by Janet Dailey
Summoning her will, she tore herself free and spun away from him. They stood face to face, both of them breathing hard.
“Tracy—” he began.
“No. I’m sorry. I can’t do this, Rush. I’m not ready.”
One dark eyebrow lifted. His mouth tightened. He shook his head, visibly bringing his frustration under control. “Tracy, I don’t know whether to believe your words or believe that sensational kiss. I think you’re readier than you say you are. But if you feel pressured, I’ll do my best to be a gentleman and respect that.”
“Thanks.” So why am I aching for him to kiss me again?
“Still friends?” she asked, knowing she sounded like a fool.
“Friends,” he said. “Can I drop Clara off tomorrow? And will you still be my date to the Christmas Ball?”
She forced herself to smile. “Why not—if we can pretend this never happened?”
“No problem. If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. But don’t expect me to wait too long.”
“That’s just the problem. I might never be ready. There are things you don’t know—” Should she tell him? Now would be the time. Waiting would only make things more painful.
“Then let’s give it time,” he said. “For now, we can be friends and enjoy a few laughs together. If anything changes, fine. If not . . .” He shrugged. “That’s life for you. Now let’s get back in the house before my partners get the wrong idea.”
With Bucket tagging behind them, he ushered her back inside through the kitchen. Conner and Travis were loading the dishwasher. “Back so soon?” Conner asked, glancing up.
“Nothing’s going on out there,” Rush said.
“Since I’ve already got my coat on, I should probably be getting home,” Tracy said. “Thanks for your company. It’s been a great evening.”
“And I’ll thank you with every scrumptious bite of that leftover chocolate cake,” Conner said.
When Tracy walked into the living room, Maggie and Clara were practicing dance steps in front of the Christmas tree.
“Thanks again for inviting me, Maggie,” she said. “Clara, I’ll see you tomorrow. You can play with the kittens and help me make cookies.”
“And if it’s a good time, I’ll come by after work and bring you the gowns,” Maggie added.
“I know how busy you must be,” Tracy said. “If it’s too much bother—”
“Nonsense, it’ll be a pleasure,” Maggie said. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”
“I’ll walk you to your car.” Rush opened the front door for her and lent an arm to help her down the rickety steps. Tracy walked beside him in silence. “Are you all right?” he asked. “If I spoiled a nice evening, I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Tracy said. “If I were a different woman, I’d be thanking my lucky stars for a man like you. But there are things—”
“Hush.” He opened the driver’s-side door and held it while she slipped behind the wheel. “If you were a different woman, Tracy, I wouldn’t be here. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With that, he closed the door and stepped back from the car. As Tracy switched on the headlights and drove out of the gate, an aching lump rose in her throat.
Why did life have to be so complicated?
When she undressed that night, Steve’s handsome face smiled at her from its leather frame. It’s only paper. It isn’t really him, she told herself as she buttoned her cotton pajamas. Yet she couldn’t help wondering what her husband would think if he knew she’d been kissing another man—and liking it.
Except for practical things like finances, insurance, and the house, they’d never discussed what she should do after he was gone. Would he want her to spend the rest of her life in mourning, or would he want her to move on and find happiness with someone new?
But no—that wasn’t the question she should be asking herself. It wasn’t what would Steve want her to do. It was what did she want to do?
After turning out the light, she lay in the darkness, remembering the heart-stopping sensation of Rush’s lips on hers. It had been all she could do to pull away from him. But a kiss was one thing. A lifetime was something else. And the most vital question of all lay between them, unasked and unanswered.
* * *
The next morning brought a drizzling rain, dashing the hope for snow. Before breakfast, Tracy took Murphy outside in her rain jacket. She had to help him to his favorite tree and back inside, where she dried his coat with a towel so he wouldn’t chill.
At 8:30, Rush brought Clara to the front door. “Thanks again,” he said. “Sorry I can’t come in. I’m already late for my first appointment. But I’ll see you when I pick Clara up.”
Then he was gone, splashing water beneath his boots as he strode down the sidewalk. He had barely met her eyes. Had last night made him uncomfortable? But that wasn’t like Rush. He was just in a hurry, Tracy told herself.
Clara made a beeline for the laundry room. Tracy could hear her laughing through the partly closed door. “Come see!” She ran back to Tracy, tugging her hand. “The kittens can climb out of the box! Ginger was the first one, and now they’re all doing it!”
“Wow, they’re supercharged.” The kittens were exploring the laundry room, scampering, creeping, and pouncing. “Where’s Rainbow?” Tracy asked.
“She’s eating.” Clara brightened. “Maybe the kittens can eat some food, too. They’ve all got teeth.”
“Let’s find out.” Tracy had bought a few cans of wet kitten food. In the kitchen, she opened one, scooped out the tuna-flavored mix, and spread it on a small paper plate. Keeping Rainbow distracted, she let Clara set the plate on the floor of the laundry room.
The kittens came running to check out the intriguing new smell. They sniffed, licked, nibbled, and became tiny carnivores. Their little tails quivered with pleasure as they devoured their first meat. “They love it!” Clara was giggling and clapping. “Look, they want more.”
The kittens were licking the paper plate, scratching it with their paws and looking up at Clara. “Can we give them another can?”
Tracy hesitated. “Let’s wait. Too much food before they’re used to it could make them sick. And they’ll still be drinking Rainbow’s milk for a while.”
“Does that mean they’ll soon be ready for new homes?” The excitement was gone from Clara’s voice.
“They still need to stop nursing, and I’m hoping Rainbow will teach them to use the litter box. But they’re growing up. It won’t be much longer.”
“Oh.” Clara picked up Snowflake, held him close to her shoulder, and rubbed her cheek against his velvety white head. She looked as if she were about to cry. “But I don’t want them to go.” A tear trickled down Clara’s cheek. “I thought it would be fun to find them new homes. But now I want them to stay here. And I want them to stay little. Rainbow will be so sad without her babies.”
“Oh, Clara.” Tracy gathered the little girl close, kitten and all. “Cats grow up fast. It’s what nature intended. And Rainbow might be sad for a day or two. But if we give her plenty of love, she’ll be fine.”
“Will she have more kittens?”
“No. I’m going to let your dad fix her so she won’t have more. She can be just a happy, healthy cat.”
“Oh.” Clara sounded uncertain. “Why not let her have more kittens? They’re so cute. And how is Dad supposed to fix her?”
“Those are good questions for your dad,” Tracy said, letting her go. “You can ask him.”
Clara kissed Snowflake and put him on the floor again. “I still want to keep him. You won’t give him away, will you?”
“I promised to wait, remember?”
“I just wanted to make sure.”
“Well, for now would you like a job?” Tracy said. “These kittens are curious. Now that they’re out of the box, they’ll want to run all over the house. You can follow them and make sure they don’t get into trouble or get lost. Okay?”
“Okay.” C
lara gave her a tentative smile. “Sure.”
“When they get tired and hungry, they can go back to their mother.”
“What if they can’t get back in the box? It’ll be hard if they’re tired.”
“You’re right. How can we make it easier?”
“I know!” Clara said. “We can cut a door in the box.”
“Good thinking. Your dad would be proud of you.” The words reminded Tracy of Rush’s heartbreaking situation. He was Clara’s dad in every respect but one—the one that counted with the law.
Using a kitchen knife, Tracy cut a round hole in the front of the cardboard box, just big enough and low enough for Rainbow and the kittens to go in and out without having to climb. “Perfect,” she said. “That was a great idea, Clara. Now you’d better go and look after those kittens. They’ve already made it into the hall.”
Following the kittens around the house kept Clara entertained for more than an hour. By the time Rainbow called her little family back to the box, they were ready for warm milk, a family snuggle, and a nap.
Tracy made sure they were all in the box, then closed the laundry room door to keep them from wandering out. “Good job,” she said to Clara. “Now, do you want to help me bake cookies? We’ll make plenty, so you and your dad can take some back to the ranch.”
Tracy had expected the little girl to be excited. But Clara only shook her head. “What is it?” Tracy asked. “Making cookies will be fun.”
“I know,” Clara said. “But you promised to help me write a letter to Santa. If we don’t do it today, he might not get it in time for Christmas.”
“That’s right, I did promise you, didn’t I?” Tracy said.
“And promises are more important than cookies.”
“Wise words. Are you sure you’re only four years old? Sometimes you talk like you’re about fifty.”
Clara giggled. “I’m not fifty. That’s really old. Have you got some nice paper?”
“I think so. But we could do the letter on my computer. That would be easier. We could even send Santa an e-mail.”
“They might not have e-mail at the North Pole,” Clara said. “Anyway, I think Santa would rather get a real letter.”
“Okay,” Tracy said. “I’ve got some paper in my desk.”
Tracy kept a box of light blue linen stationery with matching envelopes in the back of a drawer. She took it out and carried it, along with a pen, to the kitchen table, where Clara had taken a seat. “Will this paper do?” she asked.
“Blue is nice,” Clara said. “I think Santa will like that.”
Tracy sat next to Clara, laid a sheet of paper on the table, and poised the pen. “Ready? I’ll write whatever you say.”
“Okay.” Clara paused, thinking. “Dear Santa Claus . . .”
Tracy printed the words. Clara watched her form the letters. “I wish I could read,” she said. “I know I’ll learn in school, but that’s not for a long time.”
“You could learn now. All you need is someone to teach you. Maybe your dad could take you to the library and find you some easy books.” Tracy held the pen and waited for Clara to go on.
“Dear Santa, I hope you get this letter on time.” She paused. “Got that?”
“Just about. You might want to slow down a little.” Tracy finished printing the line. “Next?”
“I have been very good this year.” She spoke slowly, enunciating each word. “Here is what I want for Christmas.”
“Got it.”
“What I want most is a white kitten. A real kitten, not a toy. His name is Snowflake. I believe in you, Santa. Can you please make a miracle and get him for me?”
Tracy muffled a sigh as she wrote the words. She should have seen this coming.
“I want another miracle, okay, Santa?” Clara was getting warmed up now. “I want to be with my dad—I mean my daddy, not my father. Maybe he could get married. Then we could live in a house, and I could have Snowflake.”
“You’re asking for a lot, Clara,” Tracy said.
“I know.” Clara’s big brown eyes shone with a child’s faith. “But if I don’t ask, how will Santa know what I want?”
“That’s a good question,” Tracy said. “But what if the miracle’s too hard for Santa? What if he has to say no?”
Clara’s hopeful expression faded. She gazed down at the table for a moment before she replied.
“Then I’ll be really sad. But Santa wants to make kids happy. He’ll try.”
“Then I guess that’s all we can hope for,” Tracy said. “Is there anything else you want to tell Santa?”
Clara thought for a moment, then nodded. “Write this,” she said. “I know you’ll do your best. When I see you in the parade, I’ll wave at you. I’ll have on a red coat, so you’ll know it’s me. Love . . . and then my name.”
Tracy finished writing. “You can sign your own name,” she said, handing Clara the pen.
Clara signed with big, crooked letters. “Now let’s put it in an envelope,” she said. “Can you help me fold it?”
Tracy showed her where to fold the page so it would fit in the envelope. Then she addressed it to Santa Claus at the North Pole. “Anything else?” she asked.
“I just need to lick it.” Clara took the envelope, slicked the flap with her tongue, and held it shut. “Now it needs a stamp,” she said.
“Oh, dear.” Tracy remembered that she’d used the last of her stamps to mail her bills. “I’m all out of stamps. Leave the letter right here on the table. When your dad comes, he can take it to the post office and put a stamp on it there.”
“What if he forgets?”
“We can remind him,” Tracy said. “Now, how about helping me make those cookies?”
* * *
It was almost noon by the time Rush finished his last appointment. As he drove back to Tracy’s house, the thought of being with her again triggered a subtle quickening of his pulse. He remembered last night, holding her in his arms, feeling her slender curves pressing his body as he kissed those heavenly lips. She’d tasted a little like the chocolate cake they’d both had for dessert. He’d found himself wanting second helpings, and thirds.
Not that it had ended well. He should have known that Tracy would back off. But, damn it, he could tell that she’d liked kissing him. And she was going to like it even more the next time it happened.
Was he falling for her? It felt like it—and it felt good. For the first time in recent memory, he felt like taking a chance. If he ended up getting his heart stomped, at least he could say he’d enjoyed the ride.
He parked in front of her house, took the front steps two at a time, and rapped lightly on the front door. He heard the sound of her quick, light footsteps before the door opened. The warm air that rushed out wrapped him in the aromas of sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon.
Tracy stood in the doorway, wearing an old-fashioned apron over her jeans and a dab of flour on her nose. She looked good enough to devour, like a woman-shaped sugar cookie.
It took all the self-control he could muster to keep from sweeping her into his arms and kissing her till she whimpered. They had the start of a good thing here. He didn’t want to spoil it by rushing when she wasn’t ready.
“Shhh!” She put a finger to her lips as she let him in and closed the door softly behind him. “Clara’s asleep. She wore herself out chasing kittens and making cookies.”
“That’s fine.” He wandered toward the kitchen, taking note of the old dog snoring by the fireplace. “I hope you baked a few of those cookies for me.”
“Have all you want. I was just making some coffee.” As he took his seat, she put a saucer and a napkin on the table, along with a plate of warm sugar cookies shaped like stars and bells and Christmas trees. “We were going to ice them, but Clara was too tired.”
“That’s fine with me. I like them better plain.” He sampled a star cookie. The first bite melted in his mouth. He was about to take another bite when he noticed the blue envelope lying on th
e table. “What’s this?” He picked it up and read the address. “Did Clara write Santa a letter?”
“With my help. The post office will send it to a place with that address. I was going to mail it, but I didn’t have a stamp.”
“We’ve got stamps at the ranch. I can take this home and put it in our mailbox. I still need to buy her some presents. What did she ask for?”
“Nothing you can get at Shop Mart, I’m afraid.” Tracy poured two mugs of coffee and set them on the table before she sat down.
Rush was slipping the letter into his jacket when he realized the flap was loose. He took a closer look. Clara, it appeared, had licked off enough adhesive to keep the envelope from sealing.
“I can get you a new envelope,” Tracy said.
“Don’t bother. I’ll tape this shut before I mail it.” Rush paused, wondering what was in the letter. “Do you think she’d mind if I looked?”
“Since you’re the closest thing to her Santa, I think you should,” Tracy said. “But don’t expect it to resolve anything.”
Rush slipped the folded page out of the envelope, smoothed it on the table, and read the words his little girl had asked Tracy to write. The kitten was no surprise. Even that would be a problem. As for the rest . . . Rush struggled to ignore the rising lump in his throat. “Damn,” he muttered.
Tracy shook her head. “I understand, and I’m sorry.”
Rush folded the letter again and put it back in the envelope.
“Give it to me. I’ve got some glue.” Tracy stepped to the cupboard and found a small bottle of white glue. She squeezed a thin line along the flap of the envelope and closed it. “There. It might be just as well if she doesn’t know you read the letter.”
Rush slipped the envelope into his pocket. “I’d do anything to keep her with me, even part-time. But she doesn’t understand how impossible it is, let alone the reason why.”
“I think she understands more than you realize. That’s why she asked Santa for miracles.” Tracy refilled his coffee cup. “Can’t you appeal to your ex-wife? Surely she wants her daughter to be happy.”
