Merry Humbug Christmas (9 page)

the girls and I had.”

“A latte?”

“Shopping,” she corrected. “Our steward mentioned the shops

would be open today, and I thought it might be a good time to have some girl time.”

“The boys are with our daddy, shooting ’skeeters,” the youngest

chimed in.

“Shooting . . . mosquitoes?” Joss asked, and she looked to Marla.

“Skeet shooting. Rod’s first love.”

“Mama, can I have a cupcake like that?”

“I want hot chocolate, Mama. You said I could. With

marshmallows.”

“Angela,” the woman said, and the oldest of the girls looked up

from the glass bakery case. “Take your sisters and get a table.”

The girl kicked into mother-hen-in-training mode, and she had

the flock of them settled in a booth before the young waitress jingled her way toward them.

Patrick had always planned on having a family one day, but a fam-

ily this size? He couldn’t even imagine trying to herd cats in this way.

“So what did you buy?”

“Pardon?” Joss asked, and Marla nodded toward the shopping

bags piled beside her. “Oh! Nothing. I mean, nothing much. A dress I can wear to dinner tonight, some earrings. Oh, and a cute little sarong in case I decide to grab some pool time.” She reached into one Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 62

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of the bags and revealed a clenched section of the purple floral skirt-thing she’d bought before they ducked into the café.

“Oh, how pretty.”

“How about you? Did you get anything?” Joss asked her.

“There’s one thing you learn with this many children,” she said,

and she shot a grin at Patrick before continuing. “It’s a slippery slope when it comes to purchasing
en masse
.”

“So, what?” Joss teased. “You never actually buy anything?”

“It’s very complicated business, Joss,” Marla said in a hushed

voice, leaning on the table with a smile. “I keep track of those things that really speak to me—for me and for each of the girls—and then I sneak away later to zip through and pick them up. So we’ve had

a nice time together, everyone gets a little something in the end, assuming there are no battles during the process. Everybody wins.”

“Except the boys,” Patrick said with a laugh.

“Oh, there’s a whole other system for the boys.”

Joss chuckled. “So what you’re telling me is that, to be a mother, you also have to be a sort of evil genius.”

Marla grinned at Patrick. “Hold on to this one. She catches on

fast.”

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Merry

Humbug Christmas

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On the sixth day of Christmas,

Murphy’s Law gave to me . . .

six teeth a-breaking

five cold sardiiiines!

four dirty words,

three French friends,

two hearty shoves,

and a Partridge with the first name Keith.

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6

For a dress she hadn’t tried on before she bought it, this one

looked pretty good.

Joss turned slightly and examined her reflection in the mirror.

Not over-the-top like some of the getups she’d already seen onboard but dressy enough she’d fit in with the Christmas dinner crowd.

And if it turned Patrick Brenneman’s head a little in the process, so be it. She poked the new sterling earrings into her lobes, and they skimmed her shoulders. She grabbed her purse on the way out the

door.

The main dining room shimmered under low lights and what

looked like a thousand flickering candles. Upon closer inspection on her way across the room, Joss realized the flames were simply bat-tery-operated facsimiles. With several yards to go before she reached her assigned table, her breath caught in her throat when her eyes met Patrick’s and he smiled at her.

Black silk tie on black shirt beneath black suit jacket: he looked positively James Bond—in a scruffy, slightly incorrigible sort of way.

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Merry

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Her poor heart had hardly been able to take it when he’d worn a

casual Friday version of a suit to breakfast that morning; she’d continually forced herself to look away from him during their shopping escapade to avoid staring too long.

“I thought I might have to come and find you,” he said as he stood up and held out her chair. Once she’d been seated, he leaned over and whispered, “Happy Birthday.” She inhaled sharply, but he placed his hand on her shoulder and added, “Simmer down there. It’s my

final offense.”

“Wait until you see the menu, darlin’,” Connie sang from across

the table. “We have one gorgeous thing after another to choose from.”

Patrick handed her a menu, and he looked over her shoulder as

she reviewed it.

“You should have brought your cake with you,” he said softly.

“We could have all shared it and maybe sung a rousing chorus of

‘Happy Birthday.’”

“You’re a laugh riot,” she remarked without looking up at him.

“Besides, I ate most of it.”

“Seriously? How?”

“Me and a fork and a cake. That’s really all I needed.”

“Hollow leg, right?”

Joss chuckled as their waiter approached. “Good evening, Miss.”

“Good evening, Victor.”

“Have you decided?”

“I’ll start with the pear and pomegranate salad. Then the prime

rib with cheesy mashed potatoes and asparagus.”

“How would you like your prime rib?”

“Medium rare.”

“Very good.”

Joss glanced at Patrick. “You’ve already ordered? What are you

having?”

“Turkey and trimmings. I was on the road for Thanksgiving and

didn’t get to have the usual suspects.”

“Patrick loves cranberry sauce,” Kathleen piped up. “I often won-

der if that’s not why he remained in America after college. Why,

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when he saw pumpkin pie on the dessert menu tonight, I thought

he’d have to be revived.”

“Your American Thanksgiving is inspired,” he added with a shrug.

“I admire genius.”

“You said you were traveling over Thanksgiving,” she said. “What

exactly do you do? I’ve never asked.”

“Patrick is a brilliant architect,” Kathleen said.

“Historian, Mother.” He smiled at Joss and clarified. “I’m an

architectural historian.”

“I don’t . . .”—she hesitated to admit it—“. . .know what that

means.”

He grinned. “Short version, I research specific buildings and

compile reports on them.”

“Like . . . for what purpose?”

“National registries, preservationists, sustainability evaluations.”

Joss mulled it over, shaking her head. “I’m sorry to tell you I

never even knew that was a profession.”

“What about you?” Kathleen asked her. “What do you do, Miss

Snow?”

“Joss. I’m in public relations.”

“And how do the von Trapps fit in?” Patrick asked, and Joss

laughed at the reference.

She glanced over at the Jenkins’s table, noting only about half of the usual family members were seated there.

“Rodney Jenkins is the CEO of Vandermere Hotels & Spas. My

partner and I have been trying to get their account for several years.”

“Partner.” He’d repeated it somewhat casually, but Joss read

between the lines.

“Business partner. Ryan Butler. We’ve been in business together

for nearly four years.”

“Four years. That’s a long time.”

Joss grinned and leaned toward him. “Relax, historian. The only

history between Ry and me is of the professional variety.”

Patrick suppressed a smile as he nodded. “Good to know.”

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Merry

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“And you? Any partnering I should know about in your line of

work?”

“Nope. Lone wolf out there, all on my own.”

She mirrored his nod. “I see.”

Patrick angled toward her and whispered, “No attachments

whatsoever.”

She looked up at him. “And you think this matters to me, why,

exactly?”

“No reason. I just appreciate full disclosure myself.”

Joss chuckled. “Subtle. No attachments back on land for me

either.”

He nodded slowly. “I see. Good to know.”

Victor and a sidekick began delivering salads and bowls of soup

to the occupants of their table, cutting off the conversation at the knees. Joss had to work hard to squelch the squeal of delight that lingered in her chest at the wonderful news that Patrick Brenneman’s dating passport could be cleanly stamped: Available.

“Is there anyone at the table who would be offended by a prayer

over our meal?” Kathleen asked them, and the others looked at each other for verification.

“I think that’s a delicious idea,” Connie sang.

“Wonderful,” Kathleen said, reaching for Joss’s hand. “Patrick,

why don’t you do the honors with an Irish blessing.”

Joss slipped her hand into Patrick’s, and he squeezed it lightly.

A surge of excitement shot through her. She struggled to follow the others’ example, and she bowed her head and closed her eyes.

“The light of the Christmas star to you,” Patrick said confidently.

“The warmth of home and hearth to you; the cheer and good will of friends to you; the hope of a childlike heart to you; the joy of a thousand angels to you; the love of Jesus the Son, and God’s peace unto every one of you.”

He squeezed Joss’s hand one more time before adding in his sweet

Irish brogue, “
Nollaig Shona Dhuit.
Happy Christmas to everyone.”

Kathleen let go of her hand, and Joss’s eyes fluttered open. She

glanced at Patrick. He hadn’t released her hand; instead, he stroked Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 70

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it gently with his thumb for several seconds before he clasped it tightly one last time.

Joss felt her heart quiver when he finally let go, and she won-

dered if he’d noticed that her palm had gone clammy.

Never mind that, she thought as she unfolded the linen napkin and
placed it on her lap. Why am I trembling like this?

Joss jumped as a hand grasped her shoulder, and Rodney Jenkins

leaned down toward her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I just wanted to stop over and wish you a happy holiday. I’ve got to get back up to the cabin before Marla jumps overboard. A couple of the kids had an incident today, and we’re taking our turns staying with them.”

“I hope everyone’s all right,” she exclaimed. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Do you have children, Joss?”

“No, I don’t. Just a sheepdog,” she said with a laugh.

“Well, never let your dog have a jawbreaker.”

“Oh . . . dear . . .”

“They’re six-for-six with two of the children in the Jenkins suite.

Six jawbreakers, six broken teeth.”

“Oh, you’re joking,” Patrick commiserated. “That’s horrible.”

“We’ll survive,” he said with a shrug. “Just another day in

paradise.”

“Let me know if there’s anything you need.” Joss offered.

“Enjoy your holiday,” he said with a smile. “Once I get a dog-

gie bag of soft food up to the cabin, I think all will be well in the world again. For at least thirty minutes. After that, who knows?”

He smacked Patrick’s shoulder gently and gave Joss a nod. “Merry

Christmas, you two.”