The Gift-Wrapped Groom

by M. J. Rodgers

  “Noel wanted to stay up all night to decorate the silly, ugly tree. I did not want to do this. I said some things in anger that hurt her. She went to bed without even eating the dinner she had prepared for us. She left this morning before I could speak to her.”

  Nicholas knew that everything he had just said was true. He also knew that together his words formed a completely untrue impression that Winsome would want to accept.

  And accept it he did. The older man’s eyes softened as he rested a lanky, understanding arm on his grandson-in-law’s shoulder and led him back into the living room.

  “So, you had your first fight and she locked you out of the bedroom. I should have warned you about this thing she has for Christmas—and particularly Christmas trees. No wonder you’re playing nursemaid to those decorations so early this morning. She wanted you to get them down from the attic last night and you wouldn’t, that it?”

  “Mr. Winsome, I do not feel...you indicate that Noel made some effort not to discuss—”

  “Okay, son. I take your meaning. A private matter between the two of you. We’ll say no more about it. But I think bringing down the decorations was a good move. Sometimes flowers and candy work, too.”

  “I will keep this in mind.”

  The deputy sheriff named Tucker stepped forward.

  “In the meantime, maybe you can give me the particulars about last night,” he said, withdrawing a pen and notepad from his pocket.

  Nicholas turned to the tall, thin man. “Excuse me?”

  The toothpick twirled beneath the bushy black mustache as the small dark eyes above it remained steady. “The accident, Dr. Baranov. Can you describe this vehicle that ran you and your wife off the road?”

  “Oh. Yes. The vehicle. A truck. New, I believe. I know nothing more.”

  “Where exactly did it happen?”

  “I would have difficulty describing this place, but I could take you there, if you think that would be of help.”

  “Probably not. I’ll ask Noel when next I run into her. In the meantime, I’ll alert the sheriff so all the deputies in the rest of the county can keep an eye out for this fool.”

  He clicked his pen closed and put it, along with his small notepad, into his pocket. He stared at Nicholas with those steady, neat eyes. Nicholas did not like being subjected to such scrutiny by this man in an official’s uniform. It brought back too many unpleasant memories—far too many.

  “Noel tells her grandfather here that you managed to get that old Dodge back onto the road with some fancy kind of pulley system.”

  Nicholas reminded himself this was not Soviet Russia. This was America. Conversation with a policeman could be something other than an interrogation. “Not fancy. Very simple.”

  The toothpick twirled between the stiff lips. “Stuffed with wood, that old Dodge must of weighed close to five thousand pounds. Fancy pulley or a simple one, pulling it off a ledge would still have taken a heap of strength.”

  Nicholas shrugged. He sensed the quick mind behind the steady eyes and the slow lazy speech. Maybe this wasn’t an interrogation, but this man was after something.

  “Also must have taken a heap of strength of another kind to ride old Warlock.”

  Nicholas shrugged again and waited.

  The man with the twirling toothpick leaned forward just slightly. “How’d you like to put some of that strength to use in helping us put together some of the stage props for A Christmas Carol?”

  The words surprised Nicholas. “A Christmas Carol?”

  Winsome’s hand rested on Nicholas’s shoulder. “It’s that play Noel mentioned on your first night here. Tucker is the stage manager. I produce and star in it as my contribution to the Christmas festival. He’s trying to butter you up so you’ll volunteer to do some of the grunt work, like making scenery.”

  “Butter me up?”

  “Flatter your strength and savvy. Tucker here is three-fourths con artist. Gotta watch out for him.”

  Nicholas saw the two men exchange glances. They were clearly friends and these words were clearly well-meaning. He faced the officer, feeling relieved. “I do not need this buttering up. I will volunteer. When will you need this help, Deputy Sheriff Tucker?”

  The thin lips drew into their first smile as the deputy sheriff shoved the toothpick into the corner of his mouth.

  “Just call me Tucker, Baranov. The only folks I make use my title are the ones I’m arresting. We’ll be getting together tonight at the community center to plan out the specifics. I’ll be driving right past here on my way, so you could hitch a ride with me. Or hitch a ride on in with Noel, that is assuming you and the Mrs. are back on speaking terms by then.”

  Nicholas considered Tucker’s words. He had taken care of the small mistake caused by Noel’s offhand comment to her grandfather this morning. Surely Noel’s gratitude for his effort would help to mend the rift his angry outburst had so disastrously and unintentionally caused the night before.

  Yes, he had wanted to reestablish a necessary distance between them. But he had never intended to speak of such unspeakable things to her. And he had never intended for her to be so angered by his words that she’d even put off the decorating of this silly tree that meant so much to her.

  No, none of this had been his intent.

  Still, he was rectifying his error. He had done his part with her grandfather. She would be grateful. Her anger would be gone. Would it not?

  “Perhaps it might be best if I hitched this ride with you, Tucker.”

  The deputy sheriff’s thick mustache rode up his thin cheeks. “Been there, Baranov. Yep, been there a lot with my Mrs. I’ll be by around six.”

  * * *

  NOEL DIDN’T BOTHER looking at the perfunctory handwritten menu sitting on the small eating counter that was tucked in the back of the Mercantile and run by Seth and Ginny Carson. All Ginny ever served—whether she called it breakfast, dinner or supper—was a T-bone steak and scrambled eggs all covered in thick gravy with a side of biscuits and honey, and coffee strong enough to float a horseshoe. Noel knew better than to treat herself to this meal full of fat and cholesterol more than once a month, but that once a month was always heaven.

  “So, Nicholas is getting his own breakfast this morning?” Ginny asked as she set a plate full of her specialty in front of Noel.

  Noel cut off a good portion of the T-bone steak and its bone and fed it to the increasingly impatient tail wagger at her feet. As Mistletoe began to happily dig in, she straightened to meet Ginny’s curious eyes.

  “He’s resourceful,” she said as noncommittal as possible.

  She stabbed a small tender piece of steak and a little scrambled egg, swirled it in the gravy and shoved it into her mouth. Ah. Absolute heaven.

  “I hear you and your Nicholas had your first fight.”

  Noel nearly choked. She swallowed hard and fast, forgetting all about savoring her food.

  “What?”

  Ginny Carson’s pert little smile beneath her pert little blond head was full of a pert little gossipy gleam. “Now, no need to get riled up, Noel. You know Midwater. Nothing around here ever stays a secret for long.”

  Noel carefully put down her knife and fork, took a quick sip of her coffee and resolutely faced Ginny’s smile. “Well, you’ll forgive me, but you appear to have learned of this little secret even before I have.”

  “Noel, I tell you it’s no big deal. These spats happen all the time.”

  “Just when was this spat between Nicholas and me supposed to have happened?”

  Ginny wiped a dish behind the small counter, eyeing her only paying customer of the morning with that continuing pert little gossipy gleam. “Well, last night, of course. After that dreadful experience you two had with that reckless driver.”

  Noel blinked, astounded.

  “How did you know—”

  “Tucker called over the news first thing.”

  Noel rested her palms on the counter, seeking something, anything that fe
lt solid and secure. “Tucker? But how did he—”

  “Not that it isn’t understandable, mind you. There you were still all shook up about being run off the road, trying to settle down by decorating that ugly pine Christmas tree, and all the while that man of yours pressing for...well, for what’s always on the minds of these dang-fool men.”

  Noel could not believe her ears. She simply could not believe them. “What?”

  “Oh, I’m on your side, of course. Understand perfectly. So do Fay and Marge.”

  “Fay? Marge?”

  “Of course, you can already hear the grumblings of the village men. Naturally, they’re on Nicholas’s side. Typical testosterone-filled bulls. But I was telling my Seth, just before he and Kurt went to deliver some more of that winter feed to the ranchers, that if he had been so insensitive, he’d of found himself locked out of my bedroom, too.”

  Noel put her head in her hands. “Dear sweet heaven.”

  “And don’t you let your Nicholas off the hook too soon. When he brings you that candy and flowers like your grandfather told him to—”

  Noel’s head came flying out of her hands. “My grandfather knows about this, too?”

  “Well, naturally, he was the one Nicholas first told.”

  “Nicholas first tol—” Noel saw red, actual blotches of red, pulsing before her eyes.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Well, Noel, I think that might be playing it just a little too hard to get.”

  Noel shot out of her seat. Mistletoe seemed to sense his mistress’s mood and quickly scooted out from under her feet, taking his breakfast bone with him.

  Noel was fuming, so angry even her ravenous hunger had fled. “I’m going to do it right now. I’m going to get a gun and I’m—”

  “Can’t right now, Noel,” Ginny interrupted complacently, still drying the dish that didn’t need drying. “Pete’s flying him off to that interview in Idaho this morning, remember?”

  “Idaho? Pete? This morning?”

  “Tonight will be soon enough. Although, for the sake of the Christmas committee, I sorta hope you don’t put too many holes in all those muscles until after he helps with the building.”

  “Building? Building what?”

  “Oh you know, the set for A Christmas Carol. Now you just sit right back down and finish your breakfast. You’re obviously gonna need every ounce of strength to keep up with a husband like this Nicholas.”

  * * *

  NICHOLAS WAS certain he must have misunderstood. This strangely spoken Montana English could be confusing, after all. And surely the pillow and blanket next to the front door carried another meaning.

  He closed the door behind him to shut out the cold night air. “Excuse me?”

  She stood before him still as a post, arms across her chest, eyes flashing with the same fire that lit her hair.

  “The barn, Baranov. It’s that or the plane back to Moscow. Take your choice.”

  Nicholas could feel the licks of anger in her words and the always ready response once again twisting in his gut. She was so beautiful in all that glorious anger that Nicholas almost forgot himself. Almost.

  “So, not even Dr. Baranov this time. I see my transgression has proven to be grave indeed. Yes, this question I asked you last night was most inappropriate. I am willing to acknowledge this. I give to you my apology.”

  A thousand flames ignited in her long, thick hair as she swung forward, raising the very temperature of the air against his skin.

  “I don’t want your apology. I want you out of here. Now!”

  This woman should be glad he had himself in such control: otherwise, he might have done something exceptionally foolish and fatal. Like trying to taste those lips, gather in all that glorious heat until it scorched him. His hands burned with the thought.

  “And for your information, this has nothing, absolutely nothing at all, to do with your stupid, infantile ranting last night.”

  Stupid? Infantile? Ranting?

  Ill-advised, inappropriate, these he would have perhaps conceded. But these other labels were too strong. Nicholas did not like these other labels.

  Slowly, deliberately, he settled himself before her, spread his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “A wife should not address her husband in this manner, not even an American wife.”

  She was too angry to notice the subtle change that had placed a new light in his eyes. Much too angry. Her hands waved through the air, as though attempting to release some of that anger, that passion that she could not control. That fatal passion.

  “Husband? What a laugh! You’re not really my husband. You’re nothing but a bumbling...fool! Thanks to you, I am now the laughingstock of Midwater!”

  First stupid and infantile, and now he was a bumbling fool. These labels burned in his ears, burned in his hands. Nicholas took a step toward his wife, his arms unraveling from around his chest, his hands dropping into fists by his sides, his voice sinking into a deep, deadly growl.

  “Be careful, Noel. My understanding and patience can only extend so far. I am a man. Do not push me into proving this.”

  Clearly, his stance did not intimidate her, his voice did not intimidate her, his words did not intimidate her. She marched right up to him, deliberately bumping her chest against his, stood on tiptoe, whipped her hair off her shoulders, shoved her hands onto her hips and taunted him with every flashing spark of her eyes, every clear syllable of dare in her insulting voice.

  “You? Understanding? Patient? A man? Ha! You’re no man, Nicholas Baranov. You’re a bear—a great, big, stubborn, stupid, infuriating, growling, Russian bear!”

  Well, he had warned her. Now there was only one thing left to do.

  Nicholas grabbed her around the waist, crushing her to him. Then he claimed those luscious, angry lips with a growl and then a groan and then a curse that rose from the deepest depths of his being.

  She did not fight him. She melted like hot lead into him, melding her body to his, mumbling something that trembled like a sigh against his lips and then soared like a siren in his skull.

  And he was lost. To all the wild, wonderful woman he held.

  She was the taste of spring, warm and vibrant and new and alive. Closer, closer, he drew them together, reeling as the exquisite warmth of her breasts and thighs invaded his body, heated his blood, seeped into his bones.

  His heart raced. The perfume of her skin and hair engulfed him. He drank her in and knew an instant addiction to her scent, her feel, her taste.

  Her arms circled his waist, shooting shafts of desire that threatened to rend him as he pressed her softness to him, grew against her yielding feminine heat.

  He burned to take her. Now.

  He tore himself away from her lips, breathing heavily like a long-distance runner as he rested his chin against her forehead, closed his eyes tightly and desperately tried to still the rising passion, to regain even a semblance of control.

  He must not take her. He must be true to his word. Even if it killed him, he must keep this that was his real life.

  But it was she who felt real now, only she. Everything else seemed so unreal. He struggled for reason. He struggled desperately for the lucidity he hoped he still might find. Gradually, his breathing came easier and the frantic beating of his heart slowed.

  She sighed against his throat, and he felt that sigh shiver on the surface of his skin, like the warm moonlight shimmering on the surface of the pond outside.

  He kissed the top of her head, his lips unsteady. He rubbed his cheek against her sweet hair, wondering how anything could feel so silky cool and hot at the same time.

  Of course, he should never have kissed her, should not be holding her like this, feeling her body against his like this. It was all wrong. But if there would be regret in this, he would face the regret later. If there would be a price to pay, he would pay it later. If there would be pain to endure for this moment, he would gladly endure that pain later. Right now, right here, he w
ould not, could not, let her go.

  “Nicholas?”

  Despite their closeness, this melting of their bodies together, her voice seemed to come to him from a long way off. His own throat felt thick and alien as his voice vibrated through it. “Yes, Noel?”

  When had her name begun to sound like the robin’s song?

  “Nicholas, someone is at the door.”

  Yes. He had heard the pounding. He had thought it was the echo of his heart.

  With great reluctance he released his tight hold on her and eased back from her warmth. This interruption was most fortuitous. He welcomed it. He told himself this several times. Rapidly. It would help him to regain his control. He must regain it, if he was to keep his solemn word to her, if he was to keep his sanity.

  Her face was still flushed with all the passion of their embrace. Her eyes gazed full into his, no longer a Siberian sea but the full silver-green of dew on new grass. Somehow his hands were braided through the red-gold fire of her hair. She felt and looked so beautiful, so incredibly beautiful.

  The pounding erupted again on the front door.

  Resolutely, he removed his hands, wondering if he would ever again know that control which had once been so much a part of his life.

  Noel turned and went to the door. But she stood in front of it for several seconds without moving. When she opened it, her voice was clearly full of surprise.

  “Tucker. What are you doing here?”

  “Evening, ma’am. Promised your husband he could hitch a ride with me to the Christmas committee meeting down in the village. Guess you two are still not on speakin’ terms, huh?”

  * * *

  NOEL TOOK a deep breath, flipped the Dodge into third gear with an angry twist of her wrist, let out the clutch and barreled down the country road. She was jumpy, and full of many conflicting emotions. Anger? Excitement? Fear?

  Oh, hell, she didn’t know what she felt anymore. Thirty minutes ago, she thought she would never again speak to this man sitting on the seat beside her. She thought she hated him. She thought she was sorry he was in her life.