“That remains to be seen.” He frowned suddenly and glanced down the full length of her. “Is it that cold in there? I’ve got extra blankets, you know.”
She followed his glance, taking in her woolly robe, her flannel nightgown peeking out below and her feet encased in thick socks, then took in his bare chest and bare feet. All right, so he was very macho and impervious to cold. Big deal!
“I’m just fine, thank you,” she said with a haughty little sniff. “My sleeping bag is very comfortable.”
“Probably warmer than Melvin would keep you anyway, eh?”
What was with him and Melvin? He had no reason to be so irritated. Besides, she and Melvin didn’t have that type of relationship. They had the type of relationship that was the norm for her: something—cat, dog or human—was hurt and needed her care. So she was there. Simple. Uncomplicated. And little risk to her heart. Not that she was admitting that to Mike.
“I couldn’t begin to describe the way Melvin makes me feel,” she told him. “Because you couldn’t begin to understand.”
He just looked at her, then turned away. “Let me know if you hear any real noises.”
“Those were real ones,” she called after him. “Some of us aren’t so narrow-minded in our definition of real.”
But he just went into his room without saying anything else. Casey stomped into hers. This was not going to work. She should just pack up and leave.
“But I promised Mrs. Jamison I’d do this and I always keep my promises,” she told Snowflake. “I’ll just ignore everything about him, except how his behavior relates to the ghost.”
But it was Mike’s broad shoulders that lingered in her mind as she drifted off to sleep, and there was nothing ghostly about them.
Mike turned over and punched the pillow into submission. It didn’t matter. He was still wide awake.
He was not narrow-minded. She had no right to call him that just because he was too smart to believe in a ghost. But wasn’t that just like a woman? Bring out a string of names to call you when you didn’t exactly match up to her idea of what a man should be?
Mike turned over again and stared at the strips of pale light coming around the blinds in the window. He didn’t like that back door downstairs. He’d wedged it shut with a piece of wood, but anybody wanting to break in could do so with no effort at all. Maybe he’d better check it again.
He’d left his sweatpants on after Casey’s false alarm, so he just got out of bed and went softly down the stairs. Alone, since his good friend Gus had abandoned him. Not that Mike cared. Some people liked relationships; he could take them or leave them. No sweat either way.
The back door was fine, still closed tightly, so Mike had no reason not to go back to bed. No reason at all to stand at the kitchen window and stare at the falling snow, except that he was glad to be home and not driving in it. There was a chill in the air, even in the house, that he hadn’t noticed before. If Casey had been cold before, she must be freezing now. Maybe he ought to give her a blanket.
On the way back to bed, he grabbed a blanket out of the hall closet and stopped at the door to Casey’s room. It was slightly ajar, as if Gus had pushed it open. In the light filtering in from outside, Mike could see her. She’d taken the mattress from the old roll-away bed and put it on the floor, laying her sleeping bag on top. She was sleeping on her side, with Gus stretched out along her back. The black cat was sleeping by her stomach, while the white cat had crawled inside the sleeping bag and was cuddled by her chest, the cat’s head resting on Casey’s arm. She looked peaceful, contented…and warm.
Mike looked down at the blanket in his arms, feeling stupid for thinking she’d need it. She had everything she needed already. All those furry bodies were taking good care of her. Better than he could. He turned and went back to his own room.
It had gotten chillier in the house. Even his room seemed cold now. Cold and empty.
Chapter Two
Casey awoke to the sound of knocking. She sat up, trying to get her bearings, and discovered she was alone in the spare bedroom. Sunlight was streaming in through the thin drapes. The cats were gone, and Gus, whom she was sure had been there for most of the night, wasn’t around, either. The knocking came again, from downstairs, so she climbed out of the sleeping bag and grabbed her robe.
Gus came bounding up when she was halfway down the stairs. “Where’s Mike?” she asked the dog. “He went in to work, didn’t he? Half dead with the flu, but he had to go to work. I’ve met that type before.”
The knocking sounded again, and Casey hurried into the kitchen. The boy who’d let her into the house last night was at the door. “Come on in, Dubber.”
“I came over to take Gus for his walk,” the boy said, glancing at the door as he came in. “What happened?”
“Uh, it got real windy last night”
Dubber didn’t let skepticism show on his face for more than a moment. “You’re gonna need to get it fixed.”
“I’m sure Mike will get to it.”
“Mike doesn’t do big stuff like doors,” Dubber replied. “Mr. Slocum does. Want me to tell him?”
Casey nodded. “Thank you, Dubber. That’s very nice of you.”
A flush crept into the boy’s face. “No problem,” he replied after a long moment. “Mike’s gone a lot, so I’m always looking after the place.”
“Does that mean you know where the key to the apartment over the garage is?” she asked.
“What apartment?” Dubber looked confused. “There’s just a big room and a little bathroom up there. And it’s really pretty gross. A pig wouldn’t live in it.”
“Oh.” Casey had gotten the impression from Mrs. Jamison that the quarters above the garage were suitable. Maybe the older woman hadn’t been there in a while. Or maybe Dubber just had a hyperactive imagination. “I guess I’ll have to clean it then.”
“I can do it,” Dubber quickly volunteered.
“You sure are a gentleman, aren’t you?”
Dubber flushed a bright red. “Come on, I’ll show you where Mike keeps the keys,” he said, leading her into the living room. “He’s got them upstairs. In his room.”
“In his room?” Casey’s feet slowed. “Maybe I should wait here.”
Dubber frowned at her. “What for? Then you won’t know where they are for next time.”
“Yes, but…”
“Come on. Mike don’t care.”
Casey slowly followed Dubber upstairs. She had absolutely no interest in seeing Mike’s bedroom, but the young boy was right. She should know where the keys were.
Dubber opened the door and led Casey inside. Mike had to have been in the military. His double bed was precisely made, the blanket stretched tight. A throw rug was precisely centered on the floor between the head and the foot of the bed, and every surface was polished and uncluttered. An easy chair stood in the corner by a window. The only thing that might be considered a decoration was a bulletin board on the near wall, with a row of hooks running across the bottom, each holding a key. She was more interested in the ribbons, citations and newspaper clippings that were on display. She walked over for a closer look.
“Mike’s a real hero,” Dubber said, and pointed to a newspaper photo of Mike with two small children, all three surrounded by rescue personnel. “He rescued these kids from a burning car.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, the governor gave him a medal, and he’s been nominated for some big police award.”
“How come he’s wearing a tux?” she asked.
“He was on his way to church to get married, but he stopped anyway.”
Going to his wedding? “Was he marrying Darcy?”
“Yeah.” Dubber nodded.
“But she married a doctor instead.” Casey had gotten that much from the answering-machine messages last night.
“Yeah,” Dubber said. “Mike’s doctor.”
“Gracious.” Casey didn’t know what else to say.
“Me and Gus did
n’t like her much, but I guess Mike did. He was pretty grumpy for a while after that.”
“I would think so,” Casey said. “She didn’t dump him because he was late for the wedding, did she?”
Dubber just shrugged and started looking at the tags on the key hooks. “My mom said Darcy liked all the publicity and everybody fussing over her because Mike missed the wedding. But Mike hated it all. He just wanted everybody to leave him alone and for things to get back to normal.”
“I can understand that,” Casey said.
“Well, some TV show wanted them to have the wedding on the program,” Dubber continued, pulling out another key tag to look at. “And then have this crew go with them on their honeymoon. You know, to film stuff for the show. Darcy thought it’d be so romantic. Mike thought it was dumb.”
“A wedding on TV?” Casey made a face. “That doesn’t seem too personal.”
“I think it’d be cool to be on TV,” Dubber said. “I wanna be on American Gladiators.”
Casey smiled. “That’s a bit different from a wedding.”
“Better,” Dubber agreed, and stepped back. “I can’t find a key to the apartment here. Maybe he doesn’t have one.”
“Maybe it’s not locked,” she said.
“Or maybe the mice have eaten through the door.”
“No problem. I have cats, remember?” But would the cats remember how to catch mice? Or was it instinctive, like feeling your heart lurch with pain for someone who was hurting? Or was the instinctive part knowing how to feel for someone and still keep your heart safe?
“Take a couple days.” Mike’s sergeant’s voice rumbled from deep within his barrel chest. “Help Berrien Springs out with their festival. I don’t want you on the road until Sunday at the earliest.”
“I’ll take the afternoon off and see how—” Mike said.
“See nothing,” the sergeant snapped. “You look like death warmed over. Get out of here and don’t come back until next week.”
“Come on, Sarge. I just have a little cold.”
“Don’t give me any lip, Mike. You could have a lifeand-death situation pop up in your face anytime you’re out there on the road. It ain’t like you’re a cashier down at the five-and-dime.”
Mike didn’t think there were any five-and-dimes around anymore, but didn’t bother to start a discussion. Maybe taking a few days off was a good idea, since he needed to keep an eye on things around Casey, anyway. And his cold gave him a good excuse.
He finished up the last of the extradition paperwork and went on home. Mr. Slocum’s van was parked in front. Good, the handyman must be fixing the back door. Mike pulled into the drive as Dubber and Gus rounded the corner.
“You call Mr. Slocum?” Mike asked when the boy got close.
“Figured you wouldn’t get to it until later,” Dubber said, and bent down to scratch Gus’s head.
“I appreciate you calling. You’re getting to be quite responsible.”
“Casey said I was a gentleman,” Dubber mumbled, his face turning a bright red.
Mike tried not to stare at the boy’s sudden discombobulation. Casey and her cats could mesmerize dogs, but kids, too? And what was Dubber doing here this time of the morning on a weekday? Mike hoped he hadn’t skipped school to hang around Casey.
“Don’t you have school?” he asked.
Dubber nodded. “We had a late start today because of the icy roads. I was just gonna put Gus inside, then I was going.”
“I’ll take him.” Mike held out his hand for the leash. “That’ll save you a little time.” And minimize the boy’s risk of further exposure to Casey’s mesmerizing rays.
Dubber seemed to understand all that was entailed in giving up the leash. His face fell slightly, but he handed it over. “Okay. Thanks.” He turned toward his house, but looked back. “I’ll be over to walk Gus after school.”
“You don’t have to,” Mike said. “I’ll be here.”
“I don’t mind.” Dubber’s face started to flush again. “Me and Gus, we’re pals.”
Mike just nodded and led Gus around back. He had the sneaking suspicion that if Gus could blush, he’d be blushing every time Casey’s name was mentioned, too. Good thing someone with immunity was around.
Mike climbed up onto the back porch. The kitchen door was standing wide open.
“Yo, Mike.” Barry Slocum straightened up and smirked at him. “Looks like you were right anxious to get in last night.”
Mike frowned at him. Now what? “You must be getting a lot of exercise, jumping to conclusions like that.”
“Hey, it ain’t like I’m criticizing.” The handyman’s grin grew even more disgusting. “A young man, living alone like you do. It wouldn’t be natural if you didn’t get a little anxious at times.”
Mike couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Barry was standing there and cheerfully congratulating him, as if he’d busted the damn door on purpose. Mike pushed by him without another word, although he did pause a moment to exchange glares with that woman’s ghost-seeing cats, sitting on top of the refrigerator.
“She’s upstairs,” the handyman called after him. “Taking a bath.”
The words were still bouncing off the walls when Gus lurched forward, tearing the leash from Mike’s hand as he raced into the living room. Mike frowned after his dog.
“Where’s the fire?” he called, and was about to go check his answering machine when it hit him—Barry had said Casey was taking a bath. Oh no.
“Gus,” Mike bellowed, running into the hallway and taking the stairs two at a time. “Gus, come. Sit. Stay.”
But it was too late. The sound of a door popping open and slamming back against the wall echoed through the house. Then there was a piercing shriek and a lot of splashing.
“Gus,” Mike shouted. “Gus, get the hell out of the tub.”
But when Mike reached the open bathroom door, Gus was still in the old-fashioned, footed bathtub, dripping wet with a stupid grin on his face. Casey, on the other hand, was on the tiles next to the tub, holding a towel—a rather small towel—in front of her.
Mike wanted to order the dog out of the water. He wanted to reprimand him severely and send him out of the bathroom with his head hanging in shame. He really did. In fact, his mind had the words all formed, but his vocal cords were paralyzed.
He had never seen a woman so completely, entirely beautiful. Her hair was wet and pushed off her face; her soft skin gleamed with wetness and her eyes flashed with a fire that threatened to scorch him. He felt his mouth go dry and his heart start to pound.
Casey pulled at the towel, trying to wrap it around herself. “What is going on? Don’t any of you Burnettes know how to enter a room?”
Sweat beaded under Mike’s hairline as he stared at her. Damn. She had more curves than a mountain road. Curves sharp enough to warrant guardrails and warning signs.
“Gus likes to take baths,” he said. “He knows how to pop the door.”
“He knows how to pop the door?” she repeated. “Maybe you should get it fixed.”
“I have,” Mike snapped. A drop of water was making its way down Casey’s neck. It slid across her chest to disappear into a shadowy valley the towel was hiding. He found it was suddenly harder to breathe.
“You have?” Casey said. “Then how’d he get in this time?”
“I mean I’ve tried to get it fixed.” Mike took a deep breath and tried to force his eyes away from that velvety skin. They refused to obey. He concentrated instead on forming coherent sentences. “I had the lock changed and it didn’t help. I even had the door changed.”
“Right.” Her voice dripped with more sarcasm than Gus was dripping water. “I suppose he must know how to turn the knob.”
“Maybe it’s the frame,” Mike said. “I’ll have Barry look at it again.”
“That would be nice.”
Aunt Myrna had sent Casey here in order to protect her from something, but if Mike wasn’t careful she was going to need protecti
on from him. Damn, but he wanted to go over there and see if her lips tasted as sweet as they looked, feel if her skin was as velvety as it appeared.
He grabbed up a larger towel near the door and tossed it to her. “Gus,” he called sharply to the dog. “Out!”
“Don’t talk to him that way,” Casey scolded, as she wrapped the towel around her. “It’s not his fault he’s been allowed to develop bad habits.”
“Do you want him out or don’t you?”
The bigger towel didn’t make a bit of difference. He could still see the gentle curves of her calves, which led his eyes up to her knees and then her thighs, and above that, the beginnings of the sweet fullness of her buttocks. Oh, man, he needed to leave.
“Gus, out!”
Casey went over to the tub. “Sweetie,” she said to the dog. “Come out, baby. It’s Casey’s turn in the tub.”
Gus clambered out, then shook himself vigorously.
“See how easy it is when you ask nicely?” she said.
Mike just stared at her, refusing to let one single word come out of his mouth. The way his stupid mind was acting, he’d start asking nicely for all sorts of things. All sorts of—
“Casey?” Dubber’s voice rang out. It was loud—and close.
“Oh no,” Casey murmured, glancing down at her towelclad body. “Close the door.”
Mike shut it instantly.
She frowned at him. “I meant with you on the outside,” she whispered harshly.
“Be specific, will you?” He took a deep breath, then casually sauntered out into the hall, carefully closing the door behind him. Dubber was at the top of the stairs, looking around.
“Oh, hi, Mike,” the boy said. “You know where Casey is? I wanted to ask her something.”
“Uh, actually…” Damn. Mike took a deep breath. “I can give her a message if you’d like.”
Dubber’s face fell. “That’s okay. It wasn’t anything important. I gotta get to school.” He trudged back down the stairs.
Mike watched him go, feeling that he and the boy had something in common. So much for the immunity he’d thought he had to Miss Casey Crawford’s mesmerizing rays. The difference was that he wasn’t giving in to them. Hey, if Darcy’s defection hadn’t gotten to him, then Casey wouldn’t, either.
Christmas Magic Page 3
