Once Upon a Christmas Eve (17 page)

“Since he's out of town,” she continued, picking her words carefully as she hurried to defend what Max had done, “he must not have had a chance to tell you about the change.”

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the kitchen door swing in as Shelby entered with the water glasses she'd just cleared from the last customers' tables.

With a quick glance toward the office, Shelby caught the equally swift shake of her boss's head, the big, square-jawed man's fading good nature, and went right back out, leaving the door to swing closed.

The easy friendliness had left Scott's expression. As he pulled his BlackBerry from his belt clip and punched at its
buttons, what Tommi saw now was an uneasy combination of baited embarrassment and displeasure.

Avoiding her eyes, he thumbed buttons to bring up whatever it was he was looking for. From the way his mouth pinched when he apparently found it, she had the feeling he'd noticed the message before. For whatever reason, he just hadn't chosen to open it until then.

Apparently, the post was brief.

With a poke at a button, Scott huffed a dismissing little, “Huh,” and slipped the BlackBerry back onto its clip. “Guess I should have read my email. Max said we're not doing business with you. That he took care of it. My mistake.”

“I'm sorry,” she murmured, feeling bad for the big guy. “I really am, Scott. I think there's been more than a little miscommunication with all this. And not just with Max,” she allowed. “None of it is your fault.”

She was thinking of her Uncle Harry, and how he'd attempted to set the two of them up. She didn't know what Harry had said to him, but from the very first call Scott had made to her to apologize for leaving her waiting, it had been apparent that he had more than business on his mind. Since it had to be equally apparent from her failure to respond to his enticements that she'd never been interested in anything but business with him, she figured he could be feeling a little uncomfortable about that, too.

That discomfort, however, had already been masked.

“Hey, no problem. Misunderstandings happen.” His smile returned. It held no humor, though. If anything, whatever he was thinking robbed the expression of anything resembling friendliness. “But just so you have the full picture yourself, I think you should know that Max wasn't just being ‘kind' with his offer.

“Don't get me wrong,” he insisted. “There's no one better
when it comes to getting the best deal for our company. Or for himself,” he emphasized. “He's made us both rich doing just that. But he stands to gain far more from you than just having your little business in his personal portfolio. Has he already made his move on you?”

She didn't much care for the unpleasant edge in his tone. Or for the question. Considering that her fragile relationship with Max was none of this man's business, she refused to address it. “I don't understand,” she admitted, referring to what else he'd said. “I don't have anything but this bistro—”

“You have a connection to Harry Hunt. And your Uncle Harry wants you married.”

She blinked. In disbelief, she blinked again.

“He told you that?”

“He did. He said it was time you got married and gave your mother grandchildren…or something like that. I take it he either doesn't know you're already ahead of the game on that last part, or he's trying to help you out because you are.”

Stunned, or maybe it was horrified, Tommi opened her mouth, closed it again.

Max's partner almost looked sympathetic. “That's why Harry wanted me to meet you a couple of weeks ago. Along with a few other perks, he offered me a seat on his board of directors if I got serious about you. I was planning to tell you that over dinner,” he claimed, oblivious to how he'd just added insult to indignity. “I wanted you to know up front I wasn't interested in any of that. And to give you a heads-up about my partner.”

He shook his head, his mouth pinching as if he felt he had no choice but to offer his warning. “It's pretty obvious from what Max has said about you and what he did with
that agreement, that he's out to work his own deal with your uncle. You really should watch your back with him.”

If he meant to sound concerned about her being taken advantage of, he didn't succeed. His tone was too self-serving to be mistaken for anything resembling the altruism he claimed. So was his vaguely satisfied look when he stepped back.

Pushing open the kitchen door, he looked toward the front windows with their trim of little white lights, then glanced back to where she remained a few feet away.

“It's still raining,” he said, his tone affable once more. “Nothing like Seattle in December, is there?” He gave her a nod. “Have a good evening.”

She caught the door as he let it go.

“You have a good one, too,” she heard him say to Shelby.

Her waitress was resetting the tables the last of their customers had vacated. Looking a little uncertain, Shelby offered an accommodating “Good night,” as he headed to the front door.

Tommi didn't say a word. She just stood there until he'd gone, then hurried between the tables to throw the locks and lower the Closed shade.

Her heart felt as if it were beating hard enough to bruise ribs. She didn't believe for an instant that Max would use her with her Uncle Harry. She knew he was ambitious. She knew he was driven, though she had no idea if he was pushing himself toward something or away from it. She wondered if he even knew. But Max had too many walls up for a man intent on charming his way into a woman's life. She'd seen a couple of cracks in those barriers, but she couldn't believe they were anywhere near coming down. It also seemed to her that a man intent on pursuing a relation
ship would have found time by now to let her know he was thinking about her.

When she turned back, Shelby's uncertainty had compounded itself.

“Is everything okay, Tommi?”

At the young woman's clear apprehension, Tommi drew a deep breath. This is so what she'd wanted to spare her help. “You mean with the bistro?” she asked, not totally sure what all she'd heard.

Behind her narrow, ebony-framed glasses, Shelby's kohl-rimmed eyes were as dark as her black uniform. They also looked huge. “That guy said he's going to be your partner?”

“What else did you hear?”

“Just something about Max making some concessions or something.”

She apparently hadn't heard the part about Harry trying to marry her off. Grateful for that reprieve, she gave Shelby's arm a reassuring squeeze.

“First, everything is fine with the bistro,” she promised, consciously omitting reference to the state of her personal life. “Your job is secure. So is everyone else's,” she was quick to add. “We'll have a staff meeting tomorrow and I'll explain everything, then. And no, that man has nothing to do with the agreement I've signed with Max. There was just a misunderstanding. You have nothing to worry about.”

Relief swept the young woman's face as she breathed out in a rush. “Great. Awesome,” she expanded, as that relief grew. “If you say there's nothing to worry about, then I won't.”

Tommi looked at all that spike-haired, near Goth-like sincerity and gave her shoulder another squeeze. “Good. Now, how about we close up and you go on home? As
slow as it's been I doubt we'll get any more customers tonight.”

She also had a family matter she needed to tend to. Despite her assurances to her waitress, she felt a little sick inside. Part of that had to do with what was—or wasn't—going on with Max. The rest she blamed squarely on Harry Hunt's unmitigated gall.

What her honorary uncle had done had Tommi wavering between feeling insulted, indignant and flat-out incensed. She just had no idea how to deal with the man who was so powerful that his own sons—powerful, wealthy, strong-minded men in their own rights—had bent to his will that
they
marry. She would remain forever grateful to him for the graduation gift that had allowed her to get a foothold on her dream, but no matter who he was, the man had no business messing with her personal life.

She could think of only one person who could even begin to understand how upset she was with their old family friend.

Harry had once set Bobbie up, too.

Forty minutes later, having reached her sister and expended precious energy with some furious scrubbing in her kitchen, she heard Bobbie's hurried “It's me, Tommi!” through the kitchen's open doors.

She'd asked her youngest sibling to let herself in with the backup key she'd given her ages ago. Relieved that support was finally there, she swiped back the hair that had come loose when she'd pulled off her cap, turned the dishwasher on and headed through the doorway. Between her growing unease about Max and her anger with Harry, she couldn't imagine what could possibly make her feel any more upset than she already did. She was, however, about to find out.

S
helby had extinguished the glass-cube oil candles on the tables before she'd left, but Tommi'd asked her to leave the house lights on their evening setting. With the overheads dimmed, the three red Italian glass pendants over the bar glowed jewel-like above its black granite surface.

By the center fixture, her sister tossed her coat over a bar stool and opened her arms to give her a hug.

“I'd have been here sooner, but traffic from Bellevue was a nightmare.”

Tommi returned her hug, hard. “What were you doing in Bellevue?”

“Getting a new funding grant.” Bobbie stepped back, beaming. Her wildly curly nut-brown hair had been tamed as much as it could be by the clip at her nape. Looking totally professional in a charcoal suit, tights and killer heels, she appeared every inch the capable new CEO of Golden Ability Canine Assistance.

“From an organization that doesn't have a single member of the Hunt family on its board to take pity on me,” she added proudly.

Even as agitated as she was, Tommi could practically feel her sister's enormous sense of accomplishment. It had taken Bobbie a while—years, actually—but she'd definitely found her niche.

The fact that she was engaged to a great guy and was about to become stepmom to his children put her squarely in her element.

“That's fantastic,” Tommi insisted. Crossing her arms over the knots in her stomach, she gave her a smile she feared didn't quite work. “You're going to do great things with that agency. I can tell.”

“Thanks, sis, but I feel guilty feeling so good when you obviously don't. Hold on a minute,” she said, at the three quick raps on the door. “That'll be Mom. I told her you closed early.”

Tommi's heart felt like it stopped, just before it sunk.

“Why did you call Mom?”

She wasn't ready to see her mother, yet. She was wearing the loosest chef's jacket she owned, and the tightest pants she could still fit into. It wasn't as if she thought anyone could look at her and tell she was pregnant. Bobbie certainly hadn't seemed to notice. Neither had her staff, though Alaina had been looking at her rather strangely the past couple of days. Still, as upset as she was with Harry and as concerned as she was trying not to be about Max, the last thing she wanted just then was to risk her mom somehow noticing some…change…about her.

Bobbie was backing toward the door. “Don't be upset with me. I called her because you're almost as big a wimp as I am when it comes to confrontations. In our family, anyway.”

“I'm not upset.”

“Of course you aren't. You always look like you could debone a chicken with your bare hands.”

The knocks at the door gave way to a tap on the window.

“Uncle Harry needs to know he can't be doing this,” Bobbie continued, doing an expert dodge and weave between the tables she'd so often served herself. “You know as well as I do that Mom is the only person he'll listen to.” Seeing their second to the oldest sister waving from the other side of the glass, Bobbie gave a little start of surprise and, still talking, let her in. “That's why I called her.”

“You called Frankie, too?”

“Mom did,” their older sibling replied, having hurried in out of the weather. “Hi,” she said to Bobbie, buzzing her cheek. “Hey, Tommi. Your decorations look great out there. Love the little trees.”

Wiping her narrow-heeled black boots off on the inside mat, Frankie closed out the rain and pushed back the hood of her black London Fog. Her long blond hair gleamed in a high ponytail. Big gold hoop earrings framed her slender neck.

Shedding her coat on her way between the white-clothed tables, dressed in a short sweater and jeans, she looked far more like a student in a sorority than a brainy university research assistant with a Ph.D.

“I was still at work when Mom called. I didn't realize it was so late. I haven't even eaten dinner,” she continued, piling her coat and bag on a stool at the end of the bar. “The arrangements for the Master's exhibit at the art museum are taking forever.”

The concern in her frown landed on Tommi's undeniably strained features. “It's been since Thanksgiving since we've seen each other,” she reminded her with a sisterly
hug. “Since she and Georgie are on their way over, Mom thought I should come, too.” Her concern deepened. “Mom said Uncle Harry upset you.”

Tommi hesitated. Frankie had always had a way with understatements. “Upset” didn't begin to describe it. “Georgie is coming, too?”

“I was going to mention that,” Bobbie said. “She was with Mom. They were at Nordstrom.”

Frankie's frown changed quality. “Georgie said last week that their Christmas shopping was done.”

“I think they were just there because of the sales. You know shopping is sort of their team sport.”

“Yeah.” The frown turned to a little laugh. “Team Prada. Team Jimmy Choo.”

“But ‘only on sale,'” Bobbie reminded them, repeating their mother's mantra.

According to Cornelia Fairchild, what the world saw was the quality of the purchase, not the price tag. A woman could look quite tasteful without spending money better invested elsewhere.

Tommi glanced at her own functional rubber clogs. The fact that her work attire left something to be desired on the fashion front barely registered as a blip on her stress screen. Her oldest sister was tapping on the window, announcing that she and their mom needed to be let inside.

It took a minute for coats to be dealt with and hugs to be exchanged among them all. Her mom, her pale blond hair in a neat chignon, looked as slender and elegant as always in a cashmere sweater and matching slacks.

Georgie stood a shade taller than their mother at a statuesque five-feet ten-inches. Every bit as striking as the senior Fairchild, her thick wheat-blond hair flowed loosely down her back. The sweater she wore with her designer jeans was gorgeous. Having just returned from the Sudan, she
was on break from her duties for the Hunt Foundation and waiting, somewhat impatiently, Tommi imagined, for her next assignment to some other country or cause in need of her help.

A sociologist with a hunger to ease the plight of others, she clearly felt her younger sister could use her help now. With everyone else still talking by the bar, she turned to where Tommi stood at the end of it.

“So, tell us everything,” she began. “Mom said Bobbie told her that Uncle Harry is bribing men to marry you?”

“He
what?
” Frankie looked up from the bag of bar mix she'd pulled from under the granite surface. “You didn't tell me that,” she accused. “You just said Harry has caused a problem for Tommi.”

“He has,” Georgie replied, reasonably. “I didn't see any point in saying anything else when I called because that's all the information I had.”

“It's not
men,
” Tommi cut in before Georgie's undeniable logic could provoke a response from the equally logical Frankie. “It was one man. For me, anyway. Bobbie had a lot of strange men leaving messages on her answering machine for a while. For all we know, he could have been bribing them, too.

“What I understood from the man he tried to set me up with is that Harry told him it was time I got married and gave Mom grandchildren…or something like that,” she qualified, since those were the exact words Scott had used. “Harry said he'd give him a seat on his board if he married me. Scott said there would be other perks, but he didn't mention what they were.”

Her mom had sat down at the table four feet away. A quick frown came and went from her soft features. “This Scott is the man he set you up with?” she asked.

“He is. He's a partner in the firm Harry uses for the
company's land expansions. And, no,” she hurried on, in case it was hope and not merely a desire to clarify arching her eyebrows. “I'm definitely not interested.”

“I don't believe this.” Frankie's need for sustenance gave way to pure indignation. “He actually bribed a man to meet you?”

“He did this to you, too, Bobbie?” their mother asked.

Bobbie had settled on a center stool. “We don't know about the bribing part for sure. Tommi knew he'd set me up with this really…odd—” she decided to call him “—associate of his. It was right after I got him to stop coming by that other men I didn't know started leaving messages on my answering machine.” Resting her arm on the bar, her platinum-and-diamond engagement ring flashed in the circle of pendant light. “It was only when she called me tonight that we connected those calls to Harry. There's no other reason for me to have gone a year without a date, then suddenly have offers from total strangers.”

Georgie had moved behind the bar. Turning from her perusal of the wine racks, her perfectly shaped eyebrows darted inward. “Did he set you up with Gabe?”

“Oh, good grief, no.”

There was more Bobbie could have added to her emphatic denial. The quick glance she darted to Tommi, however, made it clear she didn't care to mention to the rest of them just how desperate she'd been to discourage the man Harry
had
set her up with. Seeing her so-totally-wrong-for-her suitor heading for her porch, she'd grabbed the unsuspecting Gabe by his broad shoulders and laid a lip-lock on him.

As first kisses went, theirs definitely had been unique. But Bobbie hadn't been in love with Gabe when she'd told Tommi what had happened that fateful afternoon.
Truly caring for a man, though, could make seemingly insignificant things far too special to share.

Even as Tommi realized she now understood just how special those little things could be, their first-born sibling gave a disgusted huff.

“Well, he better not try fixing me up with anyone.” Looking as adamant as she sounded, Georgie returned to her perusal of the long wine racks. “Just because one of us here is getting married doesn't mean I have any intention of heading down the aisle myself.

“Ever,” she pronounced, turning with a bottle of the most expensive red Tommi stocked. She shot a meaningful glance toward her mother. “I'm staying single. I'm perfectly happy with my life just the way it is. Or will be once I get my new assignment,” she amended. “Where's a corkscrew? We need wine.”

“I'll get the glasses.” Every bit as resolute, Frankie joined her behind the bar to line up goblets. “We'll toast independence. No offense, Bobbie,” she hurried to add. “I'm thrilled to death for you.” She smiled, as sincere in her happiness for what her little sister had found as she was in the desire to protect her own status quo. “Gabe is truly one of a kind. And his kids are terrific. But I can't imagine anything more exciting for me than what I'm doing now.”

Tommi had pulled a corkscrew from the utensil tray under the counter. Handing it over, her attention settled on her mother.

Cornelia Fairchild appeared distracted. It also seemed as if she'd barely been listening to her older girls' indignant assertions. As she rose, it appeared as clear as her disquiet that something was gnawing at her in the moments before she began to pace.

Whatever she was thinking had her looking oddly guilty as she toyed with the gold pendant at her throat.

Georgie seemed to notice her strange expression, too, as she offered Tommi a glass of wine.

“No, thanks,” Tommi murmured. Uneasily conscious of the way her sister's brow lifted at that refusal, just as conscious of the little life she nurtured inside her, she watched their mother turn to them all.

“I'm afraid some of this may be my fault.” Looking from one daughter to the next, that guilt seemed to compound itself. “Harry is so delighted with his daughters-in-law and all his grandchildren. And his sons have seemed so much happier now that they've all settled down,” she prefaced. “I just happened to mention in passing how nice it would be for you girls to find good husbands and give me grandchildren, too. But I certainly never thought he'd take the matter into his hands himself,” she hurried to defend. “And you have to know that I absolutely do not condone his methods.”

Having barreled right over the admission of what Tommi had already suspected, the guilt in her still lovely features moved directly to irritation.

“You all know I thought it unconscionable the way he manipulated his boys into getting married. You know I told him as much, too. I even thought I'd made it quite clear that the end did not justify his means. Just because his sons happened to find lovely girls they adore didn't change the fact that what he did to get them to do his bidding was just plain wrong.”

Graceful despite her fury, she accepted the goblet Bobbie handed her. “Bribing men to date my daughters. How dare he.”

Like a regal lioness protecting her cubs, she looked to the most recently offended of her den. “I'll take care of
this, Tommi,” she assured her. “You can be quite certain I'll have my say about how completely unacceptable his actions are. I have no idea how that man's mind works. Believe me, I've tried for years to figure it out. When it comes to relationships, the man hasn't the sense God gave a goat. He plays around with your lives and those of his sons, but does nothing to fix his own. I've waited long enough for him to notice I exist,” she insisted. “The next time that nice golf pro at the club asks me out, I'm going.”

Everyone but Tommi was taking a sip of what she knew was a superb Brunello. At the seismic shift in their mother's irritation, three sets of eyes widened over rims of crystal. Tommi simply stared in disbelief.

All three of her sisters nearly choked on their wine as their mother finally took a sip of hers.

Since she was the only one who could speak at the moment, Tommi voiced what the others could not.

“You have a thing for Uncle Harry?”

Though her daughters were gaping at her, Cornelia appeared only mildly nonplussed. “Had. Possibly,” she admitted, minimizing. “It doesn't matter now. As I said, I'll take care of what he did with the two of you,” she continued, with a nod to her youngest daughters. “Since that's resolved, let's just enjoy being together. Someone mentioned a toast. I believe being together is reason enough for one.”