Christmas Magic

by Andrea Edwards

  “He ran home to get a ticket for me,” Casey said. “His class is putting on A Christmas Carol tonight and he has a part in it.”

  Mike grunted. He was getting a little tired of the smile in her voice every time she talked about Dubber, and the scolding in her voice when she talked to him. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?

  Dubber came rushing into the kitchen. “Here’s your ticket, Casey.”

  “How much do I owe you?” she asked.

  “Nothing. It’s my treat.”

  “You got another ticket on you?” Mike asked.

  “Sure.” Dubber pulled a stub out of his pocket and held it out to him. “They’re two dollars.”

  “Okay.” Mike counted four dollars out of his billfold. “Here you go.”

  Dubber returned two dollars to him. “I said they were two bucks apiece.”

  “That’s okay,” Mike replied. “I was paying for Casey’s and mine.”

  “You can’t pay for Casey’s,” Dubber said. “Hers is my treat.”

  Mike noticed the boy’s voice had risen and he suddenly seemed a bit pink in the face. Boy, talk about being wound tight Mike took back the two dollars Dubber was holding out.

  “What part do you have in the play?” Casey asked.

  “I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past.” Dubber’s mood changed as quickly as his voice. “Scrooge learns a lot about himself from the different ghosts.”

  “Christmas Past is one of my favorites,” Casey said.

  Mike turned away. Whoever heard of a favorite ghost?

  “My grandma says Mike could learn a lot from the ghost that lives in this house,” Dubber said.

  Mike spun around to glare at the boy. “There’s no ghost here.”

  “She says the ghost that lives here denied himself a pure love, so that’s why he has to spend eternity in pain.”

  Damn. Women, kids…nobody listened these days. “Dubber, go out and clean the drive.”

  “All right.” The kid gave Casey a big smile. “See you at the play.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Casey replied. “Thank you for asking me.”

  Mike considered reminding Dubber that he was going, too, but it was more than obvious that the kid didn’t care. Mike took the time to glare out the window above the sink while the boy bounced out the back door.

  Casey moved next to him, putting an arm around his. “Looks like you need to get to bed.”

  Her touch shot jolts of electricity through him; her words awoke all sorts of images that his electrified body wanted to pursue. His hands running over her smooth skin, his lips trailing down that tempting hollow that that droplet had followed weeks ago…

  “I’m fine,” he said, holding himself stiffly. “I’m used to late hours and double shifts.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  Did she really want him to list the reasons why he didn’t? The touch of her hand. Her clean, womanly scent. The sparkle in her eyes…“I don’t like sitting around the house,” he said.

  “You’ve been gone for almost twenty-four hours,” she argued. “What in the world do you want to do?”

  He forced his gaze away from her smile, from her lips and from those tempting, wonderful curves. That was not a question she really wanted an answer to.

  “I’ve been sitting in a car for forever,” he said. “I need to work the stiffness out of my joints before I sleep, and Gus is tired of walks.”

  “I saw some sleds in the garage. Is there a sledding hill near here?”

  “Butcher’s Hill,” he replied, nodding.

  “So are you game?” she asked, her voice light with hope and laughter.

  He made the mistake of turning to look at her, of looking into those green eyes that had been trying for days to capture his soul. He was lost. In a split second, three quarters of the oxygen disappeared from the room and the temperature went up to about 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. All he could do was marvel at the promises of glory that those eyes made.

  “Come on.” She stepped back, picking up her coat. “Don’t be such an old poop. It’ll be fun.”

  With distance between them, even just a few feet, the temperature returned to normal and he could breath again. “When are you going to learn not to annoy someone bigger than you?” he asked.

  “Maybe after I’m done sledding,” she said, laughing.

  He went to get his coat—only to discover his gloves were gone. “Your cat’s been thieving again,” he said. “Have you considered therapy for her?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t leave them out,” she said as she went into the hallway.

  “Sure, blame the victim,” he called after her. He could hear her footsteps on the stairs.

  Gus came to the doorway to look at him. “It would be nice if you would remember you’re my dog,” Mike told him as he pulled on his coat. “You’re supposed to be protecting my property, not letting those little buggers rip me off. If she stays around here much longer, I won’t have anything left.”

  But what did he have now? He was constantly losing his breath around her. His sanity was questionable. And his dog had deserted him. Good thing his heart was locked up tight.

  “Here they are,” she said, producing his gloves. A little bit of red fuzz clung to one.

  “You have a red glove thief now?” he asked.

  She just laughed and plucked the fuzz off. “She hid them under my robe.”

  So the gloves had gone where he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Shouldn’t. He just pulled them on and tried not to think about anything else.

  They went out to the garage, retrieved a pair of old plastic sleds, then walked down the street to the park. This was crazy, he told himself. He hadn’t gone sledding in years. He ought to be home, taking a nap. But then he looked over at Casey next to him and wondered what it would be like to go down the hill on a sled together. To have her pressed up against him as they raced toward the bottom. To have his arms wrapped around her to keep her safe. Like a dream, he thought, and one that was best not lived in real life.

  When they got to the sledding hill, Mike saw it was a good news-bad news situation. The recent snowfall had been a good one—heavy and wet in the beginning and powdery afterward, creating a great surface for sledding. The bad news was that the hill was filled with kids.

  “Keep your eyes open when you’re on the hill,” he warned Casey. “You blink and one of these kamikaze sledders will wipe you out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Mike sighed. Casey was back to her womanly tricks again—pert, smart alecky and totally uninterested in what he had to say.

  “Fine,” he said. “Don’t listen to me. But if you get knocked down, don’t lay there whining and crying, expecting me to run up and rescue you.”

  “I’m not the crying-and-whining type,” she said, and walked over to the top of the hill.

  “No, I can see that.”

  “I also don’t believe in waiting around for rescue,” she said.

  “Makes it tough for your knight in shining armor,” he said.

  “Don’t believe in them, either.” She set her sled in place.

  “You believe in ghosts but not knights in shining armor?”

  She stooped down with one knee in her sled, but squinted up at him. “Sure. I may be impressionable, but I’m not stupid.” She pushed off with her free foot and went careening down the hill.

  Mike just stood there, watching her. What was that supposed to mean—she was impressionable but not stupid? He got into his sled and followed her down. Some kids got in the way and he had to veer off the icy path, stopping far short of where she had.

  She picked up her sled and came over by him. “Not much of a run,” she said. “I beat you.”

  “You want me to run over some kids?” He picked up his sled and they started the trek back up the hill. “So how come you don’t believe in knights in shining armor?”

  “I don’t like the whole concept of rescue,” she said
. “It’s so…so…so beholding. If I’m in trouble, I’ll get myself out.”

  Maybe Aunt Myrna was right in keeping it a secret that she’d sent Casey here for her own protection. “That’s not always possible.”

  “Then you leave it to the professionals,” she said. “You don’t mix it up with emotions. Who’d want to be loved because of gratitude?”

  They’d reached the top again, and she took advantage of a lull in the sledding to push herself off. Who would want to be loved because of gratitude? Not him, but then he wasn’t looking for love, attached to other emotions or otherwise.

  They must have sledded for the better part of an hour, racing down and leaving their worries at the top of the hill. It had been a long time since Mike’d had so much fun. Casey was a great companion—lively, athletic and full of laughter.

  “We should be heading home,” she said as they ended a run. “It’s going to get dark soon and I’m sure our babies are wondering where we are.”

  It was getting dark, but Mike didn’t want to go home. “Let’s do one more.”

  “And then we’ll go home?”

  “One more run, but on one sled,” he said.

  She gave him a wary look, but tossed her sled off to the side. “But just one more.”

  Up at the top of the hill, she got onto his sled and he pushed them off, jumping on at the last minute. For one glorious, all-too-short moment, they raced down the hill with her leaning into him, wisps of her hair flying about him and his arms holding her as tightly as he wanted.

  It was crazy. It was stupid. It was playing with fire, just to see if he could touch her and not get burned. He let his lips brush the top of her hat. He let her scent surround him. He felt a fire start to smolder in him, and for that moment he let it burn. There was a sudden wildness about him, an urge to fly into the face of the wind and let his hungers take them where they would.

  But then they reached the base of the hill and coasted to a stop. The ride was over and so was his reckless abandon. She was pulling away from him, the same smile on her lips that was always there. To her, it had just been another sled ride. Which was fine with Mike. Just the way he wanted it.

  While she got her sled, he picked up his, feeling unbelievably weary in body and soul.

  “You still awake?” Casey leaned closer to Mike in the dark auditorium and whispered, “Dubber’ll be coming on in a minute.”

  “I’m awake,” Mike assured her, though his voice said he wouldn’t be for long.

  He should have skipped the play, Casey thought. Or the sledding. He’d been exhausted when they’d gotten back to the house, but he’d insisted on helping make dinner, then cleaning up, and then taking Gus out to play ball for a while. Maybe he feared he’d fall asleep if he stopped for long.

  Dubber came on the stage then, rattling chains and shouting his lines. Casey nudged Mike.

  “I’m awake,” he said.

  “Stay that way long enough to remember something to comment on,” she whispered back.

  The play was a rather abridged version, short enough not to let the youngsters in the audience get bored, but long enough to tell the story. The main interest most people had in it, though, was seeing their own child. Every time a new character came on stage, there would be applause and the flash of cameras going off. Dubber’s entrance was no exception.

  As the play went on, Mike sighed softly, and Casey could feel his weariness. She should have insisted that he go to bed, even if she had to put him there herself. The very thought caused her cheeks to turn hot, and she was grateful for the darkness of the auditorium. She had thought that, knowing how they reacted to each other’s touch, they could avoid trouble just by avoiding touches. What a fool she’d been.

  All her heart needed to start racing was the sound of his voice. All her mind needed to dream of caresses was to see his hands. She had gotten a lot of work done on the family history in the past few days, but she wasn’t sure how. It seemed that all she ever thought about was Mike.

  Suddenly, loud applause broke out and the auditorium lights went on. Casey joined in the clapping as the actors came out for bows, then in a few minutes, she and Mike joined the crowd trooping out into the hallway, where refreshment tables were set up.

  “Tiffany certainly put an interesting spin on her role,” Casey said. “Whoever saw the Ghost of Christmas Future in a karate outfit?”

  “How many sober people have seen a ghost of any kind?”

  Dubber came out into the hall, still wearing his ghostly chains. “Hi, Casey,” he said. “How’d you like it?”

  “It was just great,” she said, and gave him a hug. “You were the best Ghost of Christmas Past I’ve ever seen.”

  He turned beet red before moving on to greet his family.

  “Well, you made his day,” Mike said. “Maybe his year.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” Casey said.

  Mike was exhausted, and she was ready to call it a day, too, so they turned toward the exit. Down the hall and then to their right. They were almost to the door when they heard a voice behind them.

  “Miss Crawford.” Tiffany was bearing down on them, still wearing her white karate outfit. “I thought we had an understanding.”

  “Tiffany, I’m sorry I—”

  “Didn’t I tell you to keep your hands off my man?”

  “It was just a quick hug,” Casey said.

  “Did you or did you not accept a ticket for tonight’s performance from him?” Tiffany demanded.

  “He was just being friendly.”

  “Ha! I bet that’s what Mrs. Robinson said.”

  “Who is Mrs. Robinson?” Mike asked.

  “Don’t play the innocent, Mr. Burnette.” Tiffany turned her attention to Mike. “This is as much your fault as anybody’s. If you’d occupy her time like a real man, she wouldn’t be out cruising.”

  “Casey is out cruising?” Mike asked.

  “All right, people. Listen up.” The barefoot little thug commanded their attention. “This is the second time I’ve had to talk to you, Miss Crawford. Once more will be your third strike and you’ll be out.”

  The girl turned to Mike. “And as for you, Mr. Burnette, I’m making this woman your responsibility. She obviously has too much time on her hands. I want you to fill that void in her life.”

  “What?”

  “Old people should play their games with other old people,” Tiffany said. “And leave us kids alone.”

  With that, she turned on her bare heel and stomped off down the corridor. They stared after her until she disappeared around a far bend, then they turned to each and started to laugh.

  “Why didn’t you do something?” Casey asked.

  “Hey, I don’t want to tangle with that kid. She’s tough.”

  “You could have at least pointed out that we aren’t old.”

  “I don’t think that was what she wanted to hear,” Mike said, moving toward the door. “Maybe I should talk to her father.”

  They went out into the night, meeting a blast of wintery wind head-on. Mike slipped his arm around Casey’s shoulders and she moved closer to him. It was warmer there—safer, too. A place to run to when the storms were coming and the wind was blowing. It was a strange sense, a strange feeling for her, the great rescuer, to feel as if she was being rescued.

  They got to his car, but neither made a move to get inside. Or even to step apart. They just turned, moving closer if anything, and the world around them disappeared. There was no snow, no howling winds, no school parking lot. It was just the two of them with a growing warmth surrounding them.

  Mike leaned down, touching her lips with a electricity that shot through her. Reaching up, standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him back, meeting his fever with one of her own. His hunger with hers. There was nothing but their lips joined in wonder and magic. Then his mouth covered hers, his tongue slid between her lips and touched hers. Darting and dancing, teasing and tempting. Her knees went wobbly and she had to hold on t
ighter, had to let her arms encircle his neck, had to cling to him as if she was lost and only he knew the way back home.

  They parted after an eternity had passed and found that they were still in the parking lot. Still by Mike’s car. Casey took a deep, steadying breath and leaned back against the door. This was so unlike her. She’d been kissed before, but the earth had never moved. Winter had never been traded for summer for those moments of bliss. She felt worried, vulnerable and as if she ought to look for a place to hide.

  “Well, let’s hope Tiffany was watching,” she said, not meeting Mike’s eyes. She stared at the car tracks and footprints in the snow. The frost from her own breath. The little fuzzy pills on her mittens. “Maybe she’ll believe I’m not after Dubber.”

  “Maybe she’ll think I’m filling that void in your life.” Mike’s voice was none too steady, either.

  She brought her eyes up to his. Slowly. Uncertainly. Then found her gaze caught in the trap of his blue blue eyes. For one blessed moment, his soul spoke to hers, their hearts danced in unison. Then a shade seemed to come down, and he blinked away the intimacy.

  Casey felt as if she’d been suddenly set loose, a kite whose string was cut. She was glad. It was what she wanted. But she felt a bit unsteady, too, as if the wind was just carrying her along in any old direction.

  “Anything to keep Tiffany nonviolent,” she joked.

  “Anything?” he asked.

  There was a tremor in his voice that set her heartstrings playing a soft melody. She was being swept away and didn’t care a bit.

  “Anything,” she repeated softly, not sure any longer that she was talking about Tiffany.

  Chapter Eight

  Mike gripped the wheel tightly and concentrated on his driving, trying to outrun the gloom that was close on his heels. The roads were pretty good, but there still were slick spots that he needed to watch for. Sort of like living with Casey. It was pretty relaxed and comfortable, but every once in a while they’d hit an icy patch and have the complacency skid out from under them.