Home For the Holidays

by Lisa Plumley

  “I’m so glad I ran into you,” she said.

  “Me, too.” Angela wrote something on a slip of Santa Claus themed notepaper, then pressed it in Rachel’s hand. “Here’s my phone number. We should get together sometime soon.”

  “Of course. Sure!”

  Angela smiled. “I really mean it. It would be fun.”

  “Oh.” Flummoxed by the sincerity in Angela’s voice, Rachel gazed at her. “You do mean it. Okay. I’ll call you.”

  It was going to take awhile to get her bearings here in Kismet. The mounted fish heads weren’t the only things she’d forgotten about when she’d left town for L.A.

  “But first, there’s someone here I want you to meet.”

  Grabbing her hand, Angela towed her into the depths of The Big Foot. Scrambling along in the semidarkness on her stiletto boots, Rachel ducked between crowded tables, glimpsing faces lit by neon liquor signs. People turned her way. Murmuring started.

  Oh no. This wasn’t what she’d planned. All she’d wanted was to dodge the incessant questioning—and the Christmas decorating—at her parents’ house. She wasn’t ready for either one.

  Self-consciously, Rachel smoothed her skirt. With her heart pounding in rhythm with the screeching guitar music and her nostrils twitching at the skunky odor of spilled beer, she followed Angela all the way to a corner table. Really, Angela ought to consider a finer wale corduroy. And maybe a more feminine top. Because while polyester knit was practical…

  A man glanced up questioningly. Her breath stopped.

  Reno Wright. Here. Again.

  He looked even better than he had a day and a half ago. She guessed a shower and shave did that for a man. Also, not having just come from an hours-long layover in a cramped pickup truck. His face was strong and handsome, his hair a little mussed, his expression…horrified. Barely stopping on Angela, he sent his gaze straight to Rachel. Which was rude. Honestly. If he—

  Wright. Angela Wright. And Reno Wright. Oh. Aha.

  “Where’s Nate?” Angela demanded in an accusatory voice.

  For an instant, Reno simply couldn’t tear his gaze away from Rachel. She was wearing one of those short skirts again. And those crazy-colored tights that made a man feel imaginative. And those boots. Ah, those boots. You just didn’t see boots like those around Kismet. Maybe she was a hallucination. A sexy fantasy his brain had conjured up due to the stress of becoming an unwilling matchmaker for his best friend.

  “Reno!” Angela barked. “Where’s Nate?”

  Startled, Reno glanced up. Keeping his voice purposefully low, he angled his chin toward the other side of the bar. “Nate recognized Rachel and developed a sudden need to shoot pool.”

  “What? Oh, please…”

  “Seriously, he turned white as a ghost.”

  At this revelation, Angela glanced around. Her gaze finally came to rest on a big-eyed, cue-nibbling Nate, hiding behind a fat square pillar near the pool tables. She sighed.

  She and Reno looked at Rachel.

  Who appeared puzzled. And sexy. And sweet.

  Damn it. Why sweet? Why now? She was making a liar of him.

  “I thought you were staying home all week,” he said.

  “I couldn’t take the run up to Christmas with my parents and all their gung-ho friends. I’m hiding out here.”

  He remembered Rachel ripping up his impromptu sign at the airport. Let’s keep my arrival between ourselves, okay?

  “You seem to do that a lot. Hiding out I mean.”

  “When I’m not trapped in the grimemobile.”

  “Hey, it’s a good truck.”

  “With inadequate room for luggage.”

  “I fixed that.” Reno scanned her up and down. “But you still haven’t figured out that it’s wintertime.”

  He got up and yanked off his Scorpions sweatshirt, then handed it to her. “Here. Next time, bring a coat.”

  Rachel recoiled. “No thanks! That thing has a cartoon football on it. And it’s made of cotton.” She shuddered.

  So much for chivalry. Reno balled up his sweatshirt, a little miffed on behalf of his former championship team.

  “Wait a minute,” Angela interrupted, glancing wide-eyed between them. “You don’t like football?”

  “I like the tight pants,” Rachel mused. “And a nice Super Bowl party is fun. Things are so dead until award-show season.”

  In patent disbelief, Reno and Angela both gawked at her.

  “You don’t know who Reno is then,” Angela said. “Wow.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” Reno didn’t want to get into it.

  “No.” Glancing between them, Rachel frowned. “Who is he?”

  “Only the most in-demand, highest ranked, most popular—”

  “Angela, aren’t you late to pick up Kayla?”

  “—rookie kicker drafted in the NFL in the last ten years,” his sister finished proudly. “Reno was a superstar. Huge.”

  “Hmmm.” Rachel nodded. “That explains the attitude.”

  Angela burst out laughing. “That clinches it. You’re officially not from Kismet anymore. Most of the women around here swoon when Reno and his football fortune swagger by.”

  “Really?” Rachel arched her eyebrow. “Go figure.”

  Kind of affronted, Reno slugged more beer.

  “Uh-oh. Look,” Angela said. “He’s pouting now.”

  “Aww. Would it help if I waved some pom-poms around?”

  Intrigued by the idea of Rachel with pom-poms—but too annoyed to admit it—Reno zeroed in on both of them.

  He offered a bland look. “Are you two having fun?”

  “Actually, yeah.” They exchanged glances. “We are.”

  “A lot of fun.” Rachel smiled at her new pal.

  Great. They’d already bonded. That could only mean trouble.

  Deliberately, Reno focused on Angela. “See you later. Give Kayla a hug for me. And while you’re at Mom’s, tell her to quit dragging her feet on the divorce. Dad’s not changing his mind.”

  At least that’s the way it looked right now. Reno wanted his mom to be prepared for that, so she wouldn’t get hurt.

  His sister merely stared at him, looking deflated. “Geez, Reno. She only asked him if they were still going to work on the Kismet Christmas decorating committee together this year.”

  “If there’s any way they can get out of it…My guess would be no.”

  Angela put her hand on her hip. “You don’t have to be all hardcore macho about this, Reno.”

  “I’m being realistic.” If he were lucky, he was also being irritating enough to scare his dad out of the born-again bachelorhood Tom Wright seemed determined to turn his golden years into. But he didn’t want to get Angela’s hopes up. It was a big brother’s job to protect his sister. “You should be, too.”

  “That’s not realistic, it’s lame. Have you forgotten the whole story, or what? Geez, Reno. It’s almost Christmas!”

  “What story?” Rachel piped up, looking interested.

  “My genius dad,” Angela confided in disgusted tones, “ate a delicious Thanksgiving dinner this year, cooked by my mom, then whipped out his checkbook and handed her a blank check.”

  “What for?” Rachel asked.

  “He told her, and I quote”—she paused for emphasis—“it would ‘save all the trouble’ of buying each other gifts.”

  “No. He didn’t!”

  “Yes, he did.” Angela nodded. “And after forty years of marriage, too. It’s a crying shame. They’ve been split ever since, and all because of one stupid blank check.”

  “It all made sense,” Reno felt compelled to point out. He’d already discussed this issue with his dad. “It would have saved a lot of trouble. Mom is hard to find gifts for.”

  “Making sense isn’t the point. Dad hurt Mom’s feelings. If he’d just get off his high horse and apologize for once—”

  “Seriously.” Reno stopped her with his palm in the air. He shafted a sideways glance at Rache
l. “This isn’t the best time.”

  Angela frowned. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Rachel. I just hate all this family conflict. Especially at Christmastime.”

  She had that right. Angela typically went out of her way to smooth things over. She was even nice to telemarketers.

  Now she was being nice to Rachel, the unwitting focus of Reno’s unwanted matchmaking assignment. While he debated the likelihood that she and her boots would conveniently vanish to L.A. before Nate reappeared from the pool tables, his sister turned to Rachel, gave her a hug, then said her good-byes.

  “Reno’s going out to cut down a Christmas tree tomorrow night,” Angela told Rachel eagerly. “You should go with him.”

  What was she, nuts? “No, I don’t think—” Reno began.

  “It would be a good chance for you and Nate to spend some time with Rachel,” Angela persisted. “Don’t you think so, Reno?”

  Oh, yeah. That damn matchmaking mission.

  “Good idea. I’ll go make sure we’re on with Nate.”

  Scraping back his chair, Reno headed for the pool tables. Partway there, he glanced back to find Rachel settling in—at his sister’s urging—at his table, crossing her legs and tossing her mass of dark glossy hair, looking wildly out of place but also looking outrageously good while doing it. Damn. How was he supposed to not have a continuation of what they’d done together if Angela kept pushing Rachel at him at every opportunity?

  On the other side of the bar, patrons leaned against the wall beside The Big Foot’s two pool tables, watching the action. The jukebox was here, for use when there wasn’t a live band. So was the cue rack, extra chalk, and a whole lot of wood paneling.

  Nate, however, was nowhere in sight.

  Persistently, Reno circled the tables. He gazed across the smoky bar and even checked out the stage (Nate had once played drums in middle school band). In the end, he found his buddy, flushed and panicky, holed up in the alcove near the pay phone.

  Reno tapped his shoulder. “Hey, what’s with the running away? Rachel’s right over there, waiting to meet you.”

  Nate balked. “No. No, I can’t meet her right now! Are you crazy?” He ran his hand through his cropped hair. “I need some hair gel. Maybe a new shirt. And definitely a better opening line than uhhhhh. Which is all I’ve come up with so far.”

  Reno quirked his mouth. “Some girls find a perfect dial tone imitation charming.”

  “Not her. Not Rachel.” Penned in the alcove, Nate still managed to pace, consuming the space with his broad shoulders. “She’s special. Look, just make some excuse for me, okay? I wasn’t prepared this time. But with a little more warning, things between me and Rachel will be killer. You’ll see.”

  Reno stepped sideways, far enough to see beyond the corner of the alcove and get a view of the rest of The Big Foot. Now Rachel was chatting with the people at the next table, all of whom were smiling and laughing. Two eager-looking men arrived with drinks for her, then slid into the unoccupied seats.

  “You’d better hurry,” Reno warned. “She’s popular.”

  Appearing stricken, Nate glanced out. “Oh God.”

  That decided it. Unwanted mission or not, Reno couldn’t dick around. Nate’s happiness—however temporary—depended on it. He had to make this “dream girl” thing happen. He had to cook up the perfect dating game plan for Nate…and keep his friend from getting crushed when Rachel left, besides.

  “She’s going Christmas tree-cutting with us tomorrow.”

  Nate turned puppy-dog grateful eyes on him. “She is?”

  A nod. Reno gave Nate the details, then exacted a promise from his friend to show up. “Angela arranged it. Thank her.”

  “I can’t thank her right now.” Nate grabbed his throat, shoving at his shirt collar. “I think I’m hyperventilating.”

  “Relax. Everything will be fine.”

  Reno glanced at their table again. Drinks cluttered the surface, piling up for Rachel. Local lotharios swarmed along with smiling, gossipy women. Everyone appeared to love her.

  Following his gaze, Nate grabbed Reno’s arm. “Jesus, they’re on her like coconut on a German chocolate cake!”

  Perplexed, Reno raised his eyebrows.

  Impatiently, Nate waggled his fingers. “We’re on a layer cake unit. That sticky coconut icing is one mean motherfu—”

  “You’ve got to find a new teaching gig next year.”

  “Just promise me one thing.” With urgency blazing from his eyes, Nate stared Reno down. “Promise me you’ll keep an eye on Rachel for me okay? Just until I get my shit together.”

  Oh no. N-O. Running interference was one thing. Taking over the play himself was stepping over the line. Reno didn’t know what might happen. “Nate, come on. You don’t need me to—”

  “You’re the only one I trust!” His buddy shook his arm. “Promise, Reno! Make sure she doesn’t get with one of those smart-talking, drink-buying assclowns before I make my move.”

  Awww, hell. Given the way Reno was starting to feel about Rachel Porter, he might qualify as one of those assclowns himself. But looking at the desperation in Nate’s eyes, Reno knew he had no other choice. He was going to regret this, but…

  “I won’t let Rachel get with an assclown. I promise.”

  His friend—his best friend—sagged with relief. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He’d make sure it wasn’t, Reno promised himself. Whatever it took. He had self-discipline, right?

  He was famous for self-discipline. Even when faced with a smile like the one Rachel wore right now, dazzling and warm and flirtatious and kind, all at once.

  Appalled at himself, Reno jerked back into the alcove.

  Operation Nate and Rachel was officially on. How hard could it possibly be, Reno asked himself, to get a romance going between the Incredible Hulk and Tight Pants L.A. Barbie?

  Beside him, Nate stuck his head around the corner again. He gazed out for a minute. Then he propped his chin in his hand, an enraptured expression on his big, former lineman’s mug.

  “Just look at her, Reno.” Wistfully, Nate sighed. “All I want in the world right now—all I want for Christmas this year—is Rachel Porter. That girl right there.”

  Reno didn’t have to look. Because all of a sudden, he feared, he wanted exactly the same thing.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The knock on the bedroom door came when Rachel’s hair was still wet from her shower. Caught in the midst of texting Cody—her former pop star client—to see if she could outfit him for the Teen Choice Awards viewing party he usually went to at Lance Bass’s house, she jerked her head around.

  “It’s open. Come in.”

  Her mom pushed open the door, stepping into the weak December sunlight from the nearby window and bringing in two mugs of coffee. In Christmas cups. Naturally. The fragrance of freshly brewed beans competed with the Holly Jolly air freshener plug-in and the Holiday Alpine potpourri beside the bed.

  Canceling her text message, Rachel shoved her cell phone beneath her pillow. Then, not waiting to see if her mom had noticed what she’d been doing, she accepted her coffee.

  “Thanks.” She turned to the bureau, resting place for her handbag, her jewelry, and her vitamins. She popped three supplements, swallowed a dose of omega-3 oil, then ripped open a chocolate fudge protein bar. Her stash was getting low, but she wouldn’t be here long anyway. “Breakfast time. Cheers.”

  As they clinked mugs, her mother’s gaze landed on her vitamins and protein bar. “I’ve got a nice fruit salad in the fridge—red and green apples. Christmas colors! It’s very pretty. And there must be four boxes of your father’s high-fiber cereal in the kitchen. You go ahead and help yourself, honey.”

  “I’m fine, Mom. I’ve got everything I need right here.”

  “Wouldn’t you like some eggs? I only have egg substitute these days, because I’m watching my cholesterol, but it’s pretty good. I could scramble you up a plate of eggs and toast.”

 
; “No thanks. Don’t go to any trouble for me.”

  A pause. “Would you rather go out for breakfast? I know you’re probably used to the Hollywood Denny’s or something—”

  “Mom.” Smiling, Rachel gave her mother a hug. In her nubbly sweater and elastic-waist jeans, she felt exactly as lovable as she always had. Rachel added another squeeze for extra measure. “I like my protein bars. I always know what I’m getting.”

  “Artificial flavors and chemicals from New Jersey?”

  “No, ten grams of soy protein and some fiber.”

  “This you choose over apples?”

  “Yum.” Feeling her smile broaden for the first time since she’d arrived, Rachel leaned back, coffee still in hand. She took a sip as she gazed at her mom. From this close, her mother’s freckles were visible. So were a few more wrinkles.

  Beneath both, though, was the same woman who’d talked Rachel through her first heartrending breakup in seventh grade. The same woman who’d helped her sew her first prom dress (not knowing that Rachel intended to flash the bikini she’d worn beneath it just as soon as Alanis Morissette came on—Go Girl Power!) The same woman who’d tearfully waved her off on the road to California with a rented U-Haul and a suitcase full of Pepto-Bismol, contraceptives, and a hardware-store tool kit (“just to cover all the bases, honey.”)

  Rachel wasn’t sure when her mother had gotten to be both a little shorter and a little stronger than she was, but she did know one thing for sure. “I love you, Mom. I’m glad to be home.”

  “Aww, honey. I love you, too.” Another squeeze. Her mom sat on the bed, then sipped some coffee and offered a no-nonsense look. “Now tell me what’s the matter, because you sure as heck didn’t come home to visit this year just for giggles.”

  Exactly at the moment he scraped his shovel along the last uncleared section of snowy walkway, Reno heard the door behind him creak open. Then came a feminine exclamation and footsteps along the porch. Damn it. He’d almost gotten away clean.

  Deftly, he flipped his shovelful of snow onto the neat pile he’d already made. His breath puffed in the air with the exertion, frosting over part of his scarf. If he turned back, he’d see the path leading from the street to his neighbor’s house, cleared of snowdrifts for the first time in days.