stairway. “I guess that second gig at the hospital and the nursing home did them in. Who’d have thought Almira Pidgett would turn out to be a fan of the angel-and-shepherd road show?”
Addie smiled, cup of eggnog in hand, and turned to watch him approach. Miss Pidgett had warmed to Lissie and Henry’s impromptu performance when they shyly entered her hospital room the night after the pageant, and tonight, she’d welcomed them with a twinkly smile. “Christmas is a time for miracles,” she said.
Frank took the cup out of her hand, set it aside, and pulled her close. “You think it’s too soon?” he asked.
“Too soon for what?” she countered, but she knew. A smile quirked at the corner of her mouth.
“You and me to take up where we left off, back in the day,” Frank prompted, kissing her lightly. “I love you, Addie.”
She traced the outline of his lips. “And I love you, Frank Raynor.”
“But you still haven’t answered my question.”
She smiled. “I don’t think it’s too soon,” she said. “I think it’s about time.”
“Do I get to be in your romance novel?”
“You already are.”
He gave a wicked chuckle. “Maybe we’d better do a little research,�
� he teased, and tasted her mouth again. Then, suddenly, he straightened, squinted at the Christmas tree behind her. “But wait. What’s that?”
Addie turned to look, confused.
Eliza’s Advent calendar was draped, garland-style, across the front of the tree.
“Why, it’s Aunt Eliza’s Advent calendar!” Frank said, and twiddled at a nonexistent mustache.
“You might make it in a romance novel,” Addie said, “but if you’re thinking of going into acting, don’t give up your day job.”
“We forgot to check the twenty-fourth box,” Frank said, recovering quickly from the loss of a career behind the footlights.
“We did not forget,” Addie said. “It was a little crèche. The kids looked this morning, before breakfast.”
“I think we should look again,” Frank insisted. “Specifically, I think you should look again.”
She moved slowly toward the tree, confused. They’d agreed not to give each other gifts this year, though she’d bought a present for Lissie, and he’d gotten one for Henry.
The twenty-fourth box, unlike the other twenty-three, was closed. Addie slid it open slowly, and gasped.
“My engagement ring,” she said. The modest diamond was wedged in between the crèche and the side of the matchbox. “You kept it?”
Frank stood beside her, slipped an arm around her waist. “Eliza kept it,” he said. “Will you marry me, Addie?”
She turned to look up into his eyes. “Oh, Frank.”
“I’ll get you a better ring, if you want one.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I want this one.”
“Then, you will? Marry me, I mean?”
“Yes.”
He pulled her into his arms, kissed her. “When?” he breathed when it was over.
Addie was breathless. “Next summer?”
“Good enough.” He laughed, then kissed her again. “In the meantime, we can work on that research.”
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Linda Lael Miller began her publishing career in 1983 at Pocket Books. Since then, Linda has successfully published historicals, contemporaries, paranormals, and thrillers before coming home, in a literal sense, and concentrating on novels with a Western flavor. For her devotion to her craft, the Romance Writers of America awarded her their prestigious Nora Roberts Lifetime Achievement Award in 2007.
Linda’s 2011 contemporary Creed Cowboy trilogy—A CREED IN STONE CREEK, CREED’S HONOR, and THE CREED LEGACY, released in March, June, and July, respectively—each debuted in the number one position on the New York Times bestseller list. To learn more about Linda, please visit her at www.lindalaelmiller.com.