Enchanted (20 page)

“Is there a problem, young man?”

“No,” Mac shook his head. “Not at all. It’s perfect. Could you wrap it?”

“Why, of course, young man. Be right back.”

The man left the room just long enough for Mac to glance at his surroundings. Christmas tree in the comer, a wreath on the door. The smell of cinnamon and hot apple cider. Merry, he thought with a smile. And the old man, dressed in plaid shirt and suspenders. And the words he used. No, no, no. Young man. No. Couldn’t be. He tossed the notion aside, roaming the room while he waited.

He picked up a teddy bear with a tom ear from a pile of what appeared to be discarded toys. He had had one just like it over forty years ago. A gift from Santa Claus. He laughed, and, for some strange reason, decided to purchase it, too. Lots of memories could be recalled sorting through the items in this store, he thought. An old paint-bare toboggan. He and his dad had sailed down the hills around McKenna House on one just like it. He ran his fingers over the wood, then he saw the silver alum
inum Christmas tree in a far corn
er, with a multicolored light wheel on the floor below. Mac grinned, recalling his father’s horrified face when his mother had purchased a tree just like it one Christmas in the
seventies
. Those were wonderful times, all those Christmases when his father was alive.

Mac felt a lump in his throat, remembering how he had walked into his father’s study that last Christmas afternoon and found his dad in his big, rawhide leather chair, his head bent as if reading the book in his lap. But he wasn’t reading. His glasses had slipped to the end of his nose, and one arm hung at the side of his chair. And he wasn’t sleeping. The doctor said it was quick, that he must have fallen asleep and died peacefully.

He missed his father terribly, but he had so many wonderful memories, and the best centered on their Christmases together. How could he have forgotten? Mac wondered.

Again, he looked around the room, until he found a bookshelf, rather dark and dusty, filled with picture frames.

“Excuse me, son,” the old man said, interrupting Mac’s thoughts. “Your present’s ready.”

Mac walked to the counter, paid for the bracelet and teddy bear, then stared again at the bookcase.

“I don’t sell many of those,” the man said.

“Why?”

“There’s not much of a
market for dusty, tarnished old picture frames. Only very special people take those home.”

“I think my father bought one here.”

“Last one I sold was years ago. Nice man, he was. Looking for something special for his wife, if I recall. But then he found the frame. Said he wanted to give it to his son. I believe it was a Christmas present. Yes, that’s right.”

“My dad gave me a tarnished frame one Christmas. I still have it.”

“And maybe one day you’ll pass it on to your son?”

“If I ever have a son.”

“My, my, my. Don’t fret about that. Good things come to good people. Be patient, my boy.”

Mac studied the man’s face, the redness of his chubby cheeks, the whiteness of his beard. His eyes twinkled and he wore strange little glasses. No, Mac thought. No. It’s not possible.

“Thanks for your help, sir.” Mac tucked the box into his inside coat pocket, the teddy bear stuck under his arm.

“My pleasure, son,” the old man said as he placed his hand on Mac’s shoulder. “Run along now. Don’t keep your young lady waiting.”

Mac looked at his watch as he ran out the door. He stood by his car and turned around to wave good-bye to the proprietor. The lights had gone out inside Holly’s, and the decorations outside clouded over in his vision. He shook his head, blinked his eyes, then heard the mirthful laughter of the man inside.

He jumped into his gold sedan, turned the car around, and headed back toward the busy street. Looking in his rearview mirror he saw the alleyway he had just driven through. It was blocked with crates and Dumpsters. There wasn’t a trace of a brightly lit shop called Holly’s. But his face glowed, and his heart seemed to swell. He didn’t believe in miracles, but his life seemed to be full of them lately. His normally routine existence had turned topsy-turvy when Merry entered his life. Was it a dream? Was it enchantment? He didn’t know and he didn’t care, as long as Kathleen was real.

He patted the gift box in his breast pocket to make sure it existed, then drove on.

oOo

Kathleen stared at the suitcase sitting beside the door. Inside the bag she had folded an array of expensive clothing purchased just for this weekend. She must be crazy, she thought, to spend so much just to impress Mac’s mother. What had she told Ashley? “She didn’t invite me to check out my wardrobe.” Proper words to express in a moment of anger, but after careful consideration, Kathleen knew she wanted to look her best.

How many times in the last hour had she stood before the full-length mirror, looking at the image of a woman she had not known until just a few weeks ago? When had the businesswoman in navy blue been replaced by this elegant being? She felt like Cinderella going to the ball. Would everything disappear at the stroke of midnight? The high neckline of her ivory silk gown hid her cleavage, a precaution for the benefit of Mrs. O’Brien, yet the bodice fit like a glove. A little distraction for Mac’s benefit. Long, tight sleeves, and a skirt that hugged her hips. From her thighs down, yards of fabric hung to the floor in gentle folds that swirled about her when she turned. She wore only a pair of pearl earrings to accent the dress, and let her hair fall in masses of auburn waves about her shoulders.

For the tenth time that day she smelled the roses Mac had sent She took a deep breath and looked at the clock. Nearly six, and she had nothing left to do but wait and think. Does Mac know I’m spending the weekend? Will he be staying there, too? Will he like my gown? Will he kiss me again? How long before we start arguing?

The ringing bell startled her back to reality. Oh, God, he’s here.

She wanted to run into the bathroom to recheck her makeup and hair, but even more, she wanted to see Mac. She slid the safety chain off the door, unlocked the dead bolt, and tentatively put her hand on the knob. Running her tongue across her lips, she slowly opened the door.

Their eyes met. Hers sparkled. His admired the view.

He reached out, brushing his thumbs lightly across her cheeks. His fingers tilted her chin toward him, and he gently caressed her neck as he brought his lips down to meet hers. They touched, for only a moment, then he stood back and smiled. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Taking his hand, she pulled him into the apartment, closing the door behind them.

She followed his eyes as they roamed over every curve of her body. She basked in the pleasure she saw in his face, knowing his desire must match her own. He looked spectacular, and it had nothing to do with his tux. She didn’t remember his shoulders ever appearing so broad, his face so handsome. The hair at his temples seemed a little whiter; he stood a little taller. If she had to find one word to define him, she couldn’t. No one word stood alone.

“Could I offer you a drink before we leave?”

“No. If we stay any longer, I might not want to leave.”

“Oh.
” Kathleen
looked
down at his feet, not wanting to meet his eyes.

She grinned. “Cowboy boots?”

“You noticed.”

“Nice touch.”

“My housekeeper’s idea, actually.”

“She picks out your clothes?”

“No. But she seems to know what I want, long before I do.”

“Sounds like a very interesting woman.”

“That she is.”

He took her hand, brought it to his mouth, and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the fragrance of her perfume, capturing another memory. “I have something for you.”

He pulled the box from the pocket of his coat, holding the red-and-white-wrapped package out to her. “I hope you like it.”

“It looks like a Christmas present.”

“I haven’t wanted anything to do with Christmas for a long time. You’ve helped change my mind.”

Her face lit with delight at his words, and at the fun of opening a gift. She carefully removed the bow, then the paper, and lifted the lid. Tears nearly sprang to her eyes. She found it difficult to breathe. “Oh, Mac.”

“You do like it, don’t you?”

“Oh, Mac.”

“I take it that means yes.”

She held the box and her wrist out to him, and with awkward fingers, he fastened the delicate bracelet, kissing her palm when he finished.

“I love it.”

“May I have a thank-you kiss?”

She slid her fingers up his arms, over his shoulders, and pressed them lightly to his cheeks. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his lips, his nose, his eyes. Never had anyone felt so wonderful.

He managed to find her hands while he still had some control and gently pushed her away. “You’d better save some of your thanks for later. As much as I hate to say it, we have to go.”

And then she remembered what she didn’t want to tell him. “I . . . I’m spending the weekend with your mother.”

“I know.” He grinned. “I am, too.”

Her eyes widened. She had thought that might be a possibility, but now that she was faced with it, she didn’t know how to react. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad? Hell, no. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend the weekend with.” A twinkle came to his eyes at the fright in her face. “Don’t worry. If I know my mother, you’ll be on one floor and I’ll be on another.”

“What about chaperones?”

“That’s a possibility, too.”

They drove north through the Bronx and out of the city into Westchester County. The congestion of buildings and people transformed into the peaceful serenity of green parkland and stately old homes, glimpsed on occasion through the foliage of a thousand spreading trees.

“Sunnyside is just down the road,” Mac said, pointing to his left.

Kathleen looked out his window for a better view. “Sunnyside?”

“Washington Irving’s home.”

Of course. Everyone knows Sunnyside. Hah! I’ve never heard of it, Kathleen thought

Mac’s love for the valley became obvious the moment they left Yonkers. He drove slowly, pointing out landmarks, and she listened, enthralled.

“That’s Lyndhurst,” he said, directing her attention to the gothic spires above the treetops.

She leaned against him to look out the window, her breast brushing against his arm. She wasn’t about to ask who owned Lyndhurst.

“I’ll take you ridi
ng through here someday. There are
trails and streams and ponds scattered everywhere. I can’t remember the last time I got on a horse.”

Someday, Kathleen thought, overjoyed to hear him speak as though they definitely had a future together.

She settled back into her seat, caught up in the beauty of the drive and the essence of the man who sat at her side.

Sunnyside. Lyndhurst. She had come a long way from the struggling ranch in Montana to be in the company of one of the richest men in the nation. Not that the money mattered. If it had, she would have quit her job at a moment’s notice and let him take care of her for the rest of her life. What mattered the most was being at his side, the man she had idolized for so many years. The man from the cover of Fortune who had given a rancher’s daughter inspiration, and the chance to fulfill a dream when he hired her fresh from college, brash, inexperienced, and starry-eyed.

From the corner of her eye she watched him, his eyes on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other leaning on the armrest. She sensed a quiver deep inside her, a quickening of her heartbeat, as his head turned. Those smoky blue eyes
,
filled with more emotion than she had seen in years, caught hers in a flash of desire before he looked back at the road. His white dinner jacket, his fair hair against a golden tan, he had to be the most stunning man on the face of the planet She closed her eyes and smelled his cologne, its intoxicating fragrance filling her senses.

“What are you wearing?” she asked.