Home For the Holidays

by Lisa Plumley

  “Working on some computers?” Knowingly, Rachel nodded at his reading glasses. “Did you get a lot of them this year?”

  He nodded. “People are upgrading like crazy these days, but they don’t know what to do with their old equipment. I can usually find someone who wants it though.”

  Throughout the year, her retired father collected broken, outdated, or unwanted personal computers and other electronics from the community. He repaired them, souped them up with new components, parts, and processors, then donated them all as Christmas presents for Kismet children and teens in need.

  He’d become famous for it, down to a Gerry Porter profile in the Kismet Comet newspaper every December. Rachel was a little hazy on the technical details, but she was proud of her dad for his hard work and expertise.

  “And you’re dodging me again,” he continued. “Maybe you’ve forgotten—I’ve known you your whole life. I know when you’re hiding something. I’m a stubborn old cuss these days, and I’m not going to quit, so you might as well fess up.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. “You’re not so old.”

  “Ha. Just stubborn and a cuss, huh?”

  “Well…somebody taught me to call a spade a spade.” Her mom must have ratted her out, Rachel realized. She’d managed to sidestep her mother’s questions about her return to Kismet this morning by describing her need for a warm winter coat (the one black hole in her California-based wardrobe) to go Christmas tree-cutting with Reno and his friend Nate—and asking permission to raid the closets and attic for materials. “And I’ve got to get back to this if I want to finish in time. I’m already taking a shortcut by taping the hem, so—”

  Her dad interrupted. “Why are you avoiding Christmas?”

  Gulp. Rachel hadn’t seen it that way. But now that her father mentioned it…there was some truth there. She had been avoiding Christmas and everything that went with it. Just as if she were still in an Alayna-style holiday boycott time warp.

  Uncomfortably, she glanced at him. Her father looked smaller and a little more grizzled around the edges, but he also looked as though he wasn’t taking no for an answer. She was trapped this time. Her mother had sent in the big guns.

  Caught, Rachel scoffed. When in doubt, just deny was her new motto. It would work as well here as it did in L.A.

  “How can I avoid Christmas in here?” She gestured to the bedroom’s candy-cane patterned bedding, the “holiday penguin” rug, the Frosty the Snowman lamp, and the miniature holly-wreath drawer pulls. Not to mention the Victorian carolers wall hanging and the foot-high shiny silver futuristic tree with neon-colored ornaments. “It looks like Santa’s secret love shack.”

  “Your mother went a little overboard, I’ll agree. But she was so excited to have you coming home for a visit. We both were. When we got your phone call, we spent the whole afternoon in the Christmas section at the Bargain Hut downtown, getting ready.”

  Shamefaced, Rachel ducked her head. The Singer’s bobbin thread was in serious danger of getting tangled. It probably required all her focus for a minute. There. That was better.

  “Did something happen in L.A., honey?” her father pressed.

  “What could possibly happen, Dad? Life is great.”

  Or at least it would be, once she finessed it a little.

  “You know you can talk to us about anything.”

  “I know. Thank you.” Swamped with affection for him, Rachel blinked away a wash of tears. Her stupid tear ducts were really working overtime lately. First the Made kids, now this. At least her cold had vanished since leaving L.A. So had her chronic headaches and acid reflux. “But if I don’t get cracking on this coat, I’m going to freeze to death tonight.”

  “Yeah, your mother told me you were going out tree-cutting with Reno Wright. Good man. He had everything with the NFL—gave it all up to come back home and support his sister.”

  Startled, Rachel glanced at her dad. “Angela?”

  “That’s the one. Nice girl. Too nice to wind up pregnant, abandoned, and heartbroken, all in the same week—but that’s what happened. Some punk ditched her. There was a little gossip going around when she had her kid a few years ago—she never did find a husband, you know—but not as much as you might think. Kismet’s a small town, but it’s progressive these days.”

  With her head spinning, Rachel nodded. She’d had no idea Reno had abandoned NFL superstardom for the sake of his sister.

  “We’ve even got one of those spray-on suntan places here in town,” her dad was saying. “And the Movie Hut down by the marina carries DVDs now. Two whole rows of them.”

  “That’s great, Dad.”

  “Don’t patronize me, missy,” her father warned with a twinkle in his eyes. “I told your mother I couldn’t find the DVD of It’s a Wonderful Life for the Christmas movie marathon she’s planning with you, but it might turn up at any second.”

  “Eeek! Not Jimmy Stewart and Bedford Falls!”

  “When you were a little girl, you watched that every year.”

  “I’m not a little girl anymore, Dad.” And I’m not getting sucked into Christmas this year. Period.

  With a sigh, her father stood. “Maybe not. But I still saved your special ornaments for you to hang on the tree.”

  “That old stuff? Made of glue and macaroni and glitter?” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s so cornball, Dad. Come on.”

  “The Hendricksons wanted to have a go at them, but I said those were all yours this year. It’s tradition, right?”

  Squeezed by a sudden wave of nostalgia, Rachel smiled at him. “You bet. Just as soon as I finish this coat.”

  And bolt out the door when you’re not looking.

  She simply wasn’t ready for Christmas yet, and that was that.

  Chapter Sixteen

  That night, everything changed. At least temporarily.

  Denying that fact even as she realized it, Rachel flopped on her back beside Reno, feeling pleasantly exhausted and a little out of breath. Her arms and legs tingled. Her cheeks still felt warm with the flush she knew must be on her face.

  Closing her eyes, she let her hand touch his. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again. Especially not with you.”

  Reno wriggled, making himself more comfortable. He released a macho sigh. “What’s the matter? You can’t take it?”

  “Well…”

  “Because you seemed to be enjoying it a minute ago.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t make me do it again, just to prove it.”

  He didn’t have to, and they both knew it. She’d been there, too, luxuriating in the sheer naughtiness of being with him…doing the very thing she’d been trying so hard to resist.

  “You do realize,” Rachel said, turning on her side so she could gaze unabashedly at his profile, “that whatever threat you’re trying to make is completely undermined by the way you’re smiling, right? You look like someone who just scored a home run goalpost…thing.”

  “That’s a touchdown. And you whooped out loud.” He gave her a lazy, satisfied grin. “The sound probably carried for miles.”

  “I couldn’t help it! You started it. I only came out here for an innocent Christmas tree-cutting expedition.” Of all things. Although it had gotten her out of a caroling outing with Bidie Niedermeyer, the Fowlers, the Hendricksons, and her parents. “That’s it. Everything else is your fault.”

  “That’s the way you want to play it, huh?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Sensing snow melting into the seat of her pants, Rachel squirmed. Good thing she’d whipped up that makeshift winter coat. Her extremities felt toasty warm, thanks to all the, uh, activity. But her nose was starting to get cold, which probably wasn’t surprising given that they were outdoors, surrounded by snow-frosted pine trees standing shoulder to shoulder in the December evening. For a Christmas tree farm (which Reno had explained was what this was), the place was pretty nice.

  It wasn’t exactly the Hotel Bel-Air of cour
se. But still.

  Beside her, Reno adjusted the battery-powered camp light he’d brought, making its glow sparkle across the snowbanks. She’d forgotten snow could glitter that way. On a fallen log nearby sat the things Rachel had brought with her to amp up the ambiance—a checked woolen throw, a thermos of hot cocoa, and a backup supply of protein bars (since she’d skipped dinner). Now though, she didn’t care about efficient nutrition.

  She cared about sheer enjoyment, and the effect it was having on her resistance to Kismet and all things Kismet-related. If this got much worse—and she succumbed to any more schmaltzy holiday sentimentality—she wouldn’t have any edgy L.A.-style armor left. Before she knew it, she’d be confessing the whole awful truth to her parents.

  How she’d stumbled upon Tyson and Alayna together. How she’d lost her cool, her job, her car, and her house (in that order). How everyone had shunned her back home. Then everyone in Kismet would realize that Rachel’s big success had hit a major roadblock—one she might not be able to come back from.

  Which would be disastrous. Because weren’t her fabulous life and famous career the most amazing things about her?

  Maybe. But for now, she was holding steady. And Reno Wright was proving ideal for taking her mind off her troubles—for helping her endure the season of goodwill and bad fashions in a town that seemed jam-packed with puffy parkas, staticky hair, and cheesy Christmas overkill—all of which she’d glimpsed on the drive down Main Street, past the frozen lake, to the tree farm.

  And okay, so it was true that she’d put Kismet and all its close-knit ways behind her a long time ago. But that didn’t mean a girl couldn’t ring a few jingle bells with a cute guy, did it?

  No, it didn’t. Feeling inspired and more relaxed than she had in years, Rachel levered upward on her elbow. She inhaled deeply of the scents of icy pine and distant wood smoke, then gazed at Reno. It was possible his nose had been broken and reset—probably because of football—and his five-o’clock shadow was a little more aggressive than she preferred. And he might also have been wearing actual Polarfleece (not chic) over all those muscles of his. All the same…

  “Good thing your friend Nate isn’t here,” she said. “Otherwise, I might think twice about doing this.”

  She brought her mouth to his, feeling her toes curl at the first tentative contact. Then at the next, less tentative but remarkably moving, longer kiss that followed. Technically, Reno was at her mercy—lying there in the snow like that—and he felt warm and delicious, too, so Rachel went in for another sample.

  Mmmm. This kiss was even better, possibly because Reno got over his apparent surprise and participated fully. With a growl of approval, he opened his mouth beneath hers. He drew her closer with one gloved hand, trapping her between his dizzying warmth below and the dusky sky overhead. It was all Rachel could do not to squeal with delight…which would have destroyed her aura of coolness altogether. That was unthinkable.

  Not that gawking at him, openmouthed, when he finally ended their kiss probably made her seem all that savvy.

  She felt pretty pleased with herself though. She’d clearly dazzled him, too. Reno’s eyes looked dark, heavy-lidded, and sensual. His face, from this close, appeared rough and handsome and kind of moony-eyed. Yes, this could be an incredible Christmas vacation, Rachel thought as she studied his goofy grin and felt her own heart expand warmly in response. This could be the merriest, most unbelievable holiday getaway ever.

  “That shouldn’t have happened,” he said roughly, a frown pulling down his brows. “You don’t understand. I’m supposed to—”

  “I understand everything I need to.”

  She kissed him again, this time tucking her mittened hand beneath the nape of his neck to bring him nearer. She squashed her body against his, exhilarated by the whoosh of the breeze in the darkened pine trees, the glimmer of the snow, and the utter silence that cocooned them both in a place where the CNN crawl had never heard of Rachel Porter and no one cared about Naugahyde dresses.

  “You’ll probably get frostbite if I do what I’m thinking of doing.” Grinning, she nipped his chin, then kissed her way upward for another taste of his lips and—God, yes!—his swirling, authoritative tongue. Her whole body felt electrified with the shock of him invading her mouth. They were perfectly matched, caught in a rhythm that felt undeniable. Breathlessly, she confessed, “But I’m going to have to do it anyway.”

  Feeling liberated, Rachel peeled back Reno’s snow-caked wool scarf, then grappled with the zipper on his coat. If she could just get her hands on his chest, make her way past all the polyblend and cotton, she knew the rewards would be incredible. Even now, pushing on his chest as she tried to gain some leverage, she could tell he was rock-solid everywhere. Yum.

  Suddenly, Reno came upward to meet her, a wicked smile on his face. All at once, they were exactly the same, two people with an identical goal to get closer. Closer closer closer…

  Thwack! Something hit Rachel in the back of the head.

  Whatever it was shattered and fell to the ground in a shower of white. A snowball! She’d have recognized that melting sensation soaking into her knitted wool cap anywhere. She was a child of the frozen north after all, as hard as she tried to deny it with her nouveau California girl chic.

  Sputtering, she grabbed her head and glanced behind her—just as another snowball smacked Reno in the chest.

  “Gotcha, Uncle Reno! Ha-ha!”

  Blinking away snow, Reno peered past Rachel’s shoulder. His whole face enlivened as he spotted Kayla, his cute, giggly niece, scampering nearby in her hooded parka and mittens. She’d come Christmas tree-hunting with them and had—until now—been happily occupied with putting together a lopsided snowman in the glow from her own camp light while Rachel and Reno flopped on the ground making snow angels.

  Yes, snow angels. Rachel’s top-secret holiday vice, along with the corny Christmas carols she’d allowed Reno to induce her to sing (loudly!) during their long, stranded-on-the-highway wait. First they made snow angels beside the highway, then they’d sung carols, then they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms while parked on the side of the road to Kismet.

  She didn’t know why Reno had been able to bring out the latent Christmas spirit in her when no one else could. It was sappy and silly and embarrassing. All Rachel knew was that she didn’t want anyone else to find out about it. Or to find out about the way her resistance to moving on with Christmas (and giving up on Alayna) was corroding, bit by happy-go-lucky bit, the more time she spent with Reno.

  “That was a cheap shot, Kayla.” Flashing a grin at Rachel, Reno scooped up some snow. With deft gloved hands, he packed it together. “You’d better look out. Here I come!”

  The first snowball sailed right past the little girl’s shoulder—on purpose, Rachel realized—and exploded against a nearby pine tree. Kayla laughed. Reno did, too. Apparently, he was a big old softie at heart. He was obviously crazy about his niece, devoted and protective and fun. Watching him frolic in the snow with Kayla made something inside Rachel soften, too.

  By the time she got to her feet to join them, Reno had made three more snowballs—and looked as gleeful as a little boy as he threw them at his niece’s impromptu hiding places. Kayla peeked out from behind her snowman’s bulbous snowy torso, guffawed, then hurled another snowball of her own.

  “Still remember how to make a snowball, L.A. girl?”

  “I’m not sure. But I do remember how to do this.”

  With both hands, Rachel upended a huge pile of snow on Reno’s head. She scrubbed it in the way she’d done as a kid, squirming to stay out of reach as Reno yelled in surprise. He groped blindly for her while Kayla hooted in approval.

  “Hey, you’re supposed to be on my side!” Reno shouted.

  “We girls have to stick together. Right, Kayla?”

  Laughing, Rachel ran to the little girl’s snowman, her galumphing steps awkward in the winter boots she’d borrowed from her mother. They weren’t fashionable,
but they kept her warm and dry.

  “Okay, on the count of three,” Rachel told Kayla conspiratorially as they both formed snowballs. “One, two…”

  Smash. A fluffy snowball hit Rachel right in the ear, then shattered in soppy, snowy bits. Openmouthed with surprise, she gawked across the clearing at an openly victorious Reno.

  “He’s not a very good sport, is he, Kayla?”

  “Nope. Uncle Reno plays to win.”

  “Humph. We’ll see about that. Come on!”

  Reno propped his booted foot on the trunk of the balsam fir he’d just cut down, shaking his head. At his feet lay his chainsaw. To his left perched his nemeses, evident best friends forever, cozily drinking hot cocoa in their snow-encrusted coats and boots. “I can’t believe you two ganged up on me.”

  “You needed to be brought down a peg,” Rachel said.

  “Yeah, Uncle Reno. Brought down a peg. We win!”

  He didn’t know how they’d worked that out. By his count, he’d splattered them with twice as many snowballs—loosely packed ones, since they were both beginners at snowball fights. But if they wanted to salvage their feminine pride, he’d let them.

  “Just wait till word gets around town.” Serenely, Rachel tilted the thermos to top off Kayla’s cocoa, then fussed with his niece’s scarf. “That Reno Wright lost a snowball fight to a couple of girls.”

  “I never won before, Rachel. You’re awesome!”

  Kayla exchanged a mittened high five with Rachel, then gazed at her with adoring eyes and went on chattering companionably. Apparently Kayla was the latest member of the Rachel Porter fan club, Reno realized.

  The effect Rachel had on people was amazing to see. While simultaneously being forthright and a little bit guarded, Rachel also managed to draw people out—exactly the way she’d done with Kayla. And Angela. And everyone at The Big Foot.

  And okay, with him. Damn it. He hadn’t been prepared for that first kiss. Or the second. Or…hell. What was the matter with him? He was supposed to be figuring out a way to hook up Rachel with Nate. He was not supposed to be mindlessly pulling her closer in a snowbank, hungry to taste more. More more more.