The Christmas Bride (3 page)

“Mrs. Adams!”

She looked up and realized she was very close to him. Close enough to see the texture of his tux, the snow-white pleats of his shirt. The angles and planes of his face, the sensual fullness of his mouth.

“Yes?” she managed.

“I had intended Santa's lap for those children among us who are under, say, fifteen.”

How long had he been standing there? How could she explain?

She didn't know if he was seriously angry or if he was teasing her. She still couldn't find a reply. Nor could she seem to tear her eyes from his.

“Mr. McCready, I…”

He smiled, which made him seem more striking, younger. Almost touchable. Her voice died away as he stared at her.

“I do not want your desk cleared out by five, Mrs. Adams,” he said softly. “I still find your work exceptional.”

“Thank you,” she managed. He was still staring at her. She couldn't smile; she couldn't speak. He didn't expect her to. He was just watching her.

She turned away at last and fled down the steps, hurrying toward June. Just as she reached the bottom step, she realized a little girl was waiting on the landing, waiting for Cary to move so she could run up the steps herself.

But the girl waited politely, with a beautiful smile. She must have been about six or seven, and she had light blond hair caught up in pigtails tied with red ribbons. She looked like an angel, delicate, sweet, with a haunting, wistful smile that instantly tugged at Cary's heartstrings.

“Is Santa free now?” she asked Cary.

Cary heard June's laughter, and she blushed. Then she returned the little girl's smile. “Yes, Santa is free, I think. Of course, there is a line around the other way. I'm not sure—”

“Oh!” the girl cried, stricken. “I have to leave, you see, and my father said it might be okay to slip around this way. But it would be rude to take someone else's place.”

“Angela, it really is okay. We'll be quick, and the others will understand,” came a deep masculine voice over Cary's shoulder.

She turned in dismay. McCready again. But this sweet, delicate little child couldn't possibly be his daughter….

Yes, she was, Cary realized. She stared from McCready's gaze to the little girl's wide eyes. “Excuse me,” she murmured lamely. “Honey, if you have to leave, I know Santa will be thrilled to see you, and no one will mind at all.”

Angela McCready smiled again. “Thank you.” She started up the stairs, then turned back. “It was nice to meet you, Miss…”

“Mrs. Adams. Cary,” Cary told her. And once again that smile crossed the little girl's lips.

“Mrs. Adams!” Angela McCready exclaimed happily. Cary arched a brow, and Angela continued quickly. “You must be Danny's mother.”

Cary nodded, still confused.

Angela enlightened her. “We sat together for the magic show. And he taught me how to do a trick. He's really wonderful.”

“Yes, well, I rather think so myself,” Cary agreed.

“I hope I see him—and you—again,” Angela McCready said.

There was such hope on her face that Cary couldn't disappoint her. “I'm sure we'll meet again,” she said.

McCready's eyes were on her, sharp, unfathomable. Cary felt herself growing warm. But then he and his daughter disappeared into the cardboard Santa hut, and Cary turned away.

It had all happened in a matter of moments, she realized. Running into McCready, meeting his daughter, sitting on Jeremy's lap…

Jeremy and his Christmas dust! she thought with disgust. So much for Jeremy's prophesies.

“Danny's watching the puppeteer. I told him it would be all right,” June said. “Let's go for a glass of that delicious champagne. I don't get to indulge in the really good stuff all that often.”

“Champagne sounds wonderful,” Cary agreed. She was parched. More parched than she could remember being. Except for the time she had gone into Jason McCready's office with her notebook and great expectations.

They walked to the champagne table, where a polite bartender helped them both. Cary toasted June, then raised her glass and sipped her champagne.

The next man you see,
Jeremy had told her. She didn't want a man for Christmas. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever want another man in her life.

And then sometimes…

Sometimes she was lonely and frightened, furious with Richard for leaving her, and sometimes she ached because he had taught her that love could be so very sweet, and then he had been gone, leaving nothing in her life except for the pain and the blackness and the void. She had tried to date, but she had always backed away quickly. Because…

Because no one had ever touched her in the same way. No one had ever made a kiss seem natural. No one had ever seduced her to where she could forget…

“Cary, are you still with me?”

“What? Oh, I'm sorry.” She realized she had been ignoring June. They were sipping champagne. It was a party. And she was having a good time. Well, she was almost having a good time.

She started to smile. Jeremy. Santa. Where would she be without him?

Him and his prophesies!

The first man she had seen hadn't been old Pete from the mail room after all.

She suddenly choked on the champagne.

No, it had been someone much worse.

Jason McCready.

Tall, dark and handsome. And rich. Just like June had ordered…

Cary swallowed more champagne.

No, no, no…

So much for Christmas dust and miracles!

J
ason McCready had a headache. One that pounded viciously at the back of his skull as he drove toward his house.

He knew he was disappointing Angela by leaving the party so early, but he'd really wanted to go home.

The party had really been Sara's baby.

Oh, he'd always had a Christmas party. And he'd always tried very hard to do right by his employees. He hadn't been born to money, nor had he inherited the magazine. He had built it. He knew what it was like to work hard. And more, he knew what it was like to dream.

And once he had even known what it was like to hold magic in the palm of his hand. There had been a time when he had had everything.

He'd had Sara.

Sara had loved Christmas. She'd loved winter, the snow and the clean, cold air. She'd loved the bright lights and the decorations, the Santas in the stores and on the street corners, the specials on television. Just sitting with her before a fire had meant more than anything in the world to him. He'd really, truly had everything.

But that had been before the December night when a drunk driver had plowed into Sara's silver sports car with enough speed to kill her instantly. The only miracle had been that she had just dropped Angela off for a Christmas party, and so he was left with his very young daughter when he had been bereft of his wife.

But others had handled Angela for him then. In his grief, he realized now, he had deprived her of two parents instead of one. It had taken months for him to rouse himself enough to care for Angela. And now he was trying very hard to make it up to her.

“Can he, Dad?”

“What? Sorry, darling. I guess I wasn't listening,” Jason apologized. The traffic was bad tonight. Fresh snow had made the streets slippery.

“Danny. Danny Adams. Can he come skiiing with us?”

“What?”

“I said—”

“No, no, I'm sorry, I did hear you, I just…”

“He was so nice, Dad. He—he made me laugh. And he understood when I—”

Angela broke off speaking.

“He understood what?” Jason asked her curiously. He braked quickly for a red light. On a street corner, a Salvation Army volunteer was waving a bell that clanged away, chiming out the Christmas season with a cheerful vengeance.

Why did he feel the loss so much more keenly every Christmas? Jason asked himself. It was a time for peace, a time for faith.

“Nothing,” Angela murmured evasively. “He's just—he's just great. Couldn't we ask him, please?”

“Honey, his mother is one of my employees. I don't know if I should bother her with this.” His mother wasn't just an employee. She was Mrs. Cary Adams, and since he'd been watching her for quite some time now, he could almost guarantee she would tell him no.

Angela didn't seem to see it that way. “His mother was very nice, and I don't think she'd be bothered at all,” Angela said stubbornly.

Why shouldn't he ask a friend along for Angela? Guilt plagued him. He hadn't thought how lonely things must become for her now and then. She had the run of the lodge, of course, but it was true. She had no special friends.

Except for now. She was crazy about this Danny.

Jason had to admit that the boy seemed to be a special kid. There was something in his smile. It was nice. It was open, generous. He'd taken a few hard knocks himself, but he'd come through with that great smile. Jason knew about Danny Adams's life because he'd made a point to know something about Cary Adams. He'd done so the day she'd come into his office—and walked out of it with her head held high.

He would never forget that day. Just as he hadn't been able to forget Cary Adams.

She was petite. She had a smooth, soft, melodic voice, but she had a certain essence of steel about her. When he thought about it, he realized that she was a very beautiful woman, with her sweeping dark hair and richly lashed hazel eyes. They burned when she was indignant or angry. He smiled. She wasn't flashy. She was nicely, quietly sophisticated. Something wild or ornate might draw a glance first, but once a person's eyes had fixed on her quiet elegance, they were compelled to stay.

It wasn't her looks that had drawn his interests, for he lived in a world where women were often beautiful and sophisticated. It had been her determination in coming to him, her staying power when he had refused her.

And then it had been the way she had gazed at him with glimmering gold eyes as she had told him bluntly that he wasn't the only one who had ever lost someone. And he had been in a rut, one hell of a rut of self-pity. She hadn't lifted the weight of the world from his shoulders, but her anger had done something, and since that day, life had been a little bit better. He'd made sure it was better. She'd made him see that it was something he had to do himself.

That was why he knew about her. He'd had her personnel file on his desk within five minutes, so he knew that Richard Adams had walked into a burning building because he had heard a child crying, and that he had never walked out again.

“Daddy?”

He sighed. The very beautiful Mrs. Adams might have cast accusations at him, but she had a few failings of her own. He could almost guarantee that she would turn him down. She had the defenses of a porcupine.

“I'll try, Angela.”

“Oh, thank you, Daddy!” She threw an arm around him and kissed him.

“Hey! There's traffic out tonight!” he warned her.

“Sorry, Daddy!”

But he caught the look in her eyes. She was smiling. She was radiant.

He'd never seen her so happy or so excited.

Jason tightened his jaw. Somehow he was going to have to get Mrs. Adams to agree to let Danny come with him.

Even a porcupine had to have a chink in its armor somewhere.

 

It was the very next Monday that Cary found herself summoned to McCready's office.

She had been looking through the photographs for a Valentine's Day special when she sensed someone watching her. Gazing up, she was surprised to find June staring at her with a look that combined excitement and anxiety.

“What is it?”

“McCready's office,” June said nervously.

“What?”

“You're wanted. In McCready's office.”

Cary's heart lurched. Was she being fired after all? Perhaps he really had been angry to see her sitting on Jeremy's lap.

“Now?” she murmured. Of course now! She rose from her desk and stared at June. Was this how people felt when they walked to the gallows?

No, no, this wasn't that bad! Even if he was firing her, it wasn't anything as terrible as walking to the gallows. She was talented! She would find a new job….

Just a month before Christmas. Danny would never get his computer.

He couldn't be firing her! Not right before Christmas!

But despite his wonderful parties, McCready didn't have any Christmas spirit. His spirit had been buried with his very beautiful wife.

“I'm here for you,” June said to her softly.

“I'm fine,” Cary muttered. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and walked from her office to the elevators. She stepped into an elevator and punched the penthouse-level button. Her fingers were trembling, she twisted them together.

Stepping off the elevator, she saw Billy Jean Clanahan, McCready's attractive and sophisticated secretary. She expected to see pity in Billy Jean's eyes, but there was none. Instead Billy Jean greeted her with a wide grin. “Oh, good, you're here!” She lowered her voice. “He was getting so anxious in there, I thought he was going to head down and accost you in your own office! Go in, go right in!”

Cary had little choice, for Billy Jean was prodding her toward the door.

She was pushed forward, and a door closed behind her. McCready's dark head had been bent over the papers on his desk, but it rose instantly. His unfathomable green eyes were on hers, as he stood and walked around the desk, offering her his hand. “Mrs. Adams! Thank you for coming so quickly.”

She wasn't aware that she had offered her hand in return, but his fingers were folding around hers, and she was aware of an electric tension and tremendous strength. And a startling heat.

She drew her fingers away quickly.

“Sit down, Mrs. Adams, please.” He pulled out one of the chairs for her, and she sat, very aware of him behind her. He was always impeccable. It was a natural thing with him. And he carried that handsome, subtle scent of aftershave. She suddenly felt a warm flowing sensation cascading all the way down the length of her spine. Her fingers curled around her chair, and she caught her breath. She thought that she would leap up and scream, except that he came in front of her and leaned on the corner of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” he told her.

She wasn't being fired. No one fired an employee this way.

She exhaled, then gasped in new air. He was staring at her curiously, and she struggled for an appearance of composure. “A—a favor?”

“Yes. And may I add from the beginning, Mrs. Adams, that your agreement or disagreement will have no bearing whatsoever on your position here.”

He was smiling again, she thought. That secret smile of his.

She felt herself flushing, and she sat more primly in the chair, her eyes lowering despite her determination. “I didn't think—”

“Yes, you did think,” he said, and she was startled when he laughed. She looked into his eyes, and she was further surprised by the light of humor in them. “You thought that I had decided to fire you because you had been sitting on Santa's lap. Taking time away from the children. For shame, Mrs. Adams.”

“Mr. McCready—” She started to stand, utterly humiliated. But his hands were on her shoulders, and his laughter was surprisingly warm and pleasant, even compelling, as he pressed her into her chair. “I understand that you and Jeremy are cousins, right?”

Cary wet her very dry lips. “Yes. But if you—”

“Mrs. Adams,” he said as he walked behind his desk, “do you remember the last time you were in this office?”

Of course she remembered it. She would never forget. She was surprised, however, that he had remembered it.

“Yes, Mr. McCready, I do remember,” she said with grave dignity.

He was still smiling. “Well, you made a rather personal remark to me. You told me that I wasn't the only one who had lost someone.”

Cary felt as if she were strangling. More than anything, she wanted to get out of his office.

“Look—” she began, standing once more. “I'm sorry, I really had no right—”

But again he was before her. “Ah, but you took the right! Mrs. Adams, will you please sit?” She wasn't going to have a chance to rise this time. Casually seated on the edge of the desk before her, he kept his hands on her shoulders. She looked at him, and to her great distress, she felt a heat like the warmth of the sun come sweeping over her. She didn't remember ever being this aware of a man. There was little help for it. His bronzed hands remained on her shoulders. The fabric of his suit was nearly close enough for her to feel the texture. And she could feel that electricity emanating from him, the leashed but still powerful energy.

“Mr. McCready—”

“You saw fit to comment on my personal life, so I think that maybe I have the right to comment on yours. You are sensitive, Mrs. Adams. Very, very touchy. I've never met anyone so defensive, so quick. Will you please relax! Your work is very good, and I admire you very much as a person.”

Stunned, she stared into his eyes. “Then…”

“I'd like to borrow your son.”

“My son!” she repeated.

“Just for a week. And you have every right to say no, as I explained before. But I'd look after his welfare as if he were my own.”

“What are you talking about?” Cary demanded in confusion.

“I'm going on a ski trip next week. Half business, half pleasure. Angela is coming with me. She was entranced with Danny at the Christmas party.”

“Oh!” Cary murmured. This had nothing to do with her job. Nothing at all.

And for once McCready was looking at her anxiously. She'd never before seen anything that even remotely resembled anxiety in his eyes.

Something did matter to McCready, even if his wife was gone. Angela mattered.

Dismay filled her. “I really am sorry—”

“It would be a wonderful experience for him. As I said, I'd see to his safety at all times. Mrs. Adams, I'm aware that you do not particularly like me, but Angela has not been so enthused since…well, it's been a very long time. She hasn't been so excited about anything since her mother died. If you feel some bitterness for me, I implore you, think of the children.”

Cary shook her head. “No, no! It isn't anything like that at all. It's just that—Danny is diabetic. He is very good with insulin shots himself, but he's still…he's still a little boy. And when he's away, when he becomes involved in playing, he can forget. Really, Mr. McCready, I'd love him to be with Angela, she's a beautiful child. If I could let Danny go, I would.”