The Spirit of Christmas

by Liz Talley

  “Mama, maybe that charter-school idea has merit.” For a few years Freda had been researching the process for running a school that would address Caleb’s particular needs as well as assisting some of the other local families with the needs of their kids. She hadn’t gotten as far as she’d like, in part because of the funding costs. “Let’s talk more later. Right now I’m late for a gala.”

  “A gala?”

  “Yeah.” Mary Paige yanked her sweater over her head, then wiggled out of her pants. “I’m going to an adult prom in the dress I wore for high-school prom.”

  “Maybe you should have cashed that check.”

  “And miss wearing the dress you made from that bargain satin you found in a flea market? It still fits and it’s still pretty.”

  “Dear God, you are my daughter.”

  * * *

  THE GLITTERING TREES sprawled throughout City Park like magical creatures from a storybook, leading the way to an adventure filled with beautiful fairies, handsome princes and, no doubt, smoked salmon.

  Mary Paige had no clue why people liked smoked salmon. It was virtually raw fish, and she’d cleaned enough perch to lose any taste for raw fish.

  But it didn’t matter because she was lost. She’d driven all over City Park and still couldn’t find the right parking lot. The Pavilion of the Two Sisters should be easy to find, but for some reason she’d ended up in the parking lot of Storyland, which was filled with whirling rides, a restored antique carousel and loads of laughing families wandering around under the thousands of glittering light strands—all part of Celebration in the Oaks. Maybe the reception hall was beyond the gated park. She could take the path through the trees and perhaps they would lead to exactly where she needed to go.

  She climbed out and tugged the satin dress into place, happy she hadn’t had to wear the Spanx after all. She sucked in her stomach and made sure the beaded trim around the top of the dress covered her boobs. The sapphire fabric fit her like a second skin, cinching in her waist and dropping to the tops of her one pair of designer shoes. The sheath was classic and needed no other adornment save the iridescent beads and high slit up the leg. It wasn’t haute couture, but it did look good on her.

  She grabbed her clutch, locked the car and started up the path toward…well, she didn’t know.

  “Mary Paige?”

  Brennan’s voice came from behind her. She turned to find him sitting in a no-doubt absurdly expensive car in the parking lot. The lights were on and the car idled.

  “Oh, hello, Brennan.”

  “I drove past and saw you climb out. What are you doing here? You know we’re at the Pavilion?”

  He looked startlingly handsome. Not so much like a lion. More like a storybook prince ready to rescue her from perishing in the woods…or, in this case, the lit-up oaks. “I know but my direction doohickey on the phone kept taking me here, so I thought it was up ahead.”

  He shifted the car into gear and roared into a parking spot, putting up the top of the car and climbing out. A beep later and he strode toward her, looking elegant and sexy in a classic black tuxedo.

  She didn’t want it to, but her heart skipped a beat.

  He stopped to take in the view. Not the park. But her. And she swore hot flames licked up her body as his gaze lazily perused her. “Stunning.”

  That simple word pooled pleasure in her belly, and she felt her cheeks ignite in a soft blush. “Thank you. You look very nice, as well. Like the paisley bow tie.”

  “Paisleys are making a comeback.”

  “Well, then,” she said with a smile. “Should I go back to my car and follow you to the right place?”

  “It’s not far and we can walk as long as you’re good in those heels.” His gaze slid down her body again, landing on her toes. And again, she felt the heat of his perusal. Her body hummed and she reminded herself not to be seduced by Brennan Henry. Teeth and bloody stumps and—

  He smiled—a secret little masculine smile that told her there was more on his mind than a stroll—and she forgot about warning herself. He glanced at the lights twinkling above them.

  “I’ve decided to like Christmas lights,” he said, a slight huskiness in his voice.

  “Oh? Well, these are pretty.”

  Christmas music played softly in the background, almost drowned out by the shrieks of children on the carnival rides. The night was festive and magical already.

  He took her elbow, and she curved her arm through his, pleased to have the solid warmth of a man next to her.

  “Have you ever been to City Park Storyland or ridden the carousel before?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve taken walks in the park and even went to a concert by some philharmonic but never visited this part before. Guess I have no reason to ride the carousel or tilt-a-whirl.”

  “Now, that doesn’t sound like the Mary Paige I know. You seem the type of woman who’d do whatever she wished as long as it made her smile.”

  “You don’t really know me, do you? I’m not all about pleasure, Brennan.” God, the way she said it made it sound like it was about sex.

  Bingo. His body tightened beneath her hand.

  “What I mean is I pay attention to consequences, to the impact on others, to social responsibility. Ugh, this is not coming out right. What I mean is—”

  “You wanna ride the tilt-a-whirl?”

  “Wha—” She snapped her mouth closed and looked at the spinning cars. “You want to ride that? In these clothes?”

  Brennan nodded, something she couldn’t read hidden in the depths of those eyes that didn’t seem so cold this evening. “I haven’t done it since I was a small boy, and oddly enough, I don’t think I can leave Storyland without riding it. You’re exactly the person I want to do it with.”

  She didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. “But we’re dressed like…this.” She indicated her gown.

  “I like the irony. Storyland and the Carousel Gardens. You looking like Cinderella and a rollicking ride.” He pointed in that direction. “Come on. Let’s do it.”

  Mary Paige really didn’t want to hike up her dress and climb on a carnival ride, but something inside her nudged her to fulfill this man’s request. Perhaps riding the tilt-a-whirl proved Brennan was fallible, silly…human. “Yeah, let’s go ride the tilt-a-whirl in heels and a bow tie.”

  He grinned and she caught sight of the boy he must have been at one time. Something about his expression motivated her to do whatever the man wanted her to do. Tilt-a-whirl? Sex? Rob a bank? Whatever. Sign her up. “I’ll get the tickets. You get in line.”

  “This is going to make us late,” she called to his retreating back. He didn’t turn around because obviously he was a man on a mission. She looked around, feeling like she’d been plunked down in Oz. She lifted the hem of her gown. Nope. No ruby slippers.

  So she got in line behind two preteen girls who kept looking at her with curious stares.

  Well, yeah. She’d stare at a woman in a full-length gown standing in a line for a carnival ride, too. In fact, lots of people stopped, stared and then whispered. One man laughed.

  She felt Brennan before he spoke—maybe because he smelled of expensive leather or something rich-guylike. Then he touched her and she felt her pulse speed out of control.

  “I got the tickets. You ready to ride?”

  Was she? Ready to ride? Because suddenly it felt more than a carnival ride. Maybe she was in line for something more with Brennan. And like the anticipation of an imminent thrill ride, her stomach flipped, her breathing quickened and her palms sweated.

  How had stopping for coffee and a pair of ugly socks landed her in Storyland, dressed in a ball gown standing next to a prince…a miserly, grumpy and greedy prince, but one she felt herself softening toward. Oh, she knew she couldn’t have this prince forever and ever.

  But maybe she could take a ride with him?

  Or a ride on him?

  The thought of making love with Brennan stuck in her mind, an
ever-present unwanted pop-up ad for sex. Appearing at random moments. Luring her. Begging her to indulge.

  “Here’s your ticket....” Temptation beckoned.

  * * *

  MALCOLM SAT ON the flowery couch in the dressing lounge of the haute couture section of Henry’s watching Judy and her fairy godmother eyeball each other. Gigi Malone had been with Henry Department Stores for over thirty years and was the equivalent of Coco Chanel in New Orleans. She might not design the clothes, but she paired the classic with the unique and wore designs with panache. No one doubted Gigi’s eye. No one.

  Not even stubborn Judy Poche, who had opened her mouth only once while Gigi tugged off the black sweater and glared at it as if it had been delivered from the back end of a dog before tossing it in the general direction of the gilded trash can in the corner of the lounge.

  “Wait,” Judy said, grasping the air where the sweater had once been held. “That’s—”

  “Darling,” Gigi drawled, touching a finger to her black Buddy Holly glasses, “do you see the man sitting on that divan?”

  Judy swiveled her head toward him, and he arched an eyebrow at Gigi. She was really over-the-top.

  “He’s Malcolm Henry, Jr., even if he’s wearing a blinking nose.”

  “I know who he is,” Judy said, frowning at Gigi as if the woman had sprouted horns or frothed at the mouth. He couldn’t really tell if Judy thought Gigi was cracked or Satan himself.

  “He does not squire about town with someone dressed in a habit unless it’s Halloween.”

  Judy’s mouth fell open. “I don’t dress like a nun.”

  Gigi merely arched a well-groomed eyebrow.

  His sweet date looked at him for help, and he didn’t know whether to laugh or rush to her defense. So he did neither. He looked at Gigi and prayed she’d win over Judy.

  “Not evident to these eyes, darling. Tonight you’re to attend a benefit with the elite of New Orleans. Let’s do you justice, darling,” Gigi said, running a practiced eye over the black cotton tank she’d revealed and the skirt that hung to Judy’s flats.

  “Malcolm?” Based on her expression Judy appeared as though she might bolt…or punch Gigi.

  “Judy, you’re a beautiful woman, and Gigi will bring all you are to the surface. I trust her implicitly, otherwise, I wouldn’t have torn her from her nightly cappuccino to dress you. Now, let her do her magic.”

  Gigi clapped. “Well, done, Malcolm, and don’t think your sweet words will keep me from penciling in overtime on the time card.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it. Now, time is money, and we have a date with the dance floor.”

  Gigi clapped her hands again and a young saleswoman appeared. “Fetch Mr. Henry a double scotch and then send for Beatrice at the Elizabeth Arden counter. Tell her to bring something suitable for a brunette. Also, tell Richard in Shoes to find strappy sandals in a size—” she looked at Judy’s feet “—six and a half.”

  Malcolm nearly laughed as Judy’s eyes widened. She mouthed “wow,” and he didn’t think he could feel happier at that moment watching his longtime employee ply her trade and his wares on the woman who likely had not worn anything designer in years, if ever.

  Before long, Judy appeared wearing a beautiful champagne-colored sheath that hugged curves he’d never known she had. Her shoulders were exposed and, for a sixty-year-old woman, they were remarkably smooth and kissable. Her feet were bare and she wore no makeup. The dress was gorgeous, but the masterpiece wore the dress.

  “Tsk, tsk,” Gigi said, breezing into the room, her kitten heels clacking on the wood floor. “Metamorphosis not complete, darling.”

  Judy slid her gaze to the small woman wearing black Lycra, a Hermès scarf in jade and puce with matching harlequin-patterned shoes. “I don’t want to look like a strumpet. Malcolm?”

  “If I had strawberries, I’d dip them in you. You’re like fine champagne, sleek but with bite.”

  Judy laughed. “Good gravy, I’m in trouble. Your words are like this dress—too good to be true…and a little naughty.” She turned around and showed him a plunging back that stopped only just above the curve of her hips.

  “Definitely that dress,” he said, trying not to sound like a horny old sod.

  Gigi clapped. “Back to the dressing area. Beatrice awaits and we must do something with this hair. I’ll fetch pins.”

  The glance Judy threw him before disappearing around the corner was half desperate, half delighted.

  Grinning, he went back to the drink that had already given him a cheerful glow. He had to be careful imbibing alcohol since the medications he took could be affected by the booze, but one more sip wouldn’t hurt. Not when his hands trembled to touch that sweet woman wrapped in silk like an early Christmas present with his name on the tag.

  When Judy reappeared, her hair had been pulled back to show the face of a goddess. He didn’t know what Beatrice got paid, but she’d be getting a handsome tip from him. Judy’s face looked ethereal, glowing with excitement and a sort of radiance he’d never known cosmetics could create. Perhaps it wasn’t cosmetics, though. Perhaps it was the glow of excitement making Judy look delicious and not quite angelic.

  “Well?” she said, turning a circle, making his mouth water.

  “Bewitching siren,” he said, rising, giving Gigi a nod as she blew him a kiss and slipped from the room. He approached Judy, spun her into his arms and kissed those soft pink lips.

  She melted against him, raising her elegant hands to frame his face.

  Breaking the kiss, his gaze connected with hers. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Exactly what you’re doing to me,” she breathed, smoothing the hair across his forehead before sliding her hand to his jaw. “This is like a fairy tale. The Malcolm Henrys of the world don’t take the Judy Poches of the world to the ball. It scares me.”

  He rested his forehead against hers. “The world is wrong. I’m not worthy of you, sweet woman. I’m a hard-nosed cuss of a man who has waded through sin, vice and greed to reach a new shore to find an angel waiting for him. Please don’t run away.”

  Her answer was to kiss him. Wonder flowed through him and he felt the way he had long, long ago with a girl he’d met, loved and left behind to marry the “right” woman. The emotion was as addictive as cocaine, this rush of exhilaration, this euphoria he wanted to tie himself to and ride until he was tossed into the grave.

  “Let’s go,” Judy murmured against his lips. “We’re late for the ball.”

  “It’s a benefit gala,” he said, nipping the delicate skin at Judy’s neck.

  “To me, it will be a ball and I’m not leaving one of these gorgeous shoes behind, neither.” She kicked up an iridescent sandal with a gold heel.

  “If you do, I know where to find you.” He winked. “So, let’s go to your ball, Judy.”

  She pulled a matching blinking nose from her bag and pulled it on. “Let’s.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BRENNAN COULDN’T STOP laughing—his stomach felt sucked against the seat of the tilt-a-whirl car and the world whipped by in a blur of color and twinkling lights. The only thing clear at that moment was the giggling woman next to him and the thrill of remembering a time when life was worry-free.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Mary Paige shrieked, clinging to the metal handrail as the car took a sudden hard spin.

  “This is awesome,” he said, laughing at the way she squeezed those pretty brown eyes closed and braced herself for the next spin, which came quick and hard, twisting his gut and making him laugh.

  Finally, after several minutes, the ride slowed and their car rocked from side to side before settling.

  Mary Paige opened her eyes.

  “You’re not going to hurl, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Though it would serve you right. Everyone thinks we’re nuts climbing on this ride in these clothes.”

  Glancing around the new car with the purple, green and gold Mardi Gras colors, Brennan was reminde
d of an aged car with cracked red vinyl seats and black spots of ancient gum on the plate-metal floor—one he’d ridden with his father and Brielle. This time the memory didn’t hurt, it merely gave him a warm glow as if his impish, silly sister would have approved of climbing aboard in dress-up clothes. “I like irony.”

  “Do you?” Mary Paige cocked her head. “Because this seems way outside your comfort zone. Never in a million years would I have expected a fuddy-dud like you to like carnival rides. Spur of the moment, too, I might add.”

  An older man wearing stained khakis and a T-shirt, with an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips, lifted the metal bar. “If I’d known there was a party, I’d a worn my tux,” he drawled in a heavy New Orleans accent.

  Mary Paige smiled. “Who needs a good reason to dress up, right?”

  The guy didn’t say anything. She shrugged as she hitched up her dress and tried to climb from the still swinging car.

  “Here.” Brennan extended a hand toward her, eyeing the greased axle beneath her shoes. Mary Paige wasn’t the most graceful of women, and she needed that dress to stay intact and her bottom to remain grease-free.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking his hand as he tugged her a little too hard. Her heel caught on the edge and she stumbled into him. But he was ready—or maybe he’d subconsciously planned it—and caught her against his chest.

  She raised those pretty eyes and there was nothing left to do but kiss her.

  So he did.

  “Don’t mess up my hair,” she said as his lips captured hers. Her demand made him smile, so the kiss that could have been passionate ended up tame by his standards.

  A tap on his shoulder put a stop to anything more. Brennan released Mary Paige and turned to the carnival ride operator, who removed the cigarette from his lips, tucked it behind his ear and said, “My turn?”

  The man laughed good-naturedly, which made Mary Paige laugh. Again, something he hadn’t felt in a long time came over him. He almost didn’t recognize the bubbling inside him.

  Joy.

  Good Lord, Brennan “Scrooge” Henry stood among tacky red velvet bows and Christmas lights in City Park smiling like a toddler high on sugar.