City Girl (17 page)

“Well, I did,” she whispered back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s simply that . . . I . . . Oh, hell, I feel so damned proud of those two little guys! Look at them up there! They’re wonderful. How can you stand it?”

Someone behind them said, “Shh,” as Liss gazed wonderingly at him. Kirk was proud of her boys? He shared her feelings? She felt as if he’d handed her the most valuable gift of her life. It was no wonder she loved him so much, she thought, then swiftly straightened, snatching her gaze from his face and staring blindly ahead. She did? She loved him? Oh, yes! She didn’t know how it could be, because only a few days ago she’d assured herself that love couldn’t happen that fast, but it had. In less than three weeks, she had fallen in love with this man.

She wanted to stand up and shout it to the audience, to the world. She wanted to cuddle against Kirk and whisper it to him alone. She wanted to go away somewhere quiet all by herself and let the reality of it seep through every pore of her being, until it didn’t feel so big and so frightening and so wonderful. The more she thought about it, though, the bigger and more frightening and more wonderful it became, and she thought she might explode right where she sat.

As the lights came up, she realized Kirk’s gaze was locked with hers. Slowly she focused on him. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “I’m fine.” Her voice sounded rusty, as if she hadn’t used it in years.

He lifted a lock of hair back from her face. “You sure? You’re pale.”

She smiled and gently linked her fingers with his, hoping he wouldn’t ask why she trembled. “I’m sure.”

* * * *

“Mom! Mommy! Look what we have!”

The boys’ calls brought Liss whirling from where she stood at the stove stirring the thick, rich chicken stew she’d made for dinner the day after the concert.

Ryan and Jason raced through the back door ahead of Kirk—the three of them had left on a mysterious mission more than an hour ago—and when he staggered in under the weight of an enormous evergreen tree, Liss’s jaw dropped. “Isn’t it huge?” Ryan said, his eyes dancing.

Liss gulped. “I’ll say!”

Jason touched its prickly branches as Kirk dragged it into the kitchen and tried to stand it erect. It was too tall even for the nine-and-a-half-foot ceiling of the old ranch house. He settled for angling it against the wall and held it with one hand while he tugged off his boots and jacket with the other. Snow drifted from its needles and fell with soft plops from the crooks of its branches

“Smell it, Mommy!” Jason buried his face in the branches, eyes aglow. “It’s for Christmas. We finded it wiff Kirk. Ryan and I picked it out and Kirk cut it down wiff an ax and we towed it home behind the snowmobile. It bounced and turned over and over. I wanted to ride on it but Kirk said no.”

Liss hugged her youngest, then sniffed the tree. Its scent had quickly permeated the entire kitchen. “Mmm,” she said in genuine appreciation. “It’s a wonderful tree.” She unzipped Jason’s jacket and tugged it from his arms, then helped him out of the bottom half of his snowsuit. “You all look like snowmen with bright red noses.”

Ryan turned his jacket half inside out getting rid of it, then, little brother in tow, went back to the utility room to hang it up and neatly put boots away. Even now, Santa might be watching.

“Do you really like it?” Kirk asked when they were alone.

“It’s a beautiful tree,” she said, and he smiled at her, as pleased as a child himself. Grinning, she added, “The question is, where are we going to put it? In the middle of the calving barn?”

Kirk chuckled. He stepped out from behind the huge tree and closer to her, much closer. “They really wanted one about twenty feet tall.”

“This one isn’t?” she asked weakly, looking up at top of the tree bent against the high ceiling.

The two of them shared a smile that set Liss’s heart thundering. The long look he gave her left her breathless, filled with questions, and pulsing with tension that coiled in her belly and weakened her knees.

“Come here,” he said roughly, sliding his hand around the back of her neck. He drew her into the shelter of the tree’s limbs, hiding the two of them from the children, who were playing with the dog in the entry. “Every time you look at me like that, I want to kiss the living daylights out of you, city girl.”

Liss couldn’t reply. She could only look at him, probably making those silent promises again, she thought, judging by the way his eyes glittered, and draw in deep breaths laden with the scent of fresh-cut evergreen, resin, and Kirk. Why did the term “city girl” sound so much like an endearment now, when at first he’d used it as an insult? And why did his calling her that make her go all mushy and hot inside? Because she loved him, she thought. She loved him so much. Oh, Lord, what was she going to do if he got tired of her and wanted her out of his life, started treating her the way he treated Gina? She’d leave. She’d have to leave. To her horror, tears flooded into her eyes before she could control her emotions.

“Hey!” Alarm filled Kirk’s face. “What’s this?” She blinked and the tears rolled down her face. With a self-conscious laugh, she brushed them away. “Nothing. No, really,” she added when he gave her a questioning scowl. “I’m simply feeling  . . . sentimental.” Quickly she fled back to the stove, leaving him standing there with the tree, the width of the room between them—and  a long list of unspoken wishes.

They were still looking at each other from their separate corners when Mrs. Healey entered from the other side of the kitchen. Liss turned at the sound of a disgruntled snort.

“What is that thing doing in here?” Mrs. Healey demanded, thumping her cane on the floor. “Ambrose never had a tree in this house.”

“Too bad,” Kirk said, thumping the trunk of the tree right back at her with a much more impressive thud. “Because we are.”

“You aren’t putting it in the living room, I can tell you that much, young man! Needles in the carpet, tinsel dropping, and ornaments breaking if you so much as look at them. That big dog of yours could wipe out the entire thing with one sweep of his tail, and the whole mess will dry out and become a fire hazard. It’s foolishness, that’s what it is, and has nothing to do with the real spirit of Christmas.”

“Bah, humbug,” Kirk said. He lifted the monster tree onto his shoulder and, with Liss, Ryan, and Jason following, crowded past Mrs. Healey and led the way to the playroom. “Right after dinner, we’ll decorate it, okay?” he said as he leaned the tree against the wall. The boys nodded, their eyes alight with excitement.

“With what?” Mrs. Healey, who had trailed after them, asked. “Like I said, Ambrose never had a tree, so what will you do for ornaments?”

Liss smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Healey. I brought all of mine, and the boys made more at school.” She paused. “But even at that, with a tree so huge, we probably won’t have enough. Would you like to help us make popcorn and cranberry strings tonight?”

Mrs. Healey backed up a step or two. “Me?” She sounded appalled. “Why would I want to do that?”

“I don’t know,” Liss said. “Other than it’s Christmas and families normally do things together at this time of year. Kirk and the kids found the tree. The least you and I can do is make sure it’s decorated.” She felt Kirk’s startled gaze on her and couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Hmmph!” Mrs. Healey snorted. “Families! I could tell you a thing or two about families, miss. “

“I’m sure you could, and I could tell you a few things, too. But I’m certain my idea of family and yours are so far apart, we’d bore each other.” She took her children’s hands. “Come on, guys. Let’s eat so we can get at the tree.”

As they left the playroom Liss noticed that Mrs. Healey drew in a deep breath of the evergreen scent, and even looked slightly less austere for just a moment, maybe even a tad wistful. However, she took herself off to the office and her precious accounts after dinner, leaving the decorating of the tree to those who would enjoy it.

“Here,” Kirk said to Liss as he prepared to set up the tree, after sawing three feet off its trunk. “There’s mail. I forgot it earlier.” He handed her a sheaf of envelopes. She glanced at them idly, then pounced on one, ripping it open and letting out a shriek of pure joy.

“What’s wrong?” Kirk demanded, letting the tree crash to the floor as he hurried to her side.

“I did it! I did it!” she cried, spinning around. “Look! It’s a check!” She flung her arms high, then kissed the check. “Oh, Kirk! I did it! Graham’s sold some of my stuff. It’s like a miracle,” she said, subsiding onto the sofa. “I feel free again. I feel . . . like a real person. I feel as if I can do anything now, go anywhere, that there are no more limits!”

“I’m . . . happy for you, Liss,” he said, and she looked at him sharply.

He was smiling, but she knew he was not happy for her. He was lying through his teeth. Unbidden came the memory of Johnny looking exactly the same way when she’d made a particularly exciting sale, as if her talent, her success, somehow undermined him.

Kirk seemed to sense disappointment, for he sat down beside her and gave her a hug. “It’s great news, Liss,” he said, this time smiling genuinely, “and I’m very, very proud of you.”

She met his gaze for a moment, seeking reassurance, and to her pleasure, finding it. “Thank you,” she said, tucking the check back into its envelope. “It isn’t really all that spectacular a check;” she confessed. “Less than three thousand dollars, but . . .”

“But it’s yours and you earned it.” He dropped a kiss on her nose. “Congratulations, Liss.”

It was hers, she told herself, and she had earned it, and she wasn’t going to let his momentary sullenness detract from her joy in it. Returning his hug, she laughed up at him. “Don’t we have a tree to decorate tonight?”

Chapter Eight

Kirk took such great pains to get the tree exactly centered in the big window facing the highway, and then the strings of lights so perfectly balanced, Liss finally gave up and left him to it. “You’re a perfectionist,” she said, as she refilled their eggnog glasses from the jug on the coffee table. “What does it matter if there are two red lights side by side? It’s not as if we’re going to have tour buses stopping to view our display.”

He smiled at her over his shoulder. “I take Christmas seriously, city girl. Tour buses! Don’t we deserve perfection, too, even if the world isn’t going to be driven to our door to ooh and aah?”

“If you say so,” she murmured, sitting back down on the sofa to watch and to string popcorn between bright red cranberries. “As long as you don’t expect me to help you achieve that flawlessness and symmetry.”

He chuckled. “As if any mere woman could.”

She returned his smile. “If you’re trying to challenge me to help you, you’re out of luck.”

“You’re lazy,” he said.

She nodded happily, then sipped her spicy drink and got back to work on the popcorn and berries. Presently she set a completed string down and closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of a family Christmas—the children squabbling, the “daddy” grumbling at a recalcitrant string of lights, carols playing in the background while a fire crackled on the hearth. It was wonderful and dreamlike and completely unreal, but nobody had yet made fantasies illegal. Her first major sale in four years was simply a bonus, and she could weave fantastic dreams about what that would mean, too.

She opened her eyes when Kirk sat down beside her. “There now, isn’t that a fine-looking tree?” he asked, nodding in smug approval.

“It’s a beautiful tree,” she said. “Or it will be, when we hang the rest of the ornaments.”

“It’s a beautiful tree now,” he said as he snatched her pillow. He smacked her on the head with it, then stuffed it behind his own head. “The prettiest I’ve seen, and that’s because it has a couple of kids sprawled under it.”

She pulled up one leg and wrapped her arms around it, then rested her cheek on her knee. “Were you a lonely child, Kirk?”

He thought for a moment while he drank half his eggnog. “I never realized it until I saw those two together, but I guess so.” He toyed with the pink ribbon holding back Liss’s hair. “I had plenty of friends, so I wasn’t what you might call a solitary kid, but I guess I was a bit lonely at times. Were you?”

She nodded, and the ribbon pulled free, spilling her hair onto her back and shoulders. Kirk filtered his fingers through it, taking pleasure in the texture of it, admiring the way her silky black hair looked against her pink angora sweater.

“There’s a special relationship between siblings,” she said, “that only children miss out on no matter how many good friends they have. Maybe that’s why I was so eager to have two close together.”

Kirk lifted a handful of her hair and let it trickle slowly out of his fingers. “What you said earlier, about what `families’ do together at Christmas. I liked that. I felt . . . included, whether you meant me to or not.”

“I’m glad you didn’t mind. I regretted saying it,” she admitted softly. “I thought maybe you’d think I was being presumptuous.”

“Never.” He wrapped a lock of her hair around his right forefinger and smoothed it with his thumb, concentrating on it; then he glanced at her. “Liss, speaking of families . . .”

“What?”

“I know I should have told you this sooner, but I was afraid you’d object and . . . well, my mom is coming for Christmas.”

She met his gaze with surprise. “Object? Why would I? This is your home. If anybody raises a fuss, it’ll be you-know-who.” She frowned and shook her head to dislodge his hand from her hair. “I only hope your mother can look after herself when it comes to dealing with the Grinch.”

“She can.” He handed her ribbon to her as she bunched her hair back again. “She’ll probably even knock a few corners off the old bat.”

“We can but hope,” Liss said doubtfully. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was time for the children to be in bed. Jumping to her feet, she herded them upstairs. When she returned half an hour later, Kirk met her with a bowl of mandarin oranges, a plate of butter tarts she’d made, and a fresh glass of eggnog for each of them.

“Come and curl up here,” he said, patting the couch at his side. “Let’s get cozy.”