The Christmas Proposition (4 page)

D
erek had been so focused on showing a young boy how to throw a slider that he couldn’t say for sure when Rachel and Mickie had entered the Indoor Sports Facility. All he knew was when the boy and his dad walked off, he caught sight of them leaning against the wall.

When he met Rachel’s gaze she surprised him with a friendly smile. After the kisses in the bedroom, the interaction between them had been strained and he’d worried he’d damaged their budding friendship.

He returned Mickie’s wave and made his way across the gym floor, hoping all was forgiven and forgotten. He really would like to be Rachel’s friend.

“Hi, there!” he called out as he drew close.

“Good morning,” Rachel said, then glanced up at the large clock on the wall. “Or rather, good afternoon.”

“Hi, Mr. Rossi.” Mickie hurried to his side with a speed that surprised him. Once there, she tugged on
his sleeve. “Don’t forget you’re coming for lunch. We’re having grilled cheese sandwiches.”

For a second Derek got the impression that the child was more excited about the lunch than the lesson. But that was crazy.

“I haven’t forgotten.” He shot her a reassuring smile. “Lunch. After the lesson.”

“I’m curious.” Rachel glanced around the gym. “Since Mickie has never played before, where do you begin?”

Today Rachel had pulled her hair back in a ponytail and dressed simply in jeans, a red sweater with silver threads and sneakers. Even though she didn’t appear to be wearing makeup, she had to be because her lips were almost as red as her sweater. He couldn’t help remembering how sweet those lips had tasted.

With great effort Derek pulled his attention back to the matter at hand. “We start with the basics. Like how to grip a ball. Then, I thought she could throw the ball to you while I coach her on her stance and technique.”

“I don’t have anything to put on my hand.” Mickie raised her left arm and wiggled her fingers as if showing off her bright pink polish.

Derek tilted his head. Sometimes little girls could be very confusing creatures.

“She doesn’t have a glove,” Rachel clarified. “We were running late and by the time I remembered, we were almost here.”

“Rachel had to make sure the house was clean for you,” Mickie added.

Derek swore he heard Rachel groan. He hid a smile.

“I’m so sorry,” Rachel said. “Here you go out of your way to help and—”

“No worries.” Derek lifted his hand in a dismissive wave. “We have plenty of gloves kicking around here. And she’s not the only one who’ll need one. Because Mickie will be throwing to you, you’ll need one as well.”

“Me?” Rachel’s voice rose, then cracked. “I haven’t had a glove on since college. And that was only intramural softball.”

“You’ll do fine,” Derek said. “After all, today is all about learning and having fun.”

Rachel reminded herself that she was throwing a ball to a ten-year-old, not trying out for the major leagues. “All right, then. Let’s play ball.”

He shot Rachel and approving smile, then refocused on Mickie.

“Lesson number one.” Derek held up the ball in his hand. “The best way to grip a ball is across the seams.”

He held it out so both Mickie and Rachel could see. “And when you hold it, try to keep the ball out on your fingertips, not up against your palm.”

“Why?” Mickie asked as he flipped the ball to her.

The girl caught the ball easily, but struggled to get a good grip.

“Holding it the proper way helps your speed and accuracy when you throw,” he said.

Derek stepped forward, positioned the ball in Mickie’s hand, then ran backward while slipping on his glove. He punched the pocket with his fist. “Throw it here.”

She lifted her hand and with a stiff arm tossed it to him. It went far to his left, but he easily snagged it.

“Good effort.” He moved to her side and showed her how to cock her wrist back and use it as part of the throwing motion.

Once the girl had a good start on that skill, he gave both of them gloves and had Mickie throw the ball to Rachel. While the child threw, Derek coached her on her stance.

Thankfully Rachel had no problems catching the balls. Mickie improved with each throw and showed definite potential. Oddly, she seemed more interested in talking about all of Rachel’s wonderful attributes than in paying attention to her throwing technique.

“My stomach is growling,” Mickie said when only a half hour had passed.

Derek motioned to Rachel.

“Mickie is hungry,” he said when she drew close.

“Mr. Rossi is hungry, too,” Mickie protested.

“You’re right.” He smiled at the child. “I am.”

“How does grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato basil soup sound?” Rachel asked. “Be honest. We want you to be happy.”

For a second he was tempted to tell her he could simply sit and look at her and be happy, but that sounded too much like a come-on.

“Soup and a sandwich works for me,” Derek said. “But it sounds like you’ve been busy cleaning all morning. I hate to make you go to more work.”

“She doesn’t mind,” Mickie said before Rachel could answer. “You showed me a lot. Plus you have to meet Fred. I told him all about you.”

Derek grinned. Apparently his family wasn’t the only one where the dog wasn’t simply a pet but rather a member of the family.

“I wrote down my address.” Rachel reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Do you need directions? I know getting around Jackson Hole can be confusing.”

Derek glanced at the sheet, then shoved it into his pocket. “Thanks, but no directions are necessary. I’ll just plug your address into my GPS.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Derek saw Mickie wander over to the sports locker to put away the gloves and balls. This gave him the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

“In case you’re concerned, I want you to know that you don’t have a thing to worry about.” At the confused look on her pretty face, he stopped and reconsidered. Had she put it out of her mind? Was he dredging up the past for no reason?

Unfortunately he’d said too much already to take it back.

Rachel’s brows furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“The kissing. I was out of line.”

“But
I
was the one who kissed
you,
” Rachel said.

“That’s not how I remember it.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She took a step closer and the scent of vanilla surrounded him. “It was a freak occurrence that I’m sure neither of us wants to repeat.”

What? She considered kissing him to be a
freaky
thing?

His shock must have shown on his face because she grimaced. “That didn’t come out quite right.”

“I understand,” he said.
I think.

But he didn’t. How could she dismiss what they’d shared? Even if the kiss had been ill-conceived, the connection between them had been unbelievable. Derek’s gaze slid to her lips. Not only did she have a beautiful face, but she also had really lovely lips. Full and plump, like ripe strawberries. And he’d already discovered that her mouth tasted as good as it looked.

His body began to stir, but he reminded himself he was supposed to be figuring out what went wrong with his previous relationships, not getting all hot and bothered. Or doing any
freaky
kissing. Derek had almost ruined his friendship with this beautiful woman by going down the physical road.

He wasn’t about to make that mistake again. No matter how many cold showers he had to take.

The planned development just south of Jackson was a charming mixture of single-family houses, town-homes and apartment complexes. With the help of his GPS, Derek easily found Rachel’s townhome at the easternmost edge. A gravel road ran down the side of her property separating the development from a field that stretched far into the distance.

Derek parked at the curb and stepped outside. Although the wind had a sharp edge, he paused when he reached the sidewalk and took a deep breath. The wide-open spaces of this beautiful state and the clean crisp air reminded him of Minnesota. Over the years he’d adjusted to life in Los Angeles, but he still missed the change of seasons and being able to look into the distance without seeing a bunch of buildings.

“Derek, come inside. It’s cold out there.”

He pulled his gaze from the scenic vista to settle on something even more stunning. Rachel stood in the doorway, her wheat-colored hair blowing softly about her face, a welcoming smile on her lips. Derek’s hopes rose. Maybe their talk had cleared the air. Maybe the kiss—or rather his behavior during the kiss—had been forgiven or, better yet, forgotten.

Mickie peered around Rachel’s side. “Hurry. Fred and the grilled cheese sandwiches are waiting.”

Derek brushed the snowflakes from his face and hustled up the driveway.

He hadn’t realized how cold it was until he stepped inside and the warmth surrounded him. While Rachel hung up his coat and Mickie scampered off to bring Fred in from the backyard, Derek took the opportunity to look around.

An open floor plan enhanced the modest space. A small entry gave way to a fair-size living room decorated in tans and browns with burgundy accents. Farther back was a kitchen and dining area. Off to his right was a hallway he assumed led to the bedrooms.

While more modern than Mary Karen’s house, it still had the same homey feel. He couldn’t help but be curious. Had Rachel shared this home with her husband?

“You have a nice place.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Looks new.”

“Fairly new,” Rachel said. “I moved in right after it was built. I’ll be here three years come March.”

Which meant she hadn’t lived here with Tom. For some reason, the knowledge pleased him.

“Let me get you something to drink.” Rachel moved
toward the kitchen bypassing an oval-shaped wooden table decorated with red-and-green plaid place mats and Santa napkin rings.

Derek started to follow, but a photograph on a side table caught his eye and stopped him in his tracks. It was obviously a wedding picture. A much-younger Rachel dressed in a simple white wedding gown smiled up at a large mountain of a man with sandy hair and a full beard. The photographer had captured the love in her eyes and amazingly, despite Tom’s solemn expression, in his as well.

Oddly, the picture made Derek feel better. Better about three broken engagements. Better about being single. Despite the bad press, he’d been right to walk away from his former fiancées. Not one of those women had looked at him the way Rachel had looked at her husband.

“Derek.” Rachel’s voice broke through his thoughts. “What would you like to drink? Soda? Milk? Or something hot?”

He pulled his gaze away from the portrait. “Milk, please.”

The sound of the back door slamming shut echoed throughout the house. Derek heard Mickie’s voice, but it took a few seconds before the girl joined them, a large red-and-black bloodhound at her side.

“Don’t worry, I wiped his feet off,” Mickie said when Rachel’s gaze dropped to the large paws.

“Good job.” Approval ran through Rachel’s voice like warm honey and Mickie puffed with pride at the praise.

Derek studied the dog. Although Gus had been more
tan than red, Fred still brought the memories of his childhood friend surging forth. Gus licking his face after his father died. Gus’s comforting warmth next to him in bed at night. Gus at his heels, following him everywhere. The way Fred was glued to Mickie’s side, the two hounds were obviously cut from the same cloth. “So, this is your Fred.”

“He’s actually Rachel’s dog,” Mickie said, her tone wistful. Fred nudged her hand with his snout and the smile returned to her face. Mickie scratched his head.

“He’s a super good boy.” Mickie met Derek’s gaze. “He knows lots of tricks. Want to see?”

Derek nodded, eager to see what the animal could do. While a great companion, Gus had never been particularly good with tricks.

“Fred, sit,” Mickie said in a firm tone.

The dog was already sitting.

“Fred, shake,” Mickie ordered.

The dog tilted his big head and looked up at him.

“Go ahead,” Mickie said to Derek. “Shake his paw.”

Derek squatted down, lifted the paw that had been firmly planted on the floor and while gazing into the soulful eyes, shook it with enthusiasm. “Hello, Fred. I’m Derek. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Fred, kiss.”

Before Derek could react the dog leaned forward and slurped his tongue along his cheek.

Derek grinned and ruffled the loose skin around the dog’s neck. Figured he’d get that one right. “You remind me of Gus.”

Fred thumped his tail against the hardwood floor as if he knew that was a very good thing.

“Honey, could you show Derek where he can wash his hands?” Rachel flipped the sandwiches off the griddle and onto three plates. “By the time you get back, lunch should be on the table.”

He followed Mickie to a bathroom with soap in the shape of Christmas trees and frilly towels that seemed more decorative than serviceable. After washing his hands, he hesitated. But Mickie confided that while they seemed too pretty to use, Rachel had been offended when she’d used toilet paper to dry her hands.

Still he hesitated.

With a conspiratorial smile, Mickie pulled off some toilet paper and handed some to him and kept the rest for herself. After they finished drying their hands, Derek added Mickie’s toilet paper to his own and flushed away the evidence.

By the time they returned to the kitchen, Mickie had stopped giggling. Fred was on the floor next to the sofa sleeping and Rachel was filling the glasses with milk.

After pulling out the chairs for both Rachel and Mickie, Derek took a seat, dropping the napkin onto his lap. “Smells good.”

He waited for Rachel to pick up her spoon. Instead, she asked him to say grace. It wasn’t that difficult a request, but for a second Derek went blank. Although he’d grown up praying before meals and going to church, since he’d moved away from home at eighteen he could count on one hand the times he’d done either.

“Say what you’re thankful for and then thank God for
the food,” Mickie said in a whisper so loud she might as well have spoken in her normal tone.