Home For Christmas

by Patricia Potter

  “Why is Miz Richards mad?” Nick asked.

  “She doesn’t think Mr. Murphy should live in the garage.” She had already explained to him that the man who had saved his life would be living behind them. He’d been excited beyond words.

  But now his face puckered up as he tried to understand “Why doesn’t Miz Richards like him?”

  “She thinks he did something bad a long, long time ago.”

  He puzzled that out. “Did he have to sit in a comer?” That was his punishment when he was bad.

  “Something like that,” she said.

  “You always love me after I sit in the corner.”

  “I love you even when you sit in the corner,” she corrected.

  “Then why is Abby’s mommy angry?”

  Why? Why? Why? Nick’s favorite word. Her heart cracked. Was he going to pay for her decision? Abby was his very best friend.

  “Because she doesn’t understand. But I think she will.” Julie crossed her fingers She hoped Emily would. Surely when she met Murphy.

  She unlocked her front door Her refuge. It had been that, and more, these past few years. She loved this house, far more than she liked the large, showcase home she’d shared with Doug, perhaps because this was hers.

  Julie regarded it lovingly. It was a small brick bungalow with lots of character. Built in the 1930s, it had been remodeled by the previous owner who’d built bookcases around the fireplace in the living room and enlarged one bathroom to make it almost luxurious. The floors were hardwood, the ceilings high, giving it more spaciousness than indicated by the square footage. She had placed plants everywhere, and she loved the flowery smell each tune she entered. Best of all, It had cost one-sixth of the price of her previous home, and she’d found a low mortgage rate

  The garage apartment had been a bonus. She’d originally intended to rent it immediately, but she had been in one of her burrow moods. Except it really wasn’t a mood; it had become a way of life. Ever since she’d left Dan’s office, she’d consciously avoided other people Heck, she’d run as fast as she could from any involvement with anyone. Nick had become the center of her life. He had become her whole life. Because her computer was connected to the law firm’s computers, she did much of her work at home except for meetings

  Now she’d opened her refuge to Murphy, a man who threatened all that safety she’d woven around herself and her son. He didn’t threaten their physical safety—she was as sure of that as she was that the sun would rise every day—but today she’d realized the depth of his threat to her emotional well-being. Just sitting with him in the car had altered the calm, predictable world she’d tried so hard to build That world tilted crazily now.

  “Where is he?” Nick demanded

  “I think he’s resting,” she said “But he will be over for ice cream soon ”

  Nick beamed, forgetting the tension he’d left some seconds ago. “Will he like me?”

  “Of course Who wouldn’t?” she said.

  “And he saved me”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “I want to give him a present.”

  “I think a picture would make a perfect gift.”

  Nick loved to draw He grinned happily and ran off to find paper and crayons.

  She poured him a glass of milk and made him a sandwich of the barbecue she had bought. She put both it and potato chips on the kitchen table, then poured herself a glass of wine When he returned, he sat on the chair, devoured the food, then leaned over a blank piece of drawing paper. “What do you ’pose he likes.”

  “Woods and trees,” she said.

  “And a house?”

  “Probably a house ”

  He didn’t say anything but bent his head and started drawing.

  She took a sip of wine. Let Murphy like it, she prayed silently. She couldn’t bear to see Nick’s disappointment if he didn’t.

  Ryan explored every cranny of the apartment. The bureau contained two additional shirts, a white long-sleeve shirt and a pull-on sports shirt. The refrigerator had milk, orange juice, butter, eggs, soft drinks and some sliced meat. The cupboards had also been stocked with coffee, cans of soup, sugar, salt and pepper, bread

  A surfeit of riches Too much, at the moment, to digest. Too many choices

  The bookcase was the true treasure. Biographies, history, fiction, a set of encyclopedias He suspected she had selected carefully. He took out each one with worshipping hands, wondering how he could go from hell to heaven so quickly.

  He owed it all to one woman.

  He looked at the clock on the table next to the bed. Almost seven Probably an hour had gone by. He would go over to the house at eight.

  Ryan leafed through several books but couldn’t concentrate on any one of them Restlessness filled him. No more locked doors. No more manacles. He wanted to explore his freedom. He went to the door and stepped outside, looking at all the trees that shaded the neat mostly brick homes. They were bare of leaves now but still starkly beautiful in the deep dusk of evening. A cool breeze rustled through the branches. He breathed it all in before closing the door behind him without locking it. He never wanted to hear the sound of a lock again.

  He heard a sound in the trees and looked toward the sound. A squirrel was jumping from branch to branch, then ran down the tree and scurried across the yard. Something like elation filled him He soaked in the sights, the sounds, the smell of freedom. He looked up at the sky. The moon appeared a transparent globe in the intense deep blue of an evening sky.

  Unable to resist, he walked down the drive, then opened the gate He didn’t have a coat, but he didn’t need one. He relished the cool feel of the air, the small bite that made him feel alive His strides lengthened and he reached the end of the block, then another. Finally, he turned and retraced his steps, though he felt he could walk forever.

  Eight. It must be close to that. And he wanted to shave and take a shower, wash off the prison smell The least he could do for this great gift was be on time.

  Julie tried to calm her nervousness. Perhaps he wouldn’t come

  Nick was finishing up his picture, carefully inserting colorful flowers. She thought it wonderful for an almost five year old. He had a knack for drawing things in perspective, something she’d noticed few children had

  Still, it was juvenile impressionism at best.

  “It’s beautiful, Munchkin.”

  “Do you think he will like it?” His brow furrowed worriedly.

  “I think he will, indeed. He needs something for his walls.”

  “I’ll draw another one,” he said hopefully.

  “Why don’t you wait?”

  “When will he come? Maybe I’d better go get him.”

  Anxiety licked at her. He was so expectant. Ryan Murphy was his hero. He didn’t remember a great deal about the accident, but he did remember a man who had saved him. And his mommy His expectations were so great.

  A knock came at the door. and Nick gave her a big grin. “Can I open the door?”

  “I don’t know if he’s ready for you or not,” she said.

  But he was already gone, his hands opening the kitchen door that led to the backyard. When it opened, she watched as he looked up And up. And up. Until his face was looking almost straight up.

  She followed the direction of his gaze Next to Nick, Ryan Murphy looked like a giant. His hair was wet, but neatly combed, the black practically gleaming under the kitchen light. He had obviously just shaved and he smelled slightly of the men’s aftershave she had purchased without knowing his preference

  The shirt stretched across broad shoulders, and its sleeves were still rolled up despite the coolness of the evening. The shirt had obviously been hastily tucked in his jeans, which fit his long legs like a second skin He radiated male power and grace and suddenly the large kitchen seemed very small.

  “I’m Nick,” the munchkin said.

  To her surprise, Murphy kneeled, his face almost level to Nick’s. “I’m Ryan.” He held out his hand and N
ick’s face cracked into a huge smile.

  When Murphy released his hand, he didn’t get up, and Nick started the speech he’d been preparing “Thank you very much for saving my life. And Mommy’s.”

  Julie half expected Murphy to deny any such thing—as he had every time she’d mentioned it—which would have bewildered her son. Instead, Murphy said seriously, “You’re very welcome.”

  “I drew you a picture ”

  “Did you now?”

  “Do you want to see it?”

  “Very much.”

  He stood then and Julie felt she was watching a play. He was doing everything right, everything to make a small boy feel comfortable and at ease He was anything but the cold, distant man everyone had portrayed, or even the cautious Murphy of the past few weeks.

  But he still hadn’t smiled.

  He looked at her “Mrs. Farrell,” he acknowledged Not “Julie” as she’d asked. “Mrs. Farrell.” He was trying to keep her at arm’s length. She knew she should do the same. So she merely nodded.

  He followed Nick over to the table and took the picture that Nick handed to him with such pride.

  Julie held her breath. So far, he had been just right. But would he know how much heart Nick had put into his picture?

  He looked at it carefully as Nick watched, then he looked down. “It’s the nicest present I’ve ever had,” he said.

  It was probably the first one this Ryan Murphy ever received, but Nicholas didn’t know that. His grin grew even broader. “Do you play baseball?” he said.

  Murphy looked swiftly over toward her.

  She shrugged. “We saw a movie about Little League.”

  “Little League?” He knew the term, or at least he thought he did. But he wasn’t quite sure.

  “Baseball for little boys. Why don’t you sit down?”

  He hesitated, then took a chair and folded his long body into it.

  “Do you?” Nick persisted

  “I did once,” he said.

  “Will you teach me? Mommies can’t play baseball.”

  Murphy turned toward her, and, Lord above, she saw a smile play around his lips “I think your mommy can do almost anything, including slaying dragons.”

  “Baseball is man’s stuff,” Nick persisted.

  “Man’s stuff, huh?”

  Nick nodded fervently.

  The small hint of the smile widened. It reached Murphy’s eyes, then his mouth. She saw the dimple deepen, and the lines around his eyes crinkle. Her heart lurched, then started beating faster as she looked at the two males, one small and one large, uniting in male conspiracy.

  She could almost feel the warmth between them envelop her, too.

  Cold? Distant?

  Had he indeed changed that much? Or could anyone be that facile an actor?

  Nick held out his hand, palm straight up like he’d seen on television Murphy looked over Nick’s head toward her, and she pantomimed hitting palm against palm in a ritual peculiar to males.

  He imitated her, gently hitting Nick’s palm with his own.

  “We have chocolate ice cream.” Nick said. “Do you like ice cream?”

  Murphy nodded.

  That was all Julie needed to spur her into action. She went to the freezer compartment and took out the ice cream, putting big scoops in two of the bowls, a small one for herself.

  Murphy tasted it The smile was gone, but he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him.

  Nick was rattling on between bites of ice cream, telling his new friend about the movie they’d seen. He appeared perfectly happy that Murphy said little Murphy, on the other hand, was attentive, his eyes filled with a sad kind of longing while he offered enough reaction to keep Nick content.

  Once the ice cream was gone, she looked at Nick. “Time for bed.”

  He looked at Murphy “Can you tell me a story?”

  For the first time, he looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know any.”

  “That’s okay. You can read me one.”

  Julie shook her head “Not tonight, Munchkin. I think Mr. Murphy is tired.”

  Nick looked as if he was going to argue.

  “Now, Munchkin,” she said, “and I’ll read you one. You go on up and put on your jammies.”

  Reluctantly, he pulled back his chair. He marched over to Ryan. “It’s good to meetcha.”

  The hint of a smile again. “It was good to meetcha, too.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Perhaps,” Julie intervened, guiding him out the door, through the hall to his bedroom.

  “I like him, Mommy.”

  “I do, too, but we have to be careful not to bother him.”

  “I don’t think I bothered him ”

  “I don’t think you did, either, but he’s going to be very busy.”

  He started to take off his clothes “You promised to read me a story ”

  “Yep,” she said. “Just crawl into bed. Count to twenty ”

  He looked at her suspiciously. “I can’t count that high.”

  “Yes, you can Practice so you can show Mr Murphy.”

  “One, two, three...”

  She closed the door behind her.

  Chapter 10

  Ryan paced the room as he waited for her to return He had to work off some of the emotions he didn’t know how to handle, feelings that threatened to overwhelm him.

  The strongest of which was stark longing.

  A few moments in this kitchen had made him want the love he felt here, the sense of belonging that teased and seduced. Had he ever felt that with his wife and child? He knew then he had to meet his former wife, talk to her. He had to know more about himself, or the man he had once been

  He swore under his breath, words he’d learned only too well during the weeks since the accident. He had so many questions and no frame of reference to even begin to answer them He just had a juggernaut of emptiness that pressed into his heart, his mind, his soul. He couldn’t afford to care, to love, to even give until he knew what kind of man he was, what he was capable of.

  Yet he found himself caring. He had been charmed by the boy, the first individual who had wholly and completely accepted him as he was. Even Julie had had doubts, and occasionally still did. He saw them flare in her eyes when she didn’t know he was watching.

  But Nicholas Farrell had no reservations.

  He found his hands gingerly fingering Nicholas’s drawing He thought it must be very good for a child, but it was the thought and care with which it was created that brought rushes of warmth carding through him and made him yearn for more It truly was the first physical gitt he remembered, though the child’s mother had given him many of another kind.

  Just treat them like miniature adults.

  That had been easy. He’d found himself relaxing in the presence of others for the first time since he’d awakened from the coma and found himself a pariah. He had reveled, in fact, in Nicholas’s open liking. He’d had to hesitate only when the boy had asked about baseball. Would he remember anything about it, as he remembered how to read? How hard was it to throw a ball. anyway?

  That damn frustration was crowding him again, as was the obsession to learn more about himself.

  He tried to push it aside concentrating instead on the room. It was a large kitchen, made charming by whimsical touches. Teapots danced across a trim near the ceiling, and flowering plants hung near the windows A smiling cow held a roll of paper towels on one counter and a fisher boy cookie jar dominated another The refrigerator door was crowded with colorful paintings like the one he held in his hand, and an oddly shaped piece of pottery was proudly displayed on the table. More work by the boy

  He tried to equate all the whimsy with the practical Julie Farrell who had been so businesslike with him, who had been so efficient in representing him and preparing for his release But everything about her was softer, more vulnerable in this house He wandered through the door to what apparently was the living area. Like the kitchen, the room
was inviting. The focal point was obviously the fireplace which was flanked on both sides by full bookcases. A television. cornered at one end, looked like an afterthought.

  An overstuffed sofa and two chairs, obviously purchased for comfort, furnished the room as well as more plants. Paintings, all brightly alive landscapes, provided a peaceful tranquility. Large windows looked out to a heavily wooded front yard, and an outdoor gas lamp illuminated several bird feeders

  He heard a noise at the door and looked away from the window. Julie Farrell was standing in the doorway, watching him.

  “I like this room,” he said.

  She smiled, a bright spontaneous opening of her face. He realized then how few times he had seen her smile so openly. Usually she was reserved, cautious The smile was a gift, like Nicholas’s painting

  “So do L” she said. “It’s not very stylish, but it’s everything I like”

  It was everything he liked, too. Deep down in his gut, he felt comfortable here, as if he belonged here It was a dangerous feeling. So was the heat forming in his groin and the ache that made him very aware that he wanted not only that sense of belonging but her The power of his need astounded him A piercing stab of loneliness ripped into him as he realized how impossible either was

  “I’d better go,” he said.

  Her smile faded, and her gaze locked on his Awareness was like electricity between them, hot and sizzling and every bit as deadly. And numbing. He wanted to force his legs to move, but they didn’t obey his command

  “Yes,” she whispered, answering his statement. Yet she didn’t move either.

  A warm glow radiated inside him She had changed to blue jeans and a shirt, and she looked young and alive and vibrant. And incredibly desirable Her cheeks had turned red, and her gray eyes, usually so cool, fairly smoldered with emotion.

  Six strides and he could reach her, touch her Kiss her.

  He ached to do it. Only caution borne of the last few months stopped him. Ten years. Ten years without. .contact with a woman.

  Libido? Testosterone? He’d read enough to know the meaning of both Was ten years of celibacy making him more .aware? Did bodies react to memories the mind erased? He didn’t know Didn’t care. He just knew he wanted her more intensely than he could ever have imagined.