by Karen Tuft
But quiet whispers began to penetrate his thoughts once again. Why was Natalie talking to her father about money? Why wouldn’t she take Ross’s cash from the party? Why was such a bright and artistic woman cleaning houses? She seemed unsure of herself, but he knew that despite her lack of confidence, she was reluctant to accept help from others. When she was relaxed or unaware that he was observing her, she was bright, her wit quick. She was generous with her time. Her interests were varied and unusual. He didn’t know a single woman, no—a single person—who carved pumpkins into works of art, created original stories based on Celtic legends, read books on ancient civilizations, and tap danced. Or bobbed for apples on a string.
The bigger question was why, when all of the women he encountered seemed more than happy to receive his attention, was Natalie Forrester so resistant? He’d felt her respond to him when they’d danced. He knew he had. He’d seen what was in her eyes at that moment. But he couldn’t manage to keep her in the same room with him. A lot of it was his fault, he knew. It was difficult to be irresistible to someone when you ordered them from your house, threatening to call 911, he thought wryly—or told them they were intrusive, which was even worse. Or turned into a sullen stone of a man at a football game. Apparently, his personal super-guy list didn’t have a check mark next to “charming.”
He smiled, feeling better now than he had all day. It had been a productive afternoon, a peaceful time in the temple after all. He didn’t know what eternity held for him at this particular juncture, but he at least knew the next step. He would make amends with his pretty puzzle of a housekeeper. He made no promises to himself about what that meant or what his intentions were. He only knew that he had behaved badly toward someone he thought was truly beautiful, inside and out, and he needed to fix what he’d done. And there was an undeniable spark he was curious enough to pursue—for the time being.
As he walked along the corridor of the temple on his way toward the exit, the quiet whispers prompted him again. Two weeks ago, his encounter with Natalie had driven him to make a phone call—to Ashley. It had been the wrong one.
He had a different phone call to make now, he thought as he nodded in farewell to the man by the temple exit. Two phone calls, to be precise. He’d allow himself a quiet ride home and enjoy the peace he’d worked so hard to find this afternoon, and then he would make the first call—to Jackie. And after that, he intended to search the Church’s website so he could learn the name of Natalie’s bishop and have a conversation with him as well.
Chapter 16
As Thanksgivings went, Natalie thought, this one was just a Thursday. Wade had picked the girls up the night before, informing her not to expect them back until late Sunday. She’d attempted to put a positive spin on things, calling this her personal holiday—freedom from everything. She’d slept in as long as she could, which wasn’t as late as she’d hoped. She’d spent the morning putting finishing touches on her papier mâchè Santas. And she planned to spend the afternoon at Ross’s house putting up his holiday decorations.
When his mother had given them to her, she’d ask Natalie what she was doing for Thanksgiving. Natalie hadn’t been about to tell this nice woman she’d bargained away the holiday with her girls because of her party. Besides, it had given them some much-needed spending money. So Natalie had remained politely vague, saying her plans were small. Dorothy hadn’t needed to know it was a gathering of one.
Dorothy had talked at length about her own plans for the holiday. She seemed to feel comfortable with Natalie. Natalie liked her tremendously, despite her son. And so it happened that Natalie knew Ross was expected at his mother’s home on Thanksgiving at two o’clock. Natalie figured that gave her at least a solid four hours to get the decorating job done, if she factored in everything Dorothy had mentioned: appetizers, dinner, dessert, football. Lots and lots of football.
That should be long enough. It might even put her into enough of a holiday spirit to pull out her own decorations. With the loss of Ross’s income, she’d be lucky to put many presents under the Christmas tree for her kids. So if they weren’t going to be treated to an extravagant Christmas, they could at least enjoy a feast of the senses. She would let decorating Ross’s home stir her creative juices, and then she would put her whole heart into making her own family’s holiday as memorable as she could. With that noble thought in mind, she pulled on a pair of worn jeans, her favorites despite the tear at the knee, grabbed a few tools from her garage, and jumped in the car.
* * *
Ross was surprised. Thanksgiving with the family was turning out to be more pleasant than he’d anticipated, not that he’d expected it to be unpleasant. While he’d typically made it home for a few days each Christmas, at least most years, they’d been hectic days. He’d used the time to do his shopping, and his sisters were always rushing to meet their spouses’ family obligations. To have everyone relaxed, with no other plans this Thanksgiving, was rare and felt wonderful.
The afternoon started with some touch football for the guys. Ross, Rick, and Scott, aka the geezers, against Jackie’s boys, Brett and Matt, the punk kids. Seven-year-old Jason tried valiantly for about twenty minutes to keep up with his big brothers, and six-year-old Riley mostly managed to get tangled up in everybody’s legs, which made for a more level playing field.
After a quick shower, Ross became the honored guest at an imaginary tea party hosted by Lexie and her “big-girl cousin,” five-year-old Regan. If he’d actually eaten all of the invisible cookies and drunk all of the pretend tea with cream and sugar the girls had put in his pink plastic teacup, he’d be ten pounds heavier. And that was before the real food, the Thanksgiving spread, passed through his lips.
At dinner, Rick handed Ross the carving knife and fork, officially making him patriarch for the day. After the quick stab of pain and longing for his dad subsided, he carved the turkey and slid into the role of family elder with only a bit of discomfort.
Now he was sated from the meal, watching the New York Jets play the Dallas Cowboys and beginning to feel restless. He could hear Jackie and his mother chatting quietly as they finished washing the dishes. The kids were in the basement playing video games. Suzie had snuck into the family room to snuggle with Scott, and Ross watched from the corner of his eye as she curled into Scott’s lap, slipped her arms around his neck, and tucked her head under his ear like a contented kitten. An image of Natalie flashed into Ross’s mind, her eyes a dark jade, her fingers entwined in his hair. He leaped from his seat on the sofa and wandered into the kitchen.
His mother was drying the last of the casserole dishes, and Jackie was getting out the plates for pie. “Good, Ross, you’re just in time. Will you put this dish up there? How’s the game?”
He slid the crockery onto the top shelf of the cupboard. “Dallas is up by ten.”
His mom hung up the dish towel and started dishing pumpkin pie. “Jackie, will you get the whipping cream out of the refrigerator?” She glanced at Ross. “Do you need something, dear?”
He smiled at her and walked over to gently massage her shoulders. There was something he needed, someone he wanted, but his mother couldn’t help him with it. “No, gorgeous. It’s been a great day, thank you. You’re going to be tired tomorrow.”
He could feel her chuckle softly under his gently kneading hands. “Today has been so wonderful; I wouldn’t care if it laid me up for a week.” She paused. “I only wish your father—”
“I know.” He didn’t think he could bear to hear her talk about his dad at the moment.
“Mom,” Jackie said, taking her by the hand, “I’m banishing you from the kitchen, effective immediately. Where did Suz disappear to? Oh well. Ross and I will finish dishing up the pie, won’t we, Ross?”
“Absolutely.” He patted his mother’s shoulders and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the door. “You heard the boss. Out you go.”
She offered a weak protest that made Ross and Jackie both laugh, and then she was gone.
Jackie gave Ross a conspiratorial look and whispered, “You won’t believe what I have to tell you.”
His eyebrow arched. “I’m listening.”
Jackie moved closer to him and lowered her voice. “I called my friend who owns the boutique, like you asked. It’s an upscale place in Park City, lots of rich tourists. We had lunch yesterday. I showed her both of them, the little autumn witch and the Santa I picked up from your house. Needless to say, she was very impressed.” She folded her arms across her chest and grinned at him.
Ross felt his pulse jump. Cool and objective, he said to himself. “Yes, go on.”
“I asked her to tell me what she thought people would be willing to pay for sculptures like those.” She told Ross the figures, and he whistled. Jackie was practically vibrating with excitement. “Ross, she said she’s always looking for items to sell on consignment, especially around the holidays. And she said she’d take as many as she could get her hands on. So what’s the next step?”
He would have to approach Natalie, of course, but first he had a little employer relations mess to resolve. In addition, he knew she believed her art was just a whim, nothing serious. He wondered if he told Natalie she could sell her Santas in an upscale boutique if it would excite or intimidate her. She might not even agree to the proposition. He would have to approach her with some care.
Now he was anxious to leave, to plot his next move. Finding his mother settled comfortably on the sofa, feet propped obediently on an ottoman, he kissed her cheek and made his farewell. “I have some work I need to get to this evening,” he said. When she started to protest, he pressed his fingers to her lips and said, “Save some pie, and I’ll stop by to share it with you tomorrow. Happy Thanksgiving.”
* * *
Low clouds had gathered during the afternoon, and a light snow was just beginning to fall. Ross drove home, barely aware of the weather or the roads. He wanted to speak to Natalie as soon as possible. If they couldn’t move quickly, she’d miss some prime sales opportunities.
If he was honest with himself, he simply wanted to see her, be with her. Touch her again. But first he had to mend fences with her. That could take some delicate maneuvering. He’d seen firsthand her reaction to what she considered charity. If she knew what other machinations he had in place, he thought wryly, she might never forgive him.
As the snowflakes flew at him from the other side of the windshield, he mentally calculated how many little white blobs he’d seen in her garage workshop.
He was so preoccupied with his plans he almost didn’t notice her car parked in front of his house. Why is she here? he wondered. He knew darn well she wasn’t delivering any goodwill casseroles, not to him. Intrigued, he wondered briefly if it was better to park in the driveway and quietly enter through the front door before she had a chance to bolt or make a noisy entrance through the garage. As often as he’d caught her haplessly off guard in the past, he opted for noise and hoped for the best.
When he entered the house, he stopped cold. It wouldn’t have mattered which approach into the house he’d taken. Cheerful Christmas music filled the air, and he could hear Natalie’s voice weaving in a low harmony. Orange and chocolate and cinnamon and evergreen scents filled the air. The place had been magically transformed, and the effect was warm and inviting. He realized with a start that it was the first time his home here had actually felt like exactly that—a home. He liked it. Very much.
Bing Crosby was counting blessings instead of sheep as Ross walked into his living room. He couldn’t believe his eyes. A large Christmas tree was fully decorated, covered with heirloom ornaments he recalled vividly from his childhood. It stood in front of his large picture window, the drapes drawn open. Behind the tree’s twinkling splendor, the city lights were just beginning to blink on. Snowflakes whirled and danced outside in the multicolored glow. Natalie was perched on a stepladder in front of his fireplace mantel, looking like she belonged there, humming to the music and arranging evergreen boughs. His childhood stocking, admittedly dog-eared, hung dead center. The corner of Ross’s mouth curved up. That mother of his. How had she managed to arm twist Natalie into this little project?
Now that his shock was wearing off, he saw the immediate potential of the situation. Before Natalie could sense that he was there, he slipped out of the room. He wanted a few more minutes to gather his thoughts after this surprising turn of events.
She’d already tackled the kitchen. A large evergreen centerpiece adorned the table, its deep red candle flickering. Large fragrant bowls of potpourri sat on the buffet. The shelves of his kitchen hutch were loaded with Christmas curios and draped with more evergreens. Garlands arched over each doorway.
He made his way to the bedroom and saw she’d been busy there as well. Holiday pillows nestled comfortably with the others on his bed, and there was a simple arrangement of candles of differing shapes and sizes on his dresser. On the bathroom counter, a fat ceramic Santa in polka-dot underwear was grinning at him. He couldn’t help it; he grinned back. He didn’t remember ever seeing it before. It must have been a white elephant gift from his mother’s jaded past. But it provided just the right touch here.
It was time to put his plan into action, he decided. He was surprised that the thought of proceeding made him nervous. He hadn’t had any real nerves before presenting a case in years. But he was feeling them now. Forcing them down, he returned to the living room.
Natalie had just picked up a large, empty ornament box. He watched her eyes widen with surprise at seeing him, then narrow and look away.
“I’ll be out of your way as soon as I put this box in the basement, Mr. McConnell. Excuse me.” Her voice was cool in contrast to the cozy atmosphere he’d been enjoying.
He would try humor first. He had successfully dealt with irate clients and adversaries that way for years. And with her. “You’ve been busy today, and on Thanksgiving of all days. You looking for time and a half?” It came out sounding miserly, not clever like he’d hoped. He grimaced inwardly.
“This one’s on the house. Literally.” She headed past him to the door.
“That was meant to be a joke.”
Her eyes glimmered with an anger he’d never seen in her before. She dusted her hands off like she was brushing him away. “Mr. McConnell, I don’t want time and a half or double pay or anything from you. I don’t want your money. I don’t even expect polite conversation from you anymore. So if you’ll excuse me, I just want to get this favor for your mother finished so I can be officially done here. There are a couple more boxes of decorations downstairs, if you’re interested. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get to them before you got home. Good-bye.”
There was a sharp finality to her tone that speared through his stomach, its intensity catching him by surprise. He grabbed her arm to stop her. Something strong and potent seared through him this time. “Let me take that for you.” He gestured to the box.
She looked at him warily before handing over the box. “All right. Thank you.” She picked up her bag and started toward the front door.
“Wait! Please.” He set the box down abruptly and strode over to her. “Please stay a moment.”
He noted abstractedly that there was mistletoe hanging above them in the entrance by his front door. He had the sudden urge to take the opportunity but thought she’d probably slap him, considering the look in her eyes. He took her free hand instead and led her back to the living room. “I want to speak with you. Won’t you have a seat?” When she continued to stand, he added roughly, “I’d like to apologize, if you’ll let me.”
She sat stiffly on the edge of the sofa, a closed expression on her face. He had a lot of damage control to do, obviously. Even more than he’d realized.
He turned down the music and returned to stand in front of her. “The house looks terrific. Thank you. I don’t know how my mother talked you into doing this, but I appreciate it very much.” She was carefully studying her clasped hands on her lap. He waited for her
to look up. When she didn’t, he let out his breath and sat down next to her. “You know, I was in New York for all those years, and I never took the time to decorate my flat. Not even once. I had a wreath I dragged out and stuck on the door—when I remembered to—but that was it. I was at the firm more than I was anywhere else and didn’t stop to think about Christmas until I was on the plane heading back to Utah each year. I knew Mom would have the tree up; Dad would be serving up his own version of eggnog . . .” He paused, struck silent for the second time today by the flood of longing for his father. He turned away to give himself a moment. He needed to be in control of his emotions if he was going to persuade her to do what he hoped.
“I guess my mother decided I needed an extra dose of hearth and home this holiday. She was right. Thank you again. But even she wouldn’t have expected you to give up your Thanksgiving to do this. Where are your girls? With their father?”
She nodded stiffly, silently. He wasn’t out in the clear yet. He’d leave that particular subject for the time being and try a different tack.
“I’d also like to apologize for my poorly chosen words a few Saturdays ago.” He chuckled softly, hoping it would ease the tension he could feel radiating from her. He was feeling strangely tense as well. “We seem to catch each other at the most unexpected moments. What are the odds of that, do you think? I can honestly claim never to have found a woman tap dancing in my kitchen before you.”
