Winter Wishes

by Fern Michaels

  “I should go. That’s family time.” There was a hint of wistfulness in his voice.

  It made her wonder if his family celebrated Christmas. They’d never talked about religion, but given his Indian heritage, she wondered if he might be Sikh, Hindu, or Muslim. He’d eaten ham at dinner, and wasn’t pork a taboo food for Muslims? “Did your parents put up a Christmas tree when you were a child?”

  “Yeah. Well, Deepa did. It was—”

  “Deepa?”

  “My auntie. Technically she’s my mom’s cousin. She was widowed just before I was born. Childless, not much education, not well off. She came from India to live with us. She got a home and family, and Mom and Dad got a housekeeper, cook, and nanny. Anyhow, yes, we had a tree. One of those artificial ones, silver with blue lights. Mom and Deepa thought it was pretty. We’d exchange a few presents and have a turkey dinner, cooked by Deepa. Mom sometimes missed dinner because she had surgery. The holiday was low key. My parents were busy, and the traditions weren’t part of their culture.” He stood. “Thanks for letting me meet Cole. You should sleep on this. See what you think in the morning.”

  That made sense. She remained sitting, deliberating over whether to invite him to help with the tree. “Where are you staying?”

  “A B and B in the village. The Once in a Blue Moon.”

  “It’s very nice.” And not cheap, but money had never been a problem for Michael. “You’ve got the whole village and harbor on your doorstep. Did you fly in?” Now, that would have been weird, if she’d been the pilot and he’d turned up as one of her passengers.

  “No. I rented a car at Victoria International Airport and then caught the ferry. This place is pretty remote.”

  “Yes. That can be annoying sometimes, but mostly we islanders love it.”

  A firm knock sounded on the door separating her and Cole’s small two-bedroom apartment from her parents’ house. Her dad called, “Jillian, we’ve got the lights and decorations out. We’re waiting for you.”

  “Be right there,” she called back. Before she could angst it to death, she said, “Do you want to stay and help with the tree?”

  Michael’s dark, melted chocolate eyes, so like Cole’s, lit up. “Really?”

  She dropped her face into her hands and scrubbed her fingers over her tension-knotted forehead. Was this the right thing to do? She’d thought life was complicated back when she’d found out she was pregnant, but tonight took complicated to a whole new level. And in both cases, it was Michael’s fault.

  Warm fingers touched the back of her neck, feeling oh, too good. She jerked, the fingers fell away, and she gazed up to see Michael peering down at her, looking sympathetic.

  “I’m sorry to do this to you,” he said. “I was thinking of me. And of the child. I didn’t really imagine how this would affect you.”

  “That’s me,” she said wryly. “Easy not to think about. Well, I didn’t think of you all those years either. I didn’t even realize how much Cole resembled you until I saw you tonight.”

  “And now here we are. Seeing you again . . . Well, it’s hard to believe I’d more or less forgotten you. How pretty you are, how sexy.”

  She drew in a breath. He’d always been a charmer. No way should she be flattered, or stirred, by words that tripped so easily off his talented tongue. “I’m not the same woman. I’m a mother now. My idea of parties involves kids, parents, and cake.”

  “Cake’s good.” He smiled and reached out both hands. “And, by the way, you may be a mom but you’re even prettier and sexier than you used to be.”

  Of their own volition, her hands fitted themselves into his and she let him tug her to her feet. Their bodies were only inches apart and she’d swear that an electric charge hummed back and forth between them. Now that he was touching her, it seemed impossible that she’d spared him so little thought over the years.

  He let go of one of her hands and she should have thought Good and tugged her other hand free, but then he was reaching out to cup the back of her head and she was resting her hand on his shoulder, feeling the warm strength of the muscles under his Henley and aware of a faint, woodsy scent like sunshine on cedar boughs. And then she was rising on her toes as he tipped his head down, and oh God! their lips were touching and it was all there, all the passion she used to feel and maybe even more because she was sober now, and it had been so long, and he felt so amazingly, incredibly good, and right and—

  “Jillian?” The loud call and double-knock on the door sent her thudding down, flat-footed and panting for breath, breaking contact with Michael.

  “Coming, Dad,” she called, struggling to control her voice.

  Michael looked as dazed as she felt, which was a small consolation.

  “That wasn’t a good idea,” she said, trying to sound assertive but failing miserably. What was wrong with her? Hadn’t she learned her lesson years ago? That falling in lust with Michael could mess up her life?

  “I suppose not. I guess it’d confuse things?”

  “You think?” she said sarcastically. “Damn, Michael, I’m so confused I barely know my own name. But we have to get out there and help with the tree, and act, act . . .”

  “Normal?”

  “Hah! Nothing about this is normal.” She shot him a narrow-eyed glare and stalked past him to the door.

  Chapter Six

  Shaken by the intensity of that barely there lip press, Michael followed Jilly’s—no, make that Jillian’s—shapely butt as she strode, long-legged, back to her parents’ side of the house. When he’d come to see her, it had never occurred to him that the physical attraction, a force so powerful it had a mind of its own, would still be there. He had the distinct impression that, as in the past, it wasn’t one-sided either.

  Fortunately, as he stepped into the Summers’s living room, the family atmosphere went a long way to restoring his sanity. Music was playing, good King Wenceslas looking out on the Feast of Stephen while Michael looked out at a six-foot fir tree in a bucket of water, plastic storage bins of decorations, a little boy in flannel pajamas patterned with airplanes, and a black-and-white spotted dog lying on a hearth mat in front of a real wood fire. Not to mention a middle-aged woman and man who both favored him with cool stares.

  He addressed them. “Jilly—Jillian—invited me to help with the tree. But I know this is a family night, so if you’d rather I didn’t . . .”

  Cole said, “You should stay. You’re taller than Gramps. He always has to stand on a step stool to reach the top of the tree, and Granny always worries he’ll fall off.”

  “I wouldn’t fall off,” John said, sounding offended. He exchanged a glance with his wife, and then said, “Stay if you want to, Michael. We can always use another pair of hands. Speaking of which, how about you grab that tree while I hold the tree stand, and the ladies and Cole can tell us when we’ve got it sitting straight.”

  As Michael stepped forward to clasp the tree, Jillian said, “Wait, you could get pitch on your shirt. Dad, have you got an old one he could borrow?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Michael said. He didn’t want to wear her father’s clothes and he guessed the feeling was mutual. Ruining a Henley was no big deal. He could always buy another.

  When he grabbed the tree, it smelled so green and tangy, he was tempted to bury his face in its soft boughs. Instead, he heaved it up and followed everyone’s instructions until it was locked into the stand.

  And that was the story of the evening. He took direction and each time his sense of design made him open his mouth, he shut it again. This was their tree, and they knew what they wanted, so he draped strings of multicolored lights and then chains of cranberries that Cole said he’d strung after school. When Michael admired the clunky, obviously child-made ornaments, he learned they weren’t just the product of Cole’s efforts but that some dated back to Jillian’s childhood. The boy’s were the more artistic.

  As Michael worked, he snuck glances at Cole and they exchanged a few comments. I
t blew him away that this was his biological son. A cute, smart kid who might, based on the pjs’ airplanes, share his mom’s interest in flying, but who also shared Michael’s artistic talent and love of Legos.

  The new Jillian also kind of blew him away. A red sweater and tight black leggings hugged a slim but sweetly curved body. Her blond hair was mussed from an encounter with a fir branch. She snapped photographs, joked with her parents, switched the music when “Santa Baby” began to play, and gave Cole affectionate touches without seeming to notice she was doing it. This woman was multifaceted and fascinating. Definitely Jillian, not Jilly. Was there a man in her life?

  Why should he care?

  The final touch for the tree was three or four dozen snowflake ornaments. “Because it isn’t Christmas without snow,” Cole said, yawning, “and it doesn’t usually snow here.”

  Jillian’s parents sank down on the couch with exaggerated sighs of exhaustion. “That’s all the effort you’re going to get out of us,” Amanda said.

  Cole, with another yawn, said, “The tree’s perfect. Santa’s going to put lots of presents under it on Christmas Eve.” Then he shot Michael a glance. “I don’t really believe in Santa Claus. We just like to pretend, ’cause it’s more fun that way.”

  “You’re right,” Michael agreed. But since no white-bearded man in a reindeer-drawn sleigh was going to deliver gifts, Michael needed to make some quick purchases. He’d go online and research the best architecture and engineering toys for kids Cole’s age. Probably he should also get presents for Jillian and her parents.

  “It’s your bedtime, honey,” Jillian told Cole. “You go over to our place and brush your teeth, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  The boy gave both his grandparents a hug and kiss and then went over to Michael, who still had a box of faux snowflakes in his hand.

  “Good night, Cole. It was nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me help with the tree.”

  “Night-night, Michael.” The boy gazed up at him and then threw his arms around him for a quick hug before rubbing his eyes and heading out of the room.

  Touched and disconcerted, Michael looked over at Jillian, who was gazing after her son.

  “We should turn in, too,” Amanda said with a yawn of her own. “Tomorrow will be another busy day at the store.”

  Michael turned to the pair of them, an attractive couple about his parents’ age, though they looked fitter and less stressed than his mom and dad. They were both fair haired like Jillian, her dad with the same bright blue eyes as his daughter. “You own a store? What kind?”

  “We sell outdoor clothing, supplies, and equipment,” the man said. “Summers’ Seasons is the family business. Well”—he flicked his head in Jillian’s direction—“except for our renegade here, our fly-girl.”

  “The store’s great,” she said. “But it’s not my calling. And I should know, after slaving away part-time all through high school, and then summers and Christmas holidays while I was at university.” Her tone was teasing.

  So was her father’s when he said, “Slaving for a decent salary, I’ll point out.”

  “Which I needed, to go to university. As for decent, I made more when I was waitressing in Toronto.” She gave a cheeky grin. “I did darned well with tips.”

  Michael didn’t remember that she’d waitressed. He did know she’d never had a lot of free time. “Tell me more about the store,” he said to her dad. “When you say family business . . .”

  “My parents opened it back in the mid-sixties,” he said. “My sister and I grew up working there, just like Jillian and her brother in their turn.”

  He hadn’t known Jillian had a brother. Not wanting her parents to realize how little they knew each other, he kept quiet.

  “John and I met at the store,” her mom said. “I lived in Sidney, on Vancouver Island, and came over to Destiny Island with three girlfriends for a week of bicycle camping. We rode off the ferry and popped into the store to buy a few supplies. John waited on us and it was, like, pow!”

  When she said that, Michael could see the young Amanda, her expression excited and glowing.

  She went on. “I’d always thought people were crazy to talk about love at first sight, but I swear that’s what I felt. Him too. Right, sweetheart?”

  “Exactly right,” he said fondly, and reached out to clasp her hand.

  Michael felt a pang of envy, which was odd because he’d never felt the desire for a serious relationship.

  “She came back almost every day during that camping trip,” John said, “and by the end of the week—”

  “I’d not only fallen for him but for the island.” Amanda finished his sentence. “I found a job at one of the tourist shops. To shorten a long story, as soon as I graduated we got married.”

  Her husband took up the story. “My parents slowly phased out of running the store and Amanda and I took over. Now the same thing’s happening with Jillian’s brother, Samuel, and his wife, Lynette.” He stretched and rose slowly. “But we’ll need all hands on deck bright and early tomorrow, so it’s time to turn in.” He reached a hand down for his wife’s. “Come on, Amanda.”

  She let him pull her up and then, still holding his hand, turned to Michael. “You and Jillian will want to talk.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality. It was nice meeting you.”

  They both gave a nod of acknowledgment but kept silent as they left the room.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” Jillian said to him.

  Michael put on his coat, scarf, and city shoes and stood just inside the door with her.

  “How long do you plan to stay in Blue Moon Harbor?” she asked.

  “Work is slow over the holidays, so I shut down the office until January second. I’ve got a couple of projects to work on, but it’s computer work. I can do it anywhere.”

  “You really plan to stay here for . . . how long is that?”

  “Uh, twelve days, I guess. But it depends on whether you’re okay with me seeing more of Cole.”

  “I want to sleep on it. I’ll call you in the morning.”

  After they exchanged cell numbers, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, forcing himself to resist the urge to tug her into his arms and kiss her again. “This is weird. It’s us, but we’re such different people.” He wanted so badly to ask if she was seeing someone, but doubted that would earn him any Brownie points.

  “We’re pretty much strangers. You realize that, don’t you? We hooked up what, not more than a dozen nights over the space of two or three months? Didn’t talk about anything of significance, so we never really knew each other.” She frowned. “And now you want to come into Cole’s life, and mine.”

  He clenched his hand, not out of anger but to fight the need to stroke the worry lines from her forehead. “I may be a stranger, but I’m not a bad person. Give me a chance to prove that, Jillian. Please.”

  Chapter Seven

  At noon the next day, a Friday, Jillian again answered the door. But this time it was the door of her and Cole’s apartment, and this time she knew that when she opened it she’d see Michael. She was also at least semiprepared for the hot, tingly rush that pulsed through her veins, the physical craving to kiss him again. Bad enough she had to worry about his influence on Cole; it was totally unfair that he had this impact on her.

  He stepped past her, the chilly air that came with him not doing much to cool her down. “Thanks for asking me over.”

  She’d texted him before her morning round-trip flight to Vancouver and asked him to come over for lunch. Though she was upset that he’d reentered her life, she believed in tackling problems rather than deferring them. “Obviously, we need to talk. My parents are at the store and Cole’s spending the day with his best friend, Jordan, a couple of doors down.”

  Michael pulled off his scarf, unbuttoned his coat, and tossed both over the back of a chair. He wore jeans again, and a lightweight turtleneck the color of bittersweet c
hocolate. The same shade as his lovely eyes. Eyes that were a touch bloodshot, like her own.

  “You didn’t sleep well,” she guessed.

  He shook his head. “You?”

  “No.” She sat in a chair and gestured him toward the couch. “I spent the night thinking, and I talked to my parents this morning. Bottom line: we all want what’s best for Cole. But what is that? If we go anywhere together—you, Cole, and me—people will see us and guess. If he didn’t look so much like you . . . But he does. You could spend time with him here, but it’s the holidays and he wants to go out and have fun. I’m just not sure—”

  “Jillian.” He cut her off, leaning forward. “Would it help if I told you that I’ve cleared up that maybe thing I was talking about last night? I do want to be part of Cole’s life. I don’t know what form that’d take, but I want to be there as a regular presence, even if it’s mostly by Skype. I want him to know that I’m his father.”

  Well . . . wow. “That was a quick decision.” And not one she was inclined to trust in. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Seeing him . . . Now he’s real to me. He’s more than a birth control malfunction and a financial responsibility. He’s a boy. Cole Summers. My son. I can’t imagine returning to Toronto and having things go back to the way they were.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “Even if you mean that now, how can I count on it? I don’t want us telling Cole you’re his father, and you being attentive for a while but then getting bored—or marrying and having other kids and leaving him behind.”

  “Jillian, I’m committed. I’m responsible. I have no”—he paused briefly, shook his head—“no plans to marry and have more kids.”

  “I’d like to believe in your commitment. But we’re still virtual strangers.”

  “Did I ever miss a support payment? And if you look at my Web site, you’ll—”

  “I did. Last night.” That had killed more than an hour of couldn’t-sleep time. “It’s impressive.”