He hesitated, staring down at her. The butterflies took flight again. “Thanks, Tillie. I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying tonight here with Derek—and you.”
The air suddenly vacated the small space. She licked her lips, noticing that his gaze followed the movement, leaving her even more breathless.
He’s not coming on to you, Matilda, for Heaven’s sake.
He’d only thanked her for sharing one of her Christmas traditions with them. His, too, to be honest, because most of it stemmed from his grandmother.
Her nearness prompted him to tuck an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear as she gave him a breathy response. “My pleasure.” Good Lord, she was behaving like a gawky high-school girl crushing on the quarterback.
His head lowered toward hers, and she closed her eyes.
Kiss me, Greg.
The brush of his lips on hers sent her heart to racing. He cupped her chin and tilted her head, giving him better access. His warm lips and tongue coaxed her mouth open, and she reminded herself to breathe when her chest grew tight.
“Daddy? You didn’t go in the scary room, did you?”
Derek’s voice coming down the stairs broke the spell.
“No, son. We’ll be up in a few minutes.”
Tillie turned sideways and waved him toward the ladder again. Grinning as he passed her, he walked into the area underneath the stairs and lifted out the ladder with ease. She moved out of the way to let him go up first.
What had just happened? While she’d felt an attraction to him since the moment she saw him in the driveway, Greg must have a string of women waiting for him in Minneapolis. She’d best remember that he was out of her league. Besides, he was recently divorced. She wanted a man who chose to be with her because there was no one else he wanted by his side, not merely a dalliance to ease his loneliness or boredom.
In the parlor once more, neither mentioned that kiss, thank goodness. She increased the volume on the stereo, and Christmas carols streamed from the speakers as she and Greg worked on the top of the tree with him holding the ladder steady.
“You usually do this alone?” he asked. Was his gaze on her rear end? The heat she felt there made her wonder.
“I have to.” She reached for another strand of lights.
“Isn’t it dangerous for you to be this far up on the ladder? What if you fell?”
She set the bundle on a branch and retrieved her cell phone from her pocket. “Help is a phone call away. But I’m very careful.”
“If I knew how to tuck those lights in half as well as you did, I would have you holding this ladder for me.”
Tillie laughed, but once again became conscious of where his gaze might be focused. Don’t become flustered again. More than likely, he was keeping an eye on Derek as he played with the strands of beaded garland, not the least bit interested in her butt.
When she’d finished with the lights at the top of the tree, she started going down the ladder. Greg’s hand rested on her waist. Every touch felt as if a bolt of electricity exploded inside her.
Pulling away after her feet were once again planted on the rug, she tried to shift her focus—and his. Unable to make eye contact with him, she announced to no one in particular, “Time for the beaded garland.” Her voice sounded breathless, as if she’d run a marathon.
She turned to find Derek making explosion noises as his hands let the beads spill through. They’d been carefully packed away in separate plastic grocery bags, but were now one jumbled mess. Derek looped two strands over his ears and around his neck.
“Are you decorating the tree or yourself?” Tillie asked.
Derek grinned widely. “Me!”
After untangling a few of the strands, she held one end of a garland, handing him the other. “Here, Derek, drape the beads over a branch and then let the strand droop in between until you find another branch to hook it on. Like this.” She demonstrated with the first red one.
“Do we have to put them all on the tree?” he asked.
“Well, I usually do.” His lower lip stuck out. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“I wanna play with them. The red ones are lava from a volcano.” That explained the noises he’d been making. What an imagination. Had he seen volcanoes at the museum today?
“Tell you what… Choose a red one and a gold one to play with, and we’ll drape the rest on the tree in layers.”
“Why don’t I help?” Greg had been so quiet she’d almost forgotten he was here.
Yeah, right.
“Absolutely! After all the garland and ornaments are on, we’ll add gobs of silver tinsel. You being so tall will be able to toss it high on the tree the way it was done in the movies Christmas in Connecticut and the original Bishop’s Wife. Have you seen either of those movies, Greg?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
Did the man do anything related to Christmas? “Really? They’re classics!”
“I’ve never been much of a movie buff.”
“Well, we’ll have to watch them before you leave. I have both DVDs.”
“Sounds good.” Greg sounded unsure about how enjoyable it would be, but the image of the two of them cuddled up on the couch with Derek between them holding a bowl of popcorn flashed in front of her eyes.
Only she doubted Derek would be interested in the romantic comedy, which morphed the vision into one with only she and Greg sitting side by side on the couch watching the screen.
Tillie tried to blink away the impossible fantasy, but the image lingered.
Caught off guard, she took a moment and a deep breath to compose herself. She’d miss having these two around. The Buchanans had thrown her for a loop. She’d never allowed herself to become so attached to visitors before, not even repeat ones.
As she haphazardly draped garland, her mind wandered. Would she accept Greg’s—and Derek’s—invitations to visit them? She’d half-accepted, but had he been serious? Greg had fed into her fantasy Christmas with talk of a sleigh ride. She and Mrs. Foster had watched those movies every year. Even before that, Tillie had been addicted to Hollywood classics and dreamed of a world that couldn’t exist realistically. But Mrs. Foster had shown her glimpses of that life, and Tillie fought hard to recreate those vignettes every year by carrying on Mrs. Foster’s holiday traditions. Granted, she couldn’t take Greg up on the offer until January, but some celebrated the season until Epiphany. She could, too.
Don’t get your hopes up, Matilda.
Her mother’s words reminded her that those who aimed too high often had their hearts stomped on. Best to try to live in this moment.
“Greg, why don’t we trade places and you can finish up the top part?” He seemed reluctant to accept. “Your height will make it easier for you to do so without climbing as high as I’d have to.”
She’d never had any trouble in the past, but capitalized on his worries about her being on the ladder. And it worked. Soon, she was handing him the gold-beaded garland and staring at his butt, enjoying the view.
Once the garland was strewn about the tree with glorious abandon, Greg descended the ladder, and Tillie walked over to the first bin of ornaments. “Derek, why don’t you choose which one to put on the tree first?”
Leaving his lava beads behind, Derek joined her to peer inside, perusing the vast array of ornaments on the top row. A red and green rocking horse ridden by a toy soldier captured his attention.
“That one! I wanna ride a horse someday!”
“Go ahead and pick it up.”
“What if I break it?” His solemn expression broke her heart.
“I’m sure you’ll be super careful.” Her more delicate ones were kept in a separate bin only she handled, so there was no harm in letting him choose any of these.
She left the hooks from the previous year on them, so he was able to go straight to the tree and hook it around the tip of one of the branches.
“Why, you’re a pro at this, Derek,” she said.
Derek beamed
up at her. With his confidence up, he returned to the bin and picked up another ornament.
Her gaze strayed to where Greg stood near the tree, a smile on his face as he stared at her. She had no idea what prompted the smile, but bestowed him with one anyway before breaking the invisible connection between them.
Best to focus on the younger Buchanan, anyway. The five-year-old wouldn’t trample on her dreams. Derek placed another dozen or so ornaments on the tree, mostly in the same area. Perhaps if she moved the bin to another side, he’d spread them out. But she wouldn’t rearrange anything he put on the tree. It was important that he feel a sense of accomplishment and ownership. And when she sat in here on quiet evenings, she’d sip her tea and stare at the tree and let the memories of tonight wash over her.
She needed to start working on the higher branches if this tree was going to be finished by Monday and carried another bin to the side facing the fireplace. “I’ll work on this spot,” she announced. “Greg, why don’t you place some above Derek’s head?” As he did so, she surreptitiously retrieved her cell phone from her pocket and snapped photos of father and son. She’d share them with Greg later but also intended to keep them for herself to remember this moment in the years to come.
The three of them worked side by side, occasionally mentioning one of the ornaments found in the bin as being particularly noteworthy or interesting. Snowmen, reindeer, Santas galore, and sleds commingled on the tree once more in an ever-changing configuration, especially this year with two new variables thrown into the decorating mix.
“Wow, I remember…” He cut off his words and said, “I wonder who the thumbprints belong to.”
Tillie knew instantly what he’d found in the bin. He held the salt-dough ornament in the shape of a holly leaf. This one was quite familiar to her and included two thumbprints—one of which was hers. Tillie wasn’t sure how much she should reveal about the origin of the ornament or whether to point out his gaffe.
Why won’t you be honest with me, Greg?
She sighed. How should she tell the story he no doubt was already familiar with, at least in part? She reached out to take the ornament from him, feeling the warmth of his hand as she stared down at it. “Mrs. Foster made new ornaments annually. That one was made when I was eight. Her grandson came for a visit. He was about twelve.” She met his gaze. “It would be their last time together.”
He flinched at her words, but Tillie continued the sad story. Perhaps he’d reveal himself to her afterward. “She had him place his thumbprint on the left side not long before he and his mother went home.” Never to return.
Don’t judge him any more harshly than he does himself. Clearly, he carried guilt about not seeing or contacting his grandmother. How many other young people became caught up in school or jobs or even friends and put off visiting older relatives until it was too late?
Tillie cleared her throat, overcome with emotion for him. “I came over to visit right after they’d left.” She wouldn’t reveal that she’d made a beeline to Mrs. Foster’s after seeing Greg and his mother drive over the railroad tracks. “Mrs. Foster asked me to place my thumbprint beside his in the still-soft dough.” She touched the thumbprint with her finger.
“Why?”
How would he react to what she was about to tell him? Only one way to find out. “She said that these prints sitting side-by-side would tie the two of us together forever. She was sometimes rather fanciful.”
Would he come clean now?
He met her gaze, and she waited several moments. “Did it?”
Obviously, not. On both counts. But she wouldn’t out him. For whatever reason, he wasn’t prepared to reveal his identity to her yet.
“Only time will tell, I suppose.” She held the ornament toward him. “Would you like to place it on the tree?”
* * *
While Greg didn’t believe in spells, fate, and such things, he’d be blind not to see that they had come together again. Well, together might be a strong term, but he most certainly had come back here knowing nothing about any matchmaking scheme his grandmother had dreamed up decades ago. If he were honest with Tillie about who he was, her enigmatic assessment of Gram’s prophetic words might change.
He didn’t accept the ornament right away, but stared into her eyes a long, uncomfortable moment. How could they be destined for one another with their personality differences and geographic challenges?
Then he remembered the unexpected kiss in the cellar. If that wasn’t meant to be, why had it felt so right?
Romantic notions wouldn’t serve him well. He had no intention of remarrying, and Gram would have settled for nothing short of a wedding ring for the girl who’d been like a granddaughter to her, if not a second daughter. One much more loving and deserving than her own blood.
At long last, he reached out to accept the ornament with a sad smile. “Thank you.”
Their fingers brushed, and another jolt of static electricity shot through him. Tillie awakened feelings he’d thought had died long ago.
He gazed down at the heavy holly leaf in the palm of his hand. Perhaps Gram had wanted to match them up using this enchanted ornament.
“Why don’t you find a good place for it, Greg?” Tillie prompted, coaxing him into the present.
He continued to hold the holly leaf between his hands, noticing it had become oddly warmer. He slid his thumb over the much smaller print he’d made at twelve. Hers was even tinier in comparison. He fought the temptation to compare her adult thumb with this one that had been frozen in time.
His fingers tingled as if the stiff, cracked dough imparted some kind of message to him.
Nonsense. He blinked and turned toward the tree. The house seemed to be trying once more to work its magic on him—and Tillie. He’d literally not thought about this thing since the moment he’d pressed his thumb into the soft dough twenty-five years ago. His mother and Gram had fought bitterly that day—as best he could recall over money of all things—prompting Mother to hastily pack their things and leave.
Apparently, not before Gram steeped this object in his hands with her fanciful notions.
But Tillie had probably remembered those prophetic words every year she handled this ornament again. If he told her who he was now, would she take it as some cosmic sign, compelling her to fabricate a relationship where none should exist?
But what about what had happened earlier tonight in the cellar? Before that, there had been some near misses—while playing in the leaves and when he’d fantasized over kissing the hot buttered rum on her lips. Sexual awareness sizzled between them on many occasions making him wonder if Gram hadn’t truly set in motion some type of hocus-pocus with this silly talisman.
Man, he had it bad for this woman if he was going to start believing in stuff like this to justify his attraction to her.
He gave up trying to fight against the spell the ornament, the house, or perhaps the woman standing next to him had cast over him. He placed the hook over a high branch and watched its weight drag it down to about her eye level.
A nagging inside made him ask, “Did you ever see the boy?”
“Yes. But only from a distance. I stayed away from the house during their visit.”
Had she hidden in the woods? Ridiculous. November would have been too cold for a skinny little girl like the one in the photo upstairs.
Temptation won out. He grinned. “Did you have a crush on the boy?”
“Of course not!”
A quick glimpse of her reddening cheeks said she might be protesting too much.
Suddenly, a fuzzy memory popped into his head of a girl much like the one in the photo, her long auburn hair in pigtails, wearing a baggy coat and tights or leggings. She’d teetered on the shiny rail of the tracks, her arms outstretched parallel to the ground, as she negotiated the thin line of steel. He’d caught a peek at her from the car window as his mother drove like a bat out of hell through the town on her way to the interstate. While the moment was fleeting, he c
ould see her in his mind’s eye again as clearly as that day all those years ago.
Had that been Tillie? She’d left him longing to get out of the car and stay that day to play on those tracks with her, but he hadn’t given much more thought to her once she was out of sight.
“You mentioned there are railroad tracks around here.”
“Yes. About half a mile away, near where the grocery and center of town used to be. They run right behind my church.”
“Maybe you could show them to Derek and me.” His son might enjoy playing on them.
“Trains! Will we see trains?”
Tillie smiled down at him. “Depends on the day. Not many trains run on those tracks anymore, but the My Old Kentucky Dinner Train does most Saturday evenings this time of year. You could walk on the rails without much worry any other day.”
“Why don’t we all ride the train tomorrow?” Greg hoped she’d say yes, but her response wasn’t forthcoming. “It will give you a night off from cooking and baking.” She bit the inside of her lower lip. “Come on. My treat.”
“Come with us, Miss Tillie?” With Derek as his wingman, he noticed a slight smile at the corner of her mouth.
“Well, if you insist.” Her warm gaze moved from Derek to Greg. “Thank you for inviting me. I haven’t ridden the train all year.”
“Great. I’ll go online and order the tickets later.”
“You’ll need to order what you want to eat at the same time. I like everything, so you can surprise me.” She leaned closer to whisper, “But order Derek the Choo-choo cake.” The nearness of Tillie did all kinds of things to his libido, and he wasn’t sure he’d remember what she said later. “Oh, and why don’t we go in costume?” she asked.
He tried to wrap his head around what she had in mind. Derek was equally confused.
“But it’s not Halloween, is it, Daddy?”
“No, son. That was last month.”
These two needed to let their hair down as much as she did. “I meant we can dress the way people did in the olden days.”
Jesse's Hideout (Bluegrass Spirits 1) Page 15
