His Holiday Heart (9 page)

“Are you all right, Spence?” Dani sounded far away.

He nodded his head. No. He wasn’t all right. He was never going to be all right again. It wouldn’t be all right with Lucy Chapin walking around in the world able to pop into the bookstore at any minute, able to see right to the core of him where no one was allowed.

“I’m fine,” he said, touched that Danielle cared. But could he show it? No.

Lucy was right. It was a serious habit with him to push people away and close them out. He was doing it right now with his sister and he trusted her. He rubbed his hand across his forehead. Thinking of Lucy was making his brain hurt.

“You don’t look fine.” Danielle and her persistent gentle care would not relent. “You haven’t looked okay for almost two weeks. Since Thanksgiving. I know everyone was really pressuring you.”

“Pressuring me? You all had me practically engaged.”

“We were just hoping, that is all.” Her caring was a given. She had always been that way—would always be.

He could count on his family’s love for him. He might not be able to accept it, and he might not be able to show it, but they were always going to be there even if their lives were changing. Not needing him anymore. He cleared his throat. “I know you were all spying when I was in the kitchen with Lucy.”

“You were holding her hand. We were all peeking around the dining room archway watching you.”

He couldn’t stand to look at her. All her hopes for him would be shining there and her beliefs in him. She didn’t know what he had done. Ashamed, he couldn’t speak. He remembered the loss dark in Lucy’s eyes and her wise words. Had she been lost in despair? Had she lost her heart, too? Pain could do that to a person. He knew. He figured loss could, too.

“I heard through the grapevine that you dug out Lucy’s car and drove it home for her.” Danielle was using her understanding tone, as if she had it all figured out. “Volunteering with her will be a good chance for you to get to know her. Promise me something.”

“No.” He tapped the keyboard and saved the file. “No promises.”

“Follow your heart. I know you have one.” She smiled at him. “It might be as shrunken and as black as a piece of coal, but you have one.”

He rolled his eyes. “Will you be quoting Dr. Seuss to me next?”

“Either that or Charles Dickens.” She swung off the desk and opened his door. “I’ll go write an ad for the paper, Ebenezer.”

“I’m not a scrooge,” he argued, but she was already gone, breezing around the corner to her office.

Kelly startled out of her reading, looked up and glanced over her shoulder. “You’re not a scrooge, Spence. Mostly.”

“Thanks for the reassurance.” Did everyone have to kid him today of all days? He went back to his desk. He felt raw inside, and Lucy had everything to do with it.

“It’s Dorrie on line one for you, Ebenezer.” Danielle’s smiling voice came over the intercom.

“I’m not a scrooge.” What was with everyone these days? They had gotten cheeky—a terrible side effect of happiness. He snatched up the phone. “Hi, Dorrie. What can I do for you?”

“I just heard the news. I’m proud of you, sweetie.”

He grimaced. He loved Dorrie, but he was no longer thirteen years old. He was a grown man and had a reputation to protect. If only he could set her straight on the “sweetie” part. He had better just ignore it. “I accidentally volunteered to help with a Christmas project.”

“So you will be busy for part of Christmas. You tell me when you’re available so I can work our family feast around it.”

That couldn’t be why she was calling, right? “Great. I’ll let you know. Is there something up? What can I do for you? Dad isn’t having problems with that right front tire again, is he?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. I just wanted to talk to my boy.” Dorrie sounded like she was one of those hot air balloons floating over the city.

It was Lucy, he realized. Of course, she had jumped to conclusions about Lucy. He launched out of his chair, taking the cordless phone with him and staring out at the snow berms in the parking lot. “Whatever you are thinking about me and Lucy, delete it.”

“But Spence, I’ve started to hope all over again.”

“Don’t. You’ll just be disappointed.” He did his best to stay gruff, but he had a soft spot for his stepmother. “You heard Lucy. What nice woman is going to want me? If you want to marry me off, you will have to find a woman looking for a curmudgeon for a husband.”

“What kind of woman would that be? She might be pretty hard to find.”

“That’s the idea.”

Dorrie started to laugh. “Oh you, you had me going there for a minute. I’ll have you know that I’m praying for you as hard as I can.”

“Good. Then a woman who might be looking for a man in his mid-thirties who is sweet on his ma will be coming along any second.”

“Oh, you aren’t sweet on me.”

“In a distant, fond sort of way.”

“I love you too, Spence. When you see Lucy, you say hi from me.” Dorrie’s loving voice was warm and smiling again.

Why was everyone so happy? Spence rolled his eyes. It wasn’t sensible to live like that. Just reckless, that’s what. Not something he could do. You never knew when and how life was going to disappoint you. Best to keep expectations low so you weren’t sideswiped.

He disconnected and stared out the window. Lucy. All he had to do was think her name, and tenderness winked into existence like blinking Christmas lights. They were everywhere inside the store. Danielle and Kelly had gone nuts with the Christmas decorations. Personally, he thought Christmas hymns over the speaker system were enough.

I’m not a scrooge, he told himself, and if a tiny voice in his soul wanted to argue, he soundly ignored it.

Lucy looked up from her screen to the haze of twilight darkening the forest outside her window. Her head hurt from trying to think too hard, and her heart ached from a day of trying not to feel too much. That’s what happened whenever she came face-to-face with the past. It was best to keep those memories buried if she could.

Bean landed with a loud cat thump on the edge of her desk. The Persian flicked her tail once and gave an admonishing meow.

“Is it that time already?” She rubbed her eyes. Her vision was blurry from staring at the screen while she wrote and rewrote two pages all afternoon long. Work had been a disaster today. She should have known better than to try to write. Maybe tomorrow would be more productive.

She saved her file and closed her laptop. “In case you get any ideas,” she told the furry feline as she rubbed the cat’s ears. “I know you hate the computer.”

Although Bean understood English perfectly well, she offered an innocent look. The ten-pound cat had mysteriously managed to break three keyboards over the years.

“C’mon, cutie. I’ll refill your bowl.” Lucy eased out of her chair with a creak, she really had been sitting too long, and a flash of light caught her attention.

Headlights came down her driveway. Strange, since she wasn’t expecting anyone and not many people visited her way out in the boonies. The lights were coming closer, and she recognized the green pickup that parked in front of her garage.

Spence McKaslin.

S
he could see him plainly through the windshield. He was the only man she knew who could frown like that and still look gorgeous. Maybe it was the thick fall of his brown hair that softened his harsh features or the rugged, striking cut of his face. Maybe it was his masculine presence that radiated goodness and decency. Whatever it was, she should not be noticing.

His door swung open and he climbed out. He was going to come to the door. Of course, that only made sense, but suddenly it was a reality. She was going to have to open the door and face him. Like this. Yikes! Her reflection in the glass wall of windows stared back at her.

She groaned. I look like a bag lady, she thought, cringing. She wore her glasses instead of her contacts. She had pulled her hair back in a ponytail, and who knew what it was doing? It was probably sticking straight out. Her gray sweats were baggy and had a hole in one knee. They were her most comfy writing pants, and it wasn’t as if anyone was around to see her…usually.

Why did it have to be Spence? What she would give for time to change. She dashed through the house flicking on lights. Since she hadn’t closed the blinds yet, she had a perfect view of him striding with athletic grace up the front steps. He was carrying something—she couldn’t seem to focus on it. It was the look he wore that drew and kept her attention like a supercharged magnet. He wasn’t scowling any longer. He wasn’t frowning. She didn’t think she had ever seen that expression on his face before. It was a little like kindness.

Oh, no. She skidded to a stop, heart pounding with dread. She could handle his frown. She was prepared for his scowling demeanor. She could even take the troubled Spence she had seen earlier today. But a kind Spence McKaslin was something she couldn’t handle. Was it too late to pretend she wasn’t home?

He rapped on the window—not the door. Startled out of her thoughts, she realized he had spotted her. Too late. There was nothing left to do but face the music and Spence McKaslin. She watched him nod and point toward her door.

She nodded. Yes, she would let him in. She dragged her feet forward. The worst had already happened. Not only did he know about the sorest spot in her soul, something terribly private and painful, but he had seen her like this. At least it couldn’t get worse. She said a quick prayer, braced herself and opened the door.

“Sorry to drop by like this.” The big man towered politely on her doorstep with a baby Christmas tree tucked in one arm and a file folder clutched in his other hand. “I needed to say something to you, and I didn’t want to say it over the phone.”

Icy air breezed right through her and she shivered. It was too cold to make him stand outside. “Come in. I’ll make us some tea.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

She backed up so he could enter, aware of his masculine presence in her domain. Something about him tugged at her spirit. Something about him made her want to be the kind of girl who could start dreaming again. Her dreams were fictional these days and nothing more. She closed the door. “Let me take your coat.”

“First this.” He held out the live tree. “This is for you.”

“For me?” That seemed unlikely. The adorable little fir was decorated with a single string of tiny white lights, a golden garland and silver and gold ornaments. A delicate glass angel was lashed to the top, breathtakingly beautiful. She had seen the ornaments in the McKaslins’s bookstore. Had he taken the time to decorate the tree himself?

No, she couldn’t picture it. One of his sisters probably did or maybe an employee. “I don’t understand.”

“I made you sad twice now. I would have brought flowers, but Danielle has been calling me Ebenezer, so—” He shrugged. “I brought a little bit of Christmas instead.”

He pushed the ceramic pot holding the tree into her hands. She saw another new emotion on his face, one of deepest sincerity. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I said the wrong thing today.”

“You made me remember the past, that’s all.”

“I reminded you of an unbearable loss. And I don’t want to do it again. So don’t think about it. Think about how much you can’t stand me.” He smiled.

Wow, Spence was incredibly handsome when he smiled. She nearly dropped the pot in surprise. She stared, smiling right along with him, noticing there were midnight flecks of darker blue in his deep blue eyes. She couldn’t help sighing just a tiny bit.

“I can’t stand you only a little,” she confessed, kidding him. “What is it the twins say? A pinch. A dash. A smidgeon, or something like that.”

“Something like that.” He unzipped his coat. “What’s with your cat?”

“My cat?” Normally Bean kept her distance from strangers. It was the feline’s opinion that other humans were highly suspicious creatures. So why was she rubbing her cheek against Spence’s jeans leg? “I don’t think that’s my cat. I think it’s a weird alien clone.”

“I don’t approve of cats.” Spence scowled again.

This time she caught the flicker of humor in his captivating eyes. He really was more bark than bite. She carefully carried the tree into the house with her. “I don’t approve of cats either.”

“I can see that because she is so abused.” He followed her, carefully sidestepping the persistent animal. “I see two cat condos.”

“I don’t approve of cat condos,” she quipped.

“And blankets on the couch cushions.”

“I don’t know who put those there.” She set the tree on the kitchen table. “Some phantom cat lover.”

“I especially don’t approve of those.” He
almost
couldn’t keep frowning. She really was pretty funny—a little quirky, but funny. And her house wasn’t what he expected at all. He expected a big fancy house with showy pieces instead of a smaller place with cozy, comfortable furniture. Bookshelves, as far as he could see, lined the walls of every room, including the kitchen.

“You don’t approve of a lot of things.” She took his coat and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

“It’s intentional.” He admired the wall of books where most women might put a hutch. “If I started approving of everything, then what would happen to my reputation?”

“I see your point. People might start actually liking you.” She was smiling. It wasn’t an admonishment.

She understood him. It had been a long time since anyone had. He was on unfamiliar ground. He didn’t know what to do, but he did know that whatever he said, he had better say it with care. He was not going to make her sad a third time. He laid the folder on the counter. “This is yours. You left it behind in the church.”

“Oh, I hadn’t realized. Thanks. I suppose we will need that.” She opened a cabinet door, revealing boxes and boxes of all kinds of tea. “Any preferences?”

“You pick.” He didn’t care. He doubted any of the variety of flavors on that shelf would ease the tension in his jaw joints. He tried to relax and couldn’t. Why did Lucy make him tense? It was a mystery of the universe.

“How about Joyful Holidays?” She pulled down a box decorated with Christmas ornaments and holly. “Fitting, don’t you think? I assume you want to talk about the file folder, now that you’re here.”

“I didn’t look in it.”

She looked surprised as she lifted a rumbling tea kettle from the professional-grade stove. “The folder is nothing personal. It’s my shopping list for the kids.”

“Shopping list? Isn’t that a last minute kind of thing?” He flipped open the folder and scanned the neatly organized list of businesses and individuals and what they had donated in prior years. “I mean, you don’t know who is going to be in the hospital until the last minute, right?”

“In many ways, yes.” She filled two big ceramic cups with hot water. “There are a certain amount of children we know will be in the ward for Christmas.”

He served in an executive capacity on the board; he had gone over the requests for funds and approved plans and proposals. He had never taken the time to give much thought to the children their church helped. As he turned the page, he saw a write-up on one of the kids—three-year-old Ashlinn Thomas, who had been diagnosed with cancer two days before Thanksgiving. He stared at the digital picture of a blond-haired, brown-eyed little munchkin with dimples and the sweetest smile.

He hung his head. His problems evaporated like morning mist. His niece, Madison, would turn three the day after Christmas. He closed the folder, unable to look anymore.

“Do you want to come into the TV room?” She carried two mugs with her as she walked away from him. “It’s really a family room, but as it’s only me here it seems weird to call it a family room.”

“I know what you mean. I have one of those, too.” He had put one in the house he had built five years ago as an investment. It was two minutes from Katherine’s house, five from Danielle’s and four blocks from his parent’s townhouse. Work was less than a five-minute drive if he hit all the lights.

Anyone could see that Lucy’s house was a home. There were personal things like an apple-shaped vase on the fireplace mantel and a row of family pictures in shadow boxes marching along the top of the bookshelves. The books were everything from classics to history to political biographies to inspirational fiction. Sort of like his at home.

He followed her to the comfortable furniture partly facing the fireplace and a wide screen. He had to keep looking down to avoid the cat, which kept trying to trip him.

“Bean, stop that.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what has gotten into her. It must be your masculine charm.”

“I wasn’t aware I had any.”

“Maybe it’s only detectable to cats?” Her eyes were laughing at him.

“That would explain why I can’t get any dates.” That wasn’t the reason, but it felt good to laugh with her. He settled into one of the overstuffed chairs, which was even more comfortable than it looked, and took his mug off the central coffee table where Lucy had set it. The cat leaped up onto the arm and knocked her cheek against his shoulder.

“Maybe I should put Bean outside.” Lucy came close, bringing with her the scent of lilacs and sunshine. She scooped the furry feline off the chair arm and cradled the cat like a baby. She walked to the nearest French door and gently set her feline outside. The Persian flicked her tail several times and stalked off, looking very perturbed.

“I’m in big trouble for that, but she would have made you spill your tea.” Lucy dropped into the chair across from him and put her stocking feet on the coffee table. She wrapped her hands around the ceramic cup and sipped. “Don’t worry. It’s cold out there, but she has a kitty door around back.”

“Bean?” he asked.

“Strange name, I know. When she was a kitten, she didn’t walk, she hopped. She used to bounce around like a Mexican jumping bean. So it stuck.”

“She’s more like Velcro now?”

“Exactly. Except with the name Bean, there are endless puns.”

“I know I’m going to regret asking. Puns?”

“When I come home, I can say, where have you bean?” She blushed a little. Cute. Real cute. “If she’s been sleeping in the dryer I can say, careful, don’t turn into a baked bean. Corny, I know, but I live alone. I have to amuse myself.”

“I live alone, and I don’t amuse myself.”

“Pardon me, Spence, but you don’t approve of amusement. Don’t deny it. I know you were thinking it.”

He laughed. What he was thinking, was that she was captivating in the pure, innocent way of snow falling from a midnight sky or dawn’s soft glow in midwinter.

Tenderness filled him as he gazed upon her. Her round glasses made her look like a bookworm, but then he was partial to bookworms. Her hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, off center and all manner of silken strands had fallen down to riot around her face. How a woman could look more beautiful in baggy, mostly worn-out sweats than in designer clothes he didn’t know, but he could not look away.

“Okay, so I might have been thinking it. I don’t approve of a lot of things, except hard work,” he said, intending to sound gruff. But did it work? No. Lucy had somehow stolen his gruffness.

“I agree with you. Hard work is one ingredient to a happy life.” She didn’t blink, and to his shock, she was agreeing with him.

Yes, it would have been much better if he could have resisted coming.

“So, do you want to go over the files, since you’re here?” She took a long sip of her tea, watching him over the rim.

“Might as well. I’m not imposing on you?”

“No. My work day is done, and as you can see, I have a lot going on here, but I think I can squeeze you into my jam-packed evening schedule.”

Behind her, the uncovered windows reflected the room and his own face staring besotted at her. You are
not
falling for Lucy Chapin, he ordered himself sternly, praying it would work. It was the only defense he had left around her. If he couldn’t count on his self-discipline, then he was in big trouble.

She forked the last bite of oriental chicken salad and tried to convince herself she wasn’t disappointed the evening was coming to an end. His stay had been a pleasant one. While she had filled him in on all that had been done and what was left to do before their big Christmas party, she had pulled out the bowl of salad she had made the night before and toasted thick chunks of French bread in the oven. They had sat down at the table to go over the kids on their list so far. Now, the meal was done and they had reached the last child in the folder. Timothy Lyman.

She watched Spence as he studied the computer printed page. She had met Timothy and taken his picture earlier in the week. Although the seven-year-old boy had fractured half the bones in his body in a car accident, he still managed to make a funny face for her camera.

“He wants to be a fireman.” Spence rubbed a hand over his face. “So does my nephew.”

She thought of how hard the world could be and took the folder. “These children need Christmas. It’s hope. It’s joy. It’s a moment in time where they can forget about their illnesses and injuries and just be little kids again…where they can be reminded of God’s love for them.”

He nodded. “I don’t know why I’m here. You know what you’re doing, Lucy. You should be chairing this, not me.”