Take Me Home for Christmas wc-5

by Brenda Novak

  He grabbed her arm so she couldn’t walk away from him. “I’m already sorry I met you. The whole town is.”

  “Go to hell!” Jerking away, she marched out to her car.

  “What happened?” Alexa asked as she climbed in.

  “Nothing.” She started the engine of her beautiful Mercedes. She missed who she used to be. Missed the admiration and respect. She was going to miss her belongings, too. But her encounter with the arrogant chief of police reminded her that she wasn’t going to miss Skip. She’d never let another man control her.

  “Are you sure?” Alexa said. “Because you’re breathing hard. And—and your face is all...splotchy.”

  She put the car in Reverse. “Chief Stacy and I had a little...disagreement.”

  “Did he hurt your feelings?”

  She patted Alexa’s leg before shifting into Drive. “Don’t worry. I’ll survive. We’ll survive this together.” He hadn’t hurt her feelings. He’d made her so angry that telling him off had felt damn good.

  Fighting back beat the hell out of crying and feeling sorry for herself, she decided.

  She was done being a victim.

  * * *

  When Sophia showed up for work on Monday morning, she was still angry—at Skip, her in-laws, Chief Stacy, almost everyone. She wasn’t going to let them push her around anymore. But just before she knocked on the door, some of that anger faded, and the fear and uncertainty returned. The job Ted had offered her was the only thing standing between her and complete disaster, the only thing that made it possible for her to fight back—because now she had a way to provide for herself.

  But what if he didn’t like her cooking? Or she couldn’t manage the clerical tasks he expected her to do? Or being around each other was simply too awkward?

  She wasn’t sure she could take any more disappointment or rejection.

  Especially from him.

  Maybe he was giving her the job so he could take it away, dash her hopes and send her packing. Hurt her the way she’d once hurt him.

  She twisted around to look at her Mercedes, parked in a gravel lot to one side so she wouldn’t block his driveway, and nearly walked back to it. She was crazy to think any type of arrangement with Ted Dixon would be successful. She’d be working for her old boyfriend, of all people. They had too much history, would never be able to put the past behind them. He’d barely been civil to her the mornings she’d joined his friends at Black Gold Coffee....

  But before she could take a single step, the door opened and he stood in the entryway, looking more handsome than ever. He’d always been tall and thin, with a rangy, rock-star build. Truth be told, he was a little too thin, even at thirty-four, but he’d put on a good twenty pounds over the past decade. The added muscle was apparent beneath the tight-fitting thermal shirt he wore with a pair of faded jeans and expensive-looking house shoes.

  He’d also grown into his hawkish features. She’d noticed that before, of course. Although his face retained a sort of raw-boned quality, his eyes were so intelligent and his mouth so expressive and dynamic that he drew immediate interest, if not admiration.

  His looks appealed to Sophia, but not as much as his blatant sexuality. He had a way of taking command of...everything, including a woman’s body, without becoming an insufferable, selfish pig—a distinction Skip had entirely missed.

  Anyway, the zing that went through her the moment she laid eyes on him worried her. It was too risky to feel so...aware of her new employer.

  “You’re early,” he said.

  She’d been afraid she might be late when she dragged Alexa out of the house at seven-fifteen instead of seven-thirty. She was already getting off at three today, for Halloween. “I’m sorry. I came as soon as I dropped Alexa off.”

  “It’s fine. Come on in.”

  His house was a converted sawmill that appeared to have four levels, all of them open except for the top one—most likely his bedroom. It was loft-like, artsy and unique with brick walls and a wood-beamed ceiling.

  She loved the pop art he had hanging all over, too. “Nice place.”

  “Thanks.”

  There had to be a story behind his home. She’d known when he converted the old sawmill. She’d heard his friends talk about it at coffee and had secretly driven past several times when Skip was out of town. But she didn’t know what had inspired him to buy the property and make such radical changes to it, and he didn’t volunteer any details.

  “You can leave your purse and coat over there.” He indicated some rolling shelves of corrugated metal that had hooks on one side. “I’ll show you where the kitchen is.”

  They descended half a flight of stairs and then another half a flight before entering a gourmet kitchen with a floor of polished rock, windows that overlooked the river and copper pots hanging above an extensive woodblock island. Somehow this part of the house managed to be cozy, even though it was large and reminded her of a medieval manor. There was a fire burning in the hearth at one end, a pantry off to the other side and stairs leading down to what she guessed would be a wine cellar. She inhaled the aroma of fresh mint hanging on a drying rack not far from the oak table and the rich smell of coffee.

  These would be very pleasant surroundings....

  “I put on a pot of Black Gold’s finest,” he said. “Feel free to pour yourself a cup.”

  She was far too nervous to eat or drink. “Maybe when I take a break midmorning.”

  He paused for a second, and his eyes ranged over her. She wondered if she was inappropriately dressed. She’d put on a pair of jeans, a lightweight sweater and tennis shoes, and she’d brought an apron in case he didn’t have one. “Is this okay?” she asked.

  “Is what okay?”

  “What I’m wearing.”

  He averted his gaze as if he hadn’t really been looking at her in the first place. “Of course. Dress however you like. I rarely get company during the day when I’m working.”

  So it would be just the two of them in his secluded house for hours on end....

  She rubbed sweaty palms on her thighs. “When’s your next deadline?”

  He was leading her back up the stairs. “End of December.”

  “Will you be able to meet it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  Instead of thanking her, he turned and gave her another assessing look before continuing the tour. As they passed through the dining room, which was quite formal, she guessed he typically ate in the kitchen. His living room had more of a lived-in feel. So did the game room, which included a pool table, darts and video game systems, along with a big-screen TV. The only thing he didn’t show her was his bedroom. It had to be on the top floor, as she’d initially guessed.

  On the third level, double doors separated his workspace from the rest of the loft. Inside, Sophia saw an extra desk. He said that was where she’d be handling the clerical tasks he assigned her and gestured at the chair. “I’d like you to take a typing test, if you don’t mind.”

  “Right now?” she asked.

  One dark eyebrow quirked up. “Is there something wrong with right now?”

  “No.” Except that her anxiety had her feeling queasy. “What do you want me to type?”

  He grabbed a research book from the shelves lining the two walls that weren’t glass. “How about half a page from this? I just want to get a general idea of your speed.”

  She was a far better cook than she was a typist. She preferred to start proving herself in the kitchen, but she couldn’t say that, not without sounding as if she was making up excuses. At home, she’d used a laptop to surf and shop on the internet. She could limp along on a keyboard but wasn’t what anyone would consider a crack typist.

  He held the book while she tried to copy it. But having him so close, watching her, brought out the worst of her nerves. Her hands shook so badly she couldn’t avoid making mistakes. Soon her eyes were burning, too, with the tears she was holding back, and
that made it difficult to read. Terrified that he’d notice she was about to break down, she blinked and blinked and consequently finished the paragraph by slaughtering almost every word.

  He shut the book. “Maybe we can get you an online typing tutor.”

  She curved her lips into a smile. “If you don’t mind letting me borrow this laptop, I’ll take the clerical work home and do it on my own time since I’m slow, if that’s okay.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose—as if hiring her was the worst mistake he’d ever made. “That’s fine.”

  “I’m not as bad as I seem at the moment,” she insisted.

  “It’s fine, like I said. This is just a stopgap until you find something more suited to your, uh, skills. We can work around...whatever.”

  In other words, he’d put up with her until he could conscionably get rid of her.

  “And what do you think would be better suited to me?” she asked.

  He shrugged as if he didn’t care as long as she eventually secured alternate employment. “There’s always retail. Or...maybe you should take some online classes while you work here to gain skills in other areas. Medical transcription or...or web design. Something like that.”

  She winced but hoped he couldn’t tell. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  If he heard her sarcasm, he didn’t respond to it. With a nod, he went to his own desk. “I’m going to get a few pages done. The cleaning supplies are above the washing machine. Maybe you can start with the house.”

  She curled her nails into her palms. His tone said, Anybody ought to be able to do that. “What time would you like breakfast?”

  He was opening his document. “I had a piece of toast with my coffee earlier.”

  “So skip breakfast?”

  “Right.”

  “And lunch?”

  “I’ll eat at one and five, just to give you a rough schedule. Lunch you can bring up and set on that desk.” He indicated the desk she’d been using. “I’ll get to it when I can. Dinner should be ready at five so you can eat with Alexa before you go home. I’ll have the leftovers when I finish up for the day.”

  He wasn’t planning on seeing much of her, despite the fact that they’d both be in the house, she realized. Since she couldn’t type, she’d been relegated to the nether regions. “Got it.”

  When she didn’t immediately leave, he turned to look at her. “Is there anything else?”

  “I might not be quite as worthless as you think,” she said and walked out.

  12

  He was an idiot. He’d thought he could employ Sophia for a few months without finding it too much of a sacrifice, but that was a joke. She was in his house where he’d have to face her every time he left his office. And she was going to be there all day every day, except weekends.

  Instead of writing, Ted spent the next hour cursing his own ridiculous response to recent events. So when his phone buzzed, it was a welcome distraction rather than an interruption. He couldn’t create a good story, not in his current frame of mind. He might as well answer.

  But when caller ID showed it was his mother, he almost put down the phone. She’d told him not to get involved with Sophia, and he’d done exactly the opposite. Now he’d hear about it. But if he didn’t answer, she’d just keep trying until she got through. Why not break the news, if she hadn’t learned it yet, and get that over with?

  He pushed the talk button. “Hello?”

  “Tell me it’s not true,” she stated flatly.

  She’d learned, all right. “Who told you?” he asked.

  “I ran into Sharon DeBussi at the gas station. She said her granddaughter told her they were going to be okay because of you.”

  “Everyone needs a hand now and then, Mom.” He pretended his actions were perfectly logical and defensible. But he’d lost a lot of confidence since Sophia had arrived. Hiring her had been a mistake. She couldn’t even type, which suddenly seemed more significant than it had when he was feeling sorry for her. He sincerely doubted a woman who’d been that rich could cook or clean, either. She’d stupidly settled for being nothing more than Skip’s arm candy. So what had he been thinking? It wasn’t his responsibility to save her from her own poor choices, but he’d jumped in despite that, and now he had to deal with the fallout.

  “Why not let someone else give her a hand?” his mother asked.

  “Because no one else stepped up!” At least that was true. He wouldn’t have offered her a job if he felt she’d had a better option—or even another option. “From what I could tell, our fellow Whiskey Creek residents just wanted to...pile on.”

  “There’s a reason for that.”

  “She inspires a great deal of resentment. I get it. But enough is enough.” That was true, too, and stating it so emphatically seemed to bolster him, if only slightly.

  “I knew she’d draw you back into her web.”

  His mother’s tone got on his nerves. She could be so smug. “Stop it. I’m not in her web. I’m trying to do something kind for another human being.”

  “The same human being who broke your heart when she chose that bum over you?”

  “Thanks for the reminder. But have you forgotten how hard it was when Dad left us?” he asked. “And you had child support, an education and a good job. What does she have?”

  “The uncanny ability to prey on your sympathies, apparently.”

  His mother wasn’t softening at all. She didn’t forgive easily as a general rule. She was too demanding of herself and others. Expecting her to forgive someone who’d wronged him? Forget it. They could fight between themselves, butt heads all the time, but she’d die defending him. That was what made their relationship so damn complicated. It was difficult to tell someone that devoted to quit meddling when the line between “meddling” and “loving” so often blurred.

  “She didn’t come to me for the job, Mom. I offered it.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No.”

  “Then you deserve exactly what you’re going to get!” A dial tone buzzed in his ear.

  Ted couldn’t remember the last time his mother had hung up on him. She was really upset about this. But she had no right to be. He was an adult, for crying out loud. He could make his own decisions.

  Slumping into his chair, he set the perpetual motion skier his editor had sent him for Christmas into action. He needed to get back to work. He couldn’t lose another day, not if he wanted to meet his deadline. But he was so distracted....

  He stopped the skier as a new thought occurred to him. Was there any chance he could foist Sophia off on someone else, someone in Sacramento or the Bay Area?

  That might be possible...if she had any marketable job skills.

  He was still searching for a way out when a pleasant aroma began to waft into the room. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, trying to decide what Sophia was baking. Cookies? A cake? Muffins?

  He didn’t have to wonder long. A few seconds later, he heard a bump against his office door and swiveled around to see her standing on the other side, holding a plate and a glass of milk. She must’ve used her knee to hit the door because she didn’t have a free hand.

  When he drew close enough to see what was on the plate, he realized she’d brought him some banana bread. It was an eternity since he’d had anything like that. He took his mother to Just Like Mom’s almost every Sunday, and the meals he got there were always good. But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had banana bread, let alone smelled it baking.

  He doubted Sophia could’ve brought him anything he’d find more appealing...at least not in the realm of food.

  “I don’t want to interrupt,” she said. “I just thought you might enjoy a midmorning pick-me-up since you didn’t have much for breakfast.”

  Her tentative smile and the way she hung back to ascertain his response reminded him of an animal that was eager for affection but feared it would be kicked instead. She’d never had that haunted look in her eyes when he’d be
en part of her life. He’d sensed the change in her at the church, too, during that meeting with Skip’s investors. She no longer knew what she could count on, what kind of response she’d get—from anyone.

  “Smells good,” he said.

  That was the positive sign she’d been waiting for. Her smile relaxed as he held the door so she could come in, and she put his lunch on the desk where he’d told her she should leave it.

  “It’ll be here whenever you’re ready. I’ll get the plate later.”

  She scooted out of the room so fast he didn’t have a chance to say anything except thanks before she closed the door. But once she was gone he wasted no time in trying what she’d made.

  The sweet bread, slathered in butter, nearly melted in his mouth. He groaned as he downed both slices and wished she’d brought him the whole loaf.

  His cell phone buzzed as he swallowed the last bite. It was a text message—from Eve.

  How’s she doing?

  Better, he wrote back and went down to the kitchen for more.

  * * *

  By the time Sophia finished cleaning two of Ted’s four bathrooms, she was tired even though it wasn’t quite noon. It’d been a while since she’d engaged in such strenuous activity. She’d never scoured a sunken bath—especially as large as the one he had off his bedroom. Her showers and baths were big and fancy, too, in a more elegant way, but Marta had handled keeping them clean.

  At least she liked being busy. Maybe with some real effort and elbow grease, she’d be able to prove herself. This afternoon she’d take a few minutes and borrow that laptop he had on the desk in his office so she could search the internet for tips on how to keep a house clean and organized. She could even look up various recipes for healthy meals.

  Determined to give her new position everything she had, to convince Ted he was wrong about her abilities, she returned to the kitchen. It was time to start lunch. After that, she’d clean the laundry room and do the laundry. From what she’d seen in Ted’s bedroom, he didn’t have a lot of dirty clothes, but some of his slacks and shirts would need ironing. And there was a far better way to organize his closet. She’d learned that from the specialist who’d come to organize hers.