Holiday Wishes (13 page)

Chapter 7

Mid-November had stripped the leaves from the trees. There was a beauty even in this, Nell had decided. Beauty in the dark, denuded branches, in the papery rustle of dried leaves along the curbs, in the frost that shimmered like diamond dust on the grass in the mornings.

She caught herself staring out of the window too often, wishing for snow like a child hoping for a school holiday.

It felt wonderful. Wonderful to anticipate the winter, to remember the fall. She often thought about Halloween night, and all the children who had come knocking on her door dressed as pirates and princesses. She remembered the way Zeke and Zack had giggled when she pretended not to recognize them in the elaborate astronaut costumes Mac had fashioned for them.

She found herself reminiscing about the bluegrass concert Mac had taken her to. Or the fun they'd had when she ran into him and the boys at the mall just last week, all of them on a mission to complete their Christmas lists early.

Now, strolling past the house Mac was remodeling, she thought of him again. It had been so sweet, the way he'd struggled over choosing just the right outfit for Kim's present. No thoughtless gifts from Macauley Taylor for those he cared about. It had to be the right color, the right style.

She'd come to believe everything about him was right.

She passed the house, drawing in the chilly air of evening, her mood buoyant. That afternoon she'd been proud to announce that two of her students would participate in all-state chorus.

She had made a difference, Nell thought, shutting her eyes on the pleasure of it. Not just the prestige, certainly not simply the delight of having the principal congratulate her. The difference, the important one, had been the look on her students' faces. The pride, not just on Kim's face and that of the tenor who would go to all-state with her. But on the faces of the entire chorus. They all shared in the triumph, because over the past few weeks they had become a team.

Her team. Her kids.

“It's cold for walking.”

Nell jolted, tensed, then laughed at herself when she saw Mac step away from the shadow of a tree in his sister's yard. “Lord, you gave me a start. I nearly went into my repel-the-mugger stance.”

“Taylor's Grove's a little sparse when it comes to muggers. Are you going to see Mira?”

“No, actually, I was just out walking. Too much energy to stay in.” The smile lit her face. “You've heard the good news?”

“Congratulations.”

“It's not me—”

“Yeah, it is. A lot of it.” It was the only way he knew to tell her how proud he was of what she'd done. He glanced back toward the house, where lights gleamed. “Mira and Kim are in there crying.”

“Crying? But—”

“Not that kind of crying.” Female tears always embarrassed him. He shrugged. “You know, the other kind.”

“Oh.” In response, Nell felt her own eyes sting. “That's nice.”

“Dave's going around with a big fat grin on his face. He was talking to his parents when I ducked out. Mira's already called ours, as well as every other friend and relative in the country.”

“Well, it's a big deal.”

“I know it is.” His teeth flashed. “I've made a few calls myself. You must be feeling pretty pleased with yourself.”

“You bet I am. Seeing the kids today when I made the announcement . . . well, it was the best. And it's a hell of a kickoff for our fund-raiser.” She shivered as the wind shuddered through the trees.

“You're getting cold. I'll drive you home.”

“That'd be nice. I keep waiting for snow.”

In the way of every countryman since Adam, he sniffed the air, checked out the sky. “You won't have to wait much longer.” He opened the truck door for her. “The kids have already gotten their sleds out.”

“I might buy one for myself.” She settled back, relaxed. “Where are the boys?”

“There's a sleepover at one of their friends'.” He gestured toward the house across the street from Mira's. “I just dropped them off.”

“They must be thinking a lot about Christmas now, with snow in the air.”

“It's funny. Usually right after Halloween they start barraging me with lists and pictures of toys from catalogs, stuff they see on TV.” He turned the truck and headed for the square. “This year they told me Santa's taking care of it. I know they want bikes.” His brow creased. “That's all I've heard. They've been whispering together about something else, but they clam up when I come around.”

“That's Christmas,” Nell said easily. “It's the best time for whispers and secrets. What about you?” She turned to smile at him. “What do you want for Christmas?”

“More than the two hours' sleep I usually get.”

“You can do better than that.”

“When the kids come downstairs in the morning, and their faces light up, I've got all I want.” He stopped in front of her apartment. “Are you going back to New York for the holiday?”

“No, there's nothing there.”

“Your family?”

“I'm an only child. My parents usually spend the holiday in the Caribbean. Do you want to come in, have some coffee?”

It was a much more appealing idea than going home to an empty house. “Yeah, thanks.” When they started up the stairs, he tried to swing tactfully back to the holidays and her family. “Is that where you spent Christmas as a kid? In the Caribbean?”

“No. We had a fairly traditional setting in Philadelphia. Then I went to school in New York, and they moved to Florida.” She opened the door and took off her coat. “We aren't very close, really. They weren't terribly happy with my decision to study music.”

“Oh.” He tossed his jacket over hers while she moved into the kitchen to put on the coffee. “I guess that's why you got so steamed about Junior.”

“Maybe. They didn't really disapprove so much as they were baffled. We get along much better long-distance.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I think that's why I admire you.”

He stopped studying the rosewood music box on a table and stared at her. “Me?”

“Your interest and involvement with your children, your whole family. It's so solid, so natural.” Tossing back her hair, she reached into the cookie jar and began to spread cookies on a plate. “Not everyone is as willing, or as able, to put in so much time and attention. Not everyone loves as well, or as thoroughly.” She smiled. “Now I've embarrassed you.”

“No. Yes,” he admitted, and took one of the cookies. “You haven't asked about their mother.” When she said nothing, Mac found himself talking. “I was just out of college when I met her. She was a secretary in my father's real estate office. She was beautiful. I mean eye-popping beautiful, the kind that bowls you over. We went out a couple of times, we went to bed, she got pregnant.”

The flat-voiced recitation had Nell looking up. Mac bit into the cookie, tasting bitterness. “I know that sounds like she did it on her own. I was young, but I was old enough to know what I was doing, old enough to be responsible.”

He had always taken his responsibilities seriously, Nell thought, and he always would. You only had to look at him to see the dependability.

“You didn't say anything about love.”

“No, I didn't.” It was something he didn't take lightly. “I was attracted, so was she. Or I thought she was. What I didn't know was that she'd lied about using birth control. It wasn't until after I'd married her that I found out she'd set out to ‘snag the boss's son.' Her words,” he added. “Angie saw an opportunity to improve her standard of living.”

It surprised him that even now, after all this time, it hurt both pride and heart to know he'd been so carelessly used.

“To make a long story short,” he continued, in that same expressionless tone, “she hadn't counted on twins, or the hassle of motherhood. So, about a month after the boys were born, she cleaned out my bank account and split.”

“I'm so sorry, Mac,” Nell murmured. She wished she knew the words, the gesture, that would erase that cool dispassion from his eyes. “It must have been horrible for you.”

“It could have been worse.” His eyes met Nell's briefly before he shrugged it off. “I could have loved her. She contacted me once, telling me she wanted me to foot the bill for the divorce. In exchange for that, I could have the kids free and clear. Free and clear,” he repeated. “As if they were stocks and bonds instead of children. I took her up on it. End of story.”

“Is it?” Nell moved to him, took his hands in hers. “Even if you didn't love her, she hurt you.”

She rose on her toes to kiss his cheek, to soothe, to comfort. She saw the change in his eyes—and, yes, the hurt in them. It explained a great deal, she thought, to hear him tell the story. To see his face as he did. He'd been disillusioned, devastated. Instead of giving in to it, or leaning on his parents for help with the burden, he'd taken his sons and started a life with them. A life for them.

“She didn't deserve you, or the boys.”

“It wasn't a hardship.” He couldn't take his eyes off hers now. It wasn't the sympathy so much as the simple, unquestioning understanding that pulled at him. “They're the best part of me. I didn't mean it to sound like it was a sacrifice.”

“You didn't. You don't.” Her heart melted as she slid her arms around him. She'd meant that, too, as a comfort. But something more, something deeper, was stirring inside her. “You made it sound as if you love them. It's very appealing to hear a man say that he thinks of his children as a gift. And to know he means it.”

He was holding her, and he wasn't quite sure how it had happened. It seemed so easy, so natural, to have her settled in his arms. “When you're given a gift, an important one, you have to be careful with it.” His voice thickened with a mix of emotions. His children. Her. Something about the way she was looking up at him, the way her lips curved. He lifted a hand to stroke her hair, lingered over it a moment before he remembered to back away. “I should go.”

“Stay.” It was so easy, she discovered, to ask him. So easy, after all, to need him. “You know I want you to stay. You know I want you.”

He couldn't take his eyes off her face, and the need was so much bigger, so much sweeter, than he'd ever imagined. “It could complicate things, Nell. I've got a lot of baggage. Most of it's in storage, but—”

“I don't care.” Her breath trembled out. “I don't even have any pride at the moment. Make love with me, Mac.” On a sigh, she pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his. “Just love me tonight.”

He couldn't resist. It was a fantasy that had begun to wind through him, body and mind, the moment he first met her. She was all softness, all warmth. He'd done without both of those miraculous female gifts for so long.

Now, with her mouth on his and her arms twined around him, she was all he could want.

He'd never considered himself romantic. He wondered if a woman like Nell would prefer candlelight, soft music, perfumed air. But the scene was already set. He could do nothing more than lift her into his arms and carry her to the bedroom.

He turned on a lamp, surprised at how suddenly his nerves vanished when he saw hers reflected in her eyes.

“I've thought about this a long time,” he told her. “I want to see you, every minute I'm touching you. I want to see you.”

“Good.” She looked up at him and his smile soothed away some of her tension. “I want to see you.”

He carried her to the bed and lay down beside her, stroking a hand through her hair, over her shoulders. Then he dipped his head to kiss her.

It was so easy, as if they had shared nights and intimacy for years. It was so thrilling, as if each of them had come to the bed as innocent as a babe.

A touch, a taste, patient and lingering. A murmur, a sigh, soft and quiet. His hands never rushed, only pleasured, stroking over her, unfastening buttons, pausing to explore.

Her skin quivered under his caress even as it heated. A hundred pulse points thrummed, speeding at the brush of a fingertip, the flick of a tongue. Her own hands trembled, pulling a laughing groan from her that ended on a broken whimper when she at last found flesh.

Making love. The phrase had never been truer to her. For here was an exquisite tenderness mixed with a lustful curiosity that overpowered the senses, tangled in the system like silken knots. Each time his mouth returned to hers, it went deeper, wider, higher, so that he was all that existed for her. All that needed to.

She gave with a depthless generosity that staggered him. She fit, body to body, with him, with a perfection that thrilled. Each time he thought his control would slip, he found himself sliding easily back into the rhythm they set.

Slow, subtle, savoring.

She was small, delicately built. The fragility he sensed made his hands all the more tender. Even as she arched and cried out the first time, he didn't hurry. It was gloriously arousing for him simply to watch her face, that incredibly expressive face, as every emotion played over it.

He fought back the need to bury himself inside her, clung to control long enough to protect them both. Their eyes locked when at last he slipped into her. Her breath caught and released, and then her lips curved.

Outside, the wind played against the windows, making a music like sleigh bells. And the first snow of the season began to fall as quietly as a wish.

Chapter 8

He couldn't get enough of her. Mac figured at worst it was a kind of insanity, at best a temporary obsession. No matter how many demands there were on his time, his brain, his emotions, he still found odd moments, day and night, to think about Nell.

Though he knew it was cynical, he wished it could have been just sex. If it was only sex, he could put it down to hormones and get back to business. But he didn't just imagine her in bed, or fantasize about finding an hour to lose himself in that trim little body.

Sometimes, when she slipped into his head, she was standing in front of a group of children, directing their voices with her hands, her arms, her whole self. Or she'd be seated at the piano, with his boys on either side of her, laughing with them. Or she'd just be walking through town, with her hands in her pockets and her face lifted toward the sky.

She scared him right down to the bone.

And she, he thought as he measured his baseboard trim, she was so easy about the whole thing. That was a woman for you, he decided. They didn't have to worry about making the right moves, saying the right thing. They just had to . . . to be, he thought. That was enough to drive a man crazy.

He couldn't afford to be crazy. He had kids to raise, a business to run. Hell, he had laundry to do if he ever got home. And damn it, he'd forgotten to take the chicken out of the freezer again.

They'd catch burgers on the way to the concert, he told himself. He had enough on his mind without having to fix dinner. Christmas was barreling toward him, and the kids were acting strange.

Just the bikes, Dad, they told him. Santa's making them, and he's taking care of the big present.

What big present? Mac wondered. No interrogation, no tricks, had pulled out that particular answer. For once his kids were closed up tight. That was an idea that disturbed him. He knew that in another year, two if he was lucky, they'd begin to question and doubt the existence of Santa and magic. The end of innocence. Whatever it was they were counting on for Christmas morning, he wanted to see that they found it under the tree.

But they just grinned at him when he prodded and told him it was a surprise for all three of them.

He'd have to work on it. Mac hammered the trim into place. At least they'd gotten the tree up and baked some cookies, strung the popcorn. He felt a little twinge of guilt over the fact that he'd evaded Nell's offer to help with the decorating. And ignored the kids when they asked if she could come over and trim the tree with them.

Was he the only one who could see what a mistake it would be to have his children become too attached? She'd only been in town for a few months. She could leave at any time. Nell might find them cute, attractive kids, but she didn't have any investment in them.

Damn it, now
he
was making them sound like stocks and bonds.

It wasn't what he meant, Mac assured himself. He simply wasn't going to allow anyone to walk out on his sons again.

He wouldn't risk it, not for anything in heaven or on earth.

After nailing the last piece of baseboard in place, he nodded in approval. The house was coming together just fine. He knew what he was doing there. Just as he knew what he was doing with the boys.

He only wished he had a better idea of what to do with Nell.

“Maybe it'll happen tonight.” Zeke watched his breath puff out like smoke as he and his twin sat in the tree house, wrapped against the December chill in coats and scarves.

“It's not Christmas yet.”

“But it's the Christmas concert,” Zeke said stubbornly. He was tired of waiting for the mom. “That's where we saw her first. And they'll have the music and the tree and stuff, so it'll be like Christmas.”

“I don't know.” Zack liked the idea, a lot, but was more cautious. “Maybe, but we don't get any presents until Christmas.”

“We do, too. When Mr. Perkins pretends to be Santa at the party at the firehouse. That's whole weeks before Christmas, and he gives all the kids presents.”

“Not
real
presents. Not stuff you ask for.” But Zack set his mind to it. “Maybe if we wish real hard. Dad likes her a lot. Aunt Mira was telling Uncle Dave that Dad's found the right woman even if he doesn't know it.” Zack's brow creased. “How could he not know it if he found her?”

“Aunt Mira's always saying stuff that doesn't make sense,” Zeke said, with the easy disdain of the young. “Dad's going to marry her, and she's going to come live with us and be the mom. She has to be. We've been good, haven't we?”

“Uh-huh.” Zack played with the toe of his boot. “Do you think she'll love us and all that?”

“Probably.” Zeke shot his twin a look. “I love her already.”

“Me too.” Zack smiled in relief. Everything was going to be okay after all.

* * *

“All right, people.” Nell pitched her voice above the din in the chorus room. It doubled as backstage on concert nights, and students were swarming around, checking clothes, makeup and hair and working off preperformance jitters by talking at the top of their lungs. “Settle down.”

One of her students had his head between his knees, fighting off acute stage fright. Nell sent him a sympathetic smile as her group began to quiet.

“You've all worked really hard for tonight. I know a lot of you are jumpy because you have friends and family out in the audience. Use the nerves to sharpen your performance. Please try to remember to go out onstage in the organized, dignified manner we've practiced.”

There were some snickers at that. Nell merely lifted a brow. “I should have said remember to be more dignified and more orderly than you've managed at practice. Diaphragms,” she said. “Projection. Posture. Smiles.” She paused, lifted a hand. “And above all, I expect you to remember the most vital ingredient in tonight's performance. Enjoy it,” she said, and grinned. “It's Christmas. Now let's go knock 'em dead.”

Her heart was doing some pretty fancy pumping of its own as she directed the children onstage, watched them take their positions on the risers as the murmurs from the audience rose and ebbed. For many, Nell knew, this concert would be her first test. Decisions from the community would be made tonight as to whether the school board had made a good or a bad choice in their new music teacher.

She took a deep breath, tugged at the hem of her velvet jacket and stepped onstage.

There was polite applause as she approached the solo mike.

“Welcome to Taylor's Grove High School's holiday concert,” she began.

“Gosh, Dad, doesn't Miss Davis look pretty?”

“Yeah, Zack, she does.”
Lovely
was more the word, he thought, in that soft-looking deep forest green suit, with holly berries in her hair and a quick, nervous smile on her face.

She looked terrific in the spotlight. He wondered if she knew it.

At the moment, all Nell knew was nerves. She wished she could see faces clearly. She'd always preferred seeing her audience when she was performing. It made it more intimate, more fun. After her announcement, she turned, saw every student's eyes on hers, then smiled in reassurance.

“Okay, kids,” she murmured, in an undertone only they could hear. “Let's rock.”

She started them off with a bang, the Springsteen number, and it had eyes popping wide in the audience. This was not the usual yawn-inspiring program most had been expecting.

When the applause hit, Nell felt the tension dissolve. They'd crossed the first hurdle. She segued from the fun to the traditional, thrilled when the auditorium filled with the harmony on “Cantate Domine,” delighted when her sopranos soared on “Adeste Fideles,” grinning when they bounced into “Jingle Bell Rock,” complete with the little stage business of swaying and hand clapping they'd worked on.

And her heart swelled when Kim approached the mike and the first pure notes of her solo flowed into the air.

“Oh, Dave.” Sniffling, Mira clutched her husband's hand, then Mac's. “Our baby.”

Nell's prediction had been on target. When Kim stepped back in position, there were damp eyes in every row. They closed the concert with “Silent Night,” only voices, no piano. The way it was meant to be sung, Nell had told her students. The way it was written to be sung.

When the last note died and she turned to gesture to her chorus, the audience was already on its feet. The kick of it jolted through her as she turned her head, saw the slack jaws, wide eyes and foolish grins of her students.

Nell swallowed tears, waiting until the noise abated slightly before crossing to the mike again. She knew how to play it.

“They were terrific, weren't they?”

As she'd hoped, that started the cheers and applause all over again. She waited it out.

“I'd like to thank you all for coming, for supporting the chorus. I owe a special thanks to the parents of the singers onstage tonight for their patience, their understanding, and their willingness to let me share their children for a few hours every day. Every student onstage has worked tremendously hard for tonight, and I'm delighted that you appreciate their talent, and their effort. I'd like to add that the poinsettias you see onstage were donated by Hill Florists and are for sale at three dollars a pot. Proceeds to go to the fund for new choir uniforms. Merry Christmas, and come back.”

Before she could step away from the mike, Kim and Brad were standing on either side of her.

“There's just one more thing.” Brad cleared his throat until the rustling in the audience died down. “The chorus would like to present a token of appreciation to Miss Davis for all her work and encouragement. Ah . . .” Kim had written the speech out, but Brad had been designated to say it. He fumbled a little, grinned self-consciously at Kim. “This is Miss Davis's first concert at Taylor High. Ah . . .” He just couldn't remember all the nice words Kim had written, so he said what he felt. “She's the best. Thanks, Miss Davis.”

“We hope you like it,” Kim murmured under the applause as she handed Nell a brightly wrapped box. “All the kids chipped in.”

“I'm . . .” She didn't know what to say, was afraid to try. When she opened the box, she stared, misty-eyed, down at a pin shaped like a treble clef.

“We know you like jewelry,” Kim began. “So we thought—”

“It's beautiful. It's perfect.” Taking a steadying breath, she turned to the chorus. “Thanks. It means almost as much to me as you do. Merry Christmas.”

* * *

“She got a present,” Zack pointed out. They were waiting in the crowded corridor outside the auditorium to congratulate Kim. “That means we could get one tonight. We could get her.”

“Not if she goes home right after.” Zack had already worked this out. He was waiting for his moment. When he saw her, he pounced. “Miss Davis! Over here, Miss Davis!”

Mac didn't move. Couldn't. Something had happened while he sat three rows back, watching her on the stage. Seeing her smile, seeing tears in her eyes. Just seeing her.

He was in love with her. It was nothing he'd ever experienced. Nothing he knew how to handle. Running seemed the smartest solution, but he didn't think he could move.

“Hi!” She crouched down for hugs, squeezing the boys tight, kissing each cheek. “Did you like the concert?”

“It was real good. Kim was the best.”

Nell leaned close to Zeke's ear. “I think so, too, but it has to be a secret.”

“We're good at keeping secrets.” He smiled smugly at his brother. “We've had one for weeks and weeks.”

“Can you come to our house now, Miss Davis?” Zack clung to her hand and put all his charm into his eyes. “Please? Come see our tree and the lights. We put lights everywhere so you can see them from all the way down on the road.”

“I'd like that.” Testing the water, she glanced up at Mac. “But your dad might be tired.”

He wasn't tired, he was flattened. Her lashes were still damp, and the little pin the kids had given her glinted against her velvet jacket. “You're welcome to come out, if you don't mind the drive.”

“I'd like it. I'm still wired up.” She straightened, searching for some sign of welcome or rebuff in Mac's face. “If you're sure it isn't a bad time.”

“No.” His tongue was thick, he realized. As if he'd been drinking. “I want to talk to you.”

“I'll head out as soon as I'm finished here, then.” She winked at the boys and melted back into the crowd.

“She's done wonders with those kids.” Mrs. Hollis nodded to Mac. “It'll be a shame to lose her.”

“Lose her?” Mac glanced down at his boys, but they were already in a huddle, exchanging whispers. “What do you mean?”

“I heard from Mr. Perkins, who got it from Addie McVie at the high school office, that Nell Davis was offered her old position back at that New York school starting next fall. Nell and the principal had themselves a conference just this morning.” Mrs. Hollis babbled on as Mac stared blankly over her head. “Hate to think about her leaving us. Made a difference with these kids.” She spied one of her gossip buddies and elbowed her way through the crowd.