How was she supposed to know he’d take her at her word?
She should be scheduling their tree dismantlings. At least, that’s what she told Laurel and Ivy when she escaped to her room after the Christmas dinner dishes were done. Ivy would spend the rest of the day watching football and Laurel was doing who knew what. Probably eating.
She ought to have done the books and typed the statements by now. Instead, she’d spent all day mooning about Adam Markland. This was ridiculous. Maybe if she went downstairs to the office, she’d get some work done.
ADAM CHECKED his watch, calculating how soon he could break away and call Holly. He had decided that he would—a quick Christmas greeting. He wanted her to think about him, after all.
His father gently cleared his throat. “You’ve been rather tight-lipped about the cases you’re handling at Steele’s, Adam.”
Adam glanced quickly toward the head of the table and met his father’s querying look. “Testing me, Dad?”
“Not at all.” The elder Markland blotted his mouth with a snowy damask napkin. “Confidentiality is understood. But there is nothing ethically wrong with consulting your colleagues for another opinion.”
His family called it consulting, but it was nonstop talking shop. The only way Adam could avoid it was to play trains with his nephews.
“Yes, and we’d like some tips on handling bankruptcy cases,” his brother said with what Adam knew was complete sincerity.
That was the problem. His family lived and breathed law, celebrating victories and agonizing over defeats.
There were more victories than defeats. A client didn’t hire one Markland—he hired all of them, with their combined specialties and driving desire to win at any cost.
“I’m mediating my cases.” There was silence around the dinner table. Adam looked into the faces of his mother, father, brother and sister and sighed inwardly. His brother-in-law and sister-in-law looked at him pityingly. They were also lawyers.
“You mean you haven’t won any.” Stephanie Markland Brandt’s blue eyes regarded his knowingly.
Adam bit back a harsh retort. “Our definition of winning isn’t the same. Don’t worry—business is good. I’m not starving.” He reached for his coffee.
Four pairs of Markland-blue eyes assessed him, and he responded with the pleasantly bland face Holly hated.
Shouting erupted in the kitchen. “I’ll go referee,” Adam said, glad to leave the dining room. It would give them the chance to talk about him, but he didn’t care.
“Tell you what,” Adam said as he served his boisterous nephews and niece their Christmas cake, “come upstairs when you finish these and we’ll play trains.”
Figuring he had about five minutes, Adam dashed up the back staircase and into the upstairs library.
The phone on her desk rang loudly, startling Holly. Her heart began to pound and she forced herself to let the phone ring twice before she pounced on it. “Hello?”
“Merry Christmas, Holly.”
Holly grinned like an idiot. “Merry Christmas, Adam.” She knew he was smiling, too; she could practically hear it. A few seconds slipped by while every rational thought escaped Holly’s mind.
“Do you miss me?” Adam prompted.
“Of course we miss you! Laurel and Ivy haven’t forgiven me for not convincing you to stay. We got so used to having you around.” Holly paused, conscious of how awful that sounded.
“I asked if you miss me.”
Holly heard shouting in the background. “I—”
“Uncle Adam!” It echoed right in her ear, along with Adam’s laughter. “The troops found me. I promised them we’d play trains—Hey! Don’t jump on me—”
The phone crashed to the floor and Holly could hear laughing and shrieking. A breathless Adam finally retrieved the telephone. “Holly, I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.”
She still didn’t know when he’d be back. It would serve her right if he didn’t come back. Why should he rush away from his family? At the very least she should have admitted how much she missed him.
Work. That would take her mind off Adam Markland. Holly scanned her client list, checking for those who had scheduled a tree-dismantling in advance. Not one for December 26.
She threw down her pen. How could she concentrate? Her life was a mess.
No, it wasn’t. She had never been as financially stable as she was this season. She hugged her knees to her chest in the great leather chair that had been her father’s. Burrowing down, she could still smell the horrible cigars he used to smoke in here after dinner. Holly inhaled deeply, then straightened, reaching for her pen, which had bounced across the massive oak desk.
Financial stability. Security. She could relax, pull back some, right?
Okay, so exactly how much of this season’s success did she owe to Adam? As long as she couldn’t stop thinking about him, she might as well find out.
Holly unfolded her scheduling calendar and began to list the jobs Adam had worked on. Grinning to herself, she decided to allocate minimum wage to his work hours, which had been nearly every evening and every Saturday since they’d met.
She’d been selfish, she admitted, remembering the late nights and the condition of his office.
Holly gritted her teeth when she finished calculating Adam’s work hours. Suspecting was one thing, seeing it confirmed was something else. She pushed herself out of the leather chair and found last year’s records.
No wonder this had been a good year. Holly fought back tears of censure. Look at the jobs she’d scheduled from the middle of the month on. Twice as many as before. They couldn’t have handled the work load without him. She had calculated Adam’s unpaid help into their job times.
She added in the profits from the hospital job. Feeling masochistic at this point, she figured in an arbitrary amount for the pizzas and deli food Adam always brought with him.
Holly felt horrible. She must be in love.
“When have I had time to fall in love?” she asked aloud. When people fell in love, they saw it coming. They went out to eat, they danced, they took long walks together. They went to movies, to the symphony and a few charity functions, right? They prepared for it—nurtured it. They allowed it to come into their lives.
This couldn’t be love. She wasn’t ready for love. She had to put Ivy through college first.
In an unreasonable panic, Holly began to feel angry. How dared Adam allow her to fall in love with him?
A night’s sleep improved Holly’s outlook. Work should make it even better. Some people, somewhere, wanted to get rid of their tree today. She was going to call until she found them.
Holly had her hand on the telephone when it rang. Startled, she jerked her hand away, then laughed. “Deck the Halls,” she answered.
“Oh, which sister have I got?”
“Holly.”
“Holly, dear, I need help. It’s dreadful, but it’s actually an honor, but a terrible imposition, but how could I turn them down? Where else could they go?”
The disjointed ramble in the cigarette-hoarsened voice could only come from Claudia Fitzhugh. “How can we help, Mrs. Fitzhugh?” Holly asked, trying to infuse her voice with reassuring calm and not giving in to an urge to laugh.
“Oh, I knew I could count on you, Holly, dear. You’re just like your mother and I could always count on her when things got in a tangle.”
“What’s wrong?” Holly prompted, becoming impatient.
“Martha is in such a tizzy about it all. She accused me of being jealous, which is true, because I’m a human being and there isn’t a person alive who wouldn’t be, and after all, I’m Bernard’s sister, but just because I’m not invited doesn’t mean I can’t tell her she shouldn’t have canceled everything even if she isn’t going to be here.”
“Mrs. Fitzhugh!” Holly managed to interject when the woman stopped for breath. “I’ve been out of touch for a while and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, dear. I think I’m having a New Year’s Eve reception in my home.”
“You don’t know?”
“Well, I’m not having it if I can’t make the proper arrangements. It’s the Music League’s reception for the symphony musicians and the Green Room donors.”
“The one after the New Year’s Eve pops concert? Mother and Dad used to go.”
“My sister-in-law, Martha Steele, was having it this year. She got a call last week from the White House, and she and Bernard have been invited to a New Year’s Eve gala with the president! It was a telephoned invitation,” Mrs. Fitzhugh stressed, “so there must have been a cancellation.”
Holly bit back a smile.
“And the silly woman only tells me this morning! She canceled the caterer and the room designer! I called immediately, but of course they were booked.” Mrs. Fitzhugh let out an exasperated breath. “And having Mr. Kelly was such a coup. Now, dear, please tell me you aren’t booked for New Year’s Eve, too?”
Holly’s heart began to pound. “We don’t do food, Mrs. Fitzhugh.”
“I realize that, dear, but when you did my tree, you did say you wanted to expand into social events. And, frankly, the better-known names will already be hired.”
“Mrs. Fitzhugh, Deck the Halls would be thrilled to decorate your home. What about a budget and a theme?” Holly flipped through the pages of her phone book, looking for Mrs. Bloom’s number.
“Whatever you’ve got.” Mrs. Fitzhugh was realistic when she needed to be.
Holly hung up the phone and let out a yell that brought Ivy and Laurel running.
She spent the rest of the week happily preparing for the party. She wanted to share her good news with Adam, but he didn’t call, which was fine with her. She didn’t have time to be in love, anyway.
Late in the afternoon of the thirtieth, the doorbell rang. Holly’s hands stilled as one of her sisters answered it. A moment passed, and she continued slowly making a bow out of silver netting,
Adam appeared in the workroom doorway and leaned a leather-clad shoulder against it. His cheekbones wore a ruddy stain, due to the recent cold snap. The lock of hair, still untamed, fell across his forehead.
Holly wanted to stand up and throw herself into his arms. But he’d been gone a week and had only called her once for about two minutes. She didn’t know what to think. “Hello, Adam,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Hello, yourself. I just got back.”
“Did you have a good time?” Couldn’t she come up with something better than that?
“Yes, I did,” Adam answered politely. “I’d like to take you out tomorrow night.”
“That’s New Year’s Eve.”
“I know. People go out on New Year’s Eve all the time.” There was amusement in his voice.
“We’re booked this New Year’s, isn’t that great?” In trying to sound enthusiastic, which she was, Holly overdid it.
“No.” His blue eyes turned stormy.
Holly ignored him. “Claudia Fitzhugh hired us to decorate for the symphony’s New Year’s Eve reception. Isn’t that fantastic? Think of the contacts we’ll make.”
Adam crossed his arms. “It’s after Christmas, Holly.”
“I know,” she answered quietly.
“I thought things were going to slow down after Christmas.”
“They did.”
Adam watched as her fingers fumbled with the netting, taking longer with this bow than any of the others. “Is your presence required for the duration of the party?”
Holly gave up on the bow. “Adam, it’s our first society function. We have the opportunity to make incredible contacts.”
“I thought your family was a member of the upper echelon.”
“Was. The upper echelon has a short memory.”
Adam’s stern expression made Holly uncomfortable. “Mrs. Fitzhugh invited us to stay. Laurel and Ivy will be there, too. Laurel needs your tree skirt to wear.” Holly tried a light laugh.
Adam’s blue eyes were unreadable. “How many other parties are you doing?”
“None . . . yet.”
“Black tie?”
“Of course.”
“Of course.” Adam turned, obviously leaving.
“Adam—wait.”
He turned back, raising an eyebrow.
“I missed you,” Holly said, barely above a whisper. Adam’s lips curved in the smallest of smiles, but he shook his head slightly and left.
“YOU NEED SOME peace and quiet,” Adam said as he opened Holly’s front door. It was long after midnight and she hadn’t taken a break since the symphony reception had started.
“Everything looked all right at the party, didn’t it?”
“Yes,” he reassured her smilingly. “It was perfect.”
“Well, not perfect—”
“Holly.”
She looked at him, recognizing the warning note in his voice.
“It’s a new year. We’re alone, with each other, and I have a plate of party goodies and a bottle of champagne. Getting some ideas?” He nodded his head toward the family room.
Holly grabbed two glasses and followed him, sitting on the sofa as he opened the champagne.
“To the future.”
“It’s going to be great, isn’t it, Adam?” Holly set her champagne on the coffee table and leaned back.
Adam didn’t kiss her the way she’d hoped. Perhaps she’d better make the first move.
He held a finger to her lips. “Not just yet. Are you only after my body, or will you respect me in the morning?”
Holly was surprised into a laugh. “Adam, you lunatic, kiss me.”
Adam’s even white teeth tugged at his lip as he shook his head. “Answer.”
“You’re serious!” Holly said, amazed.
“I have a right to know.” She obviously didn’t understand, so he elaborated. “I told you before that I don’t go in for flings. Where are we headed?”
“Adam,” Holly protested, running her hand through her curls, “it’s only a kiss.”
“Is it?” Adam cupped her chin with his hand and pressed his lips against hers.
At least that was the physical description of what he did. But how it felt was something else altogether. Being confronted with her feelings for Adam frightened Holly. He would start making demands—already his lips were demanding a response from her. Her blood became liquid fire, making her achingly aware of him.
She gasped when he broke the kiss.
“You see?” he asked, softly triumphant, mouth slanted in a half smile.
Holly was too bemused to answer.
“You can slow down now, can’t you, Holly? I’m not asking you to quit work so you can be at my beck and call. Just make room for me—for us, in your life.”
Holly wound her arms around his neck. “I love you, Adam.”
To her astonishment, a look of pain and anger flashed across his face.
“But you’re not in love with me.”
Before she could reply, Holly heard the unmistakable sounds of the front door opening. She stared at Adam’s tight face. “What’s the difference?”
“You haven’t been alone with me long enough to find out,” she heard him say as Laurel and Ivy burst into the room.
“This has been the most wonderful evening!” Laurel proclaimed, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed.
“Champagne will do that to you.” Holly was glad of their company. What was with Adam? She’d just told him she loved him, for heaven’s sake!
“Not champagne—a man.”<
br />
“Who?”
“Bart King. He’s a member of the Southwest Film Commission and I think he can help me in my career.”
“What, they want Deck the Halls to decorate for some films?” Holly leaned forward eagerly, missing the bitter smile on Adam’s face.
“Holly, honey, he couldn’t care less about Deck the Halls.”
“What help could he possibly be, then?”
Laurel glanced at Ivy. “My acting career.”
“Your acting career,” Holly repeated immediately, unaware she had done so. “You don’t have an acting career.”
“I’m hoping to change all that.”
Ivy prudently remained quiet.
“You don’t have any experience,” Holly pointed out.
“Don’t you think this has been one big act for the last five years? Living here—” Laurel gestured all around them—“with the impeccably-decorated front rooms and the rest of the house gutted? Sharing our clothes, bringing home all those sugar packets, crackers and doggie bags from the restaurants? Gorging ourselves at salad bars so there would be doggie bags? Even Mama was acting.” Laurel reached out and tugged at the necklace Holly wore. “Keeping up appearances has been one long act, hasn’t it?”
Holly took a deep breath. “It is cheaper for us to live in this house than anywhere else. If you’d remember any of your business training, you’d know that. The real-estate market is in the toilet and this house is paid for. All we do is pay taxes, which are deductible. Rent isn’t.”
“Okay, okay. You probably don’t remember, but when I was at SMU, I loved my drama classes. It’s what I want to do. I think things could finally begin to happen for me.”
Holly turned to Adam. “It’s the champagne talking.”
“Holly.” Laurel was so intense she forgot to drawl the “honey.” “I’m almost twenty-five. I want a job of my own—”
“Deck the Halls is better than a job! We own the company.”
Laurel changed tactics. “We’ve finally got some money. Ivy is going to college, so you’ll need to hire someone, anyway. It’s a new year. New beginnings.”
“How could you even think of wasting your business degree after all we’ve sacrificed for it!” Holly’s patience was gone.
Deck the Halls Page 11
