The Christmas Wife (2 page)

“Uh oh,” she whispered.

“What are you doing in here?”

Her head whipped up and she stared at the man standing in
the doorway.  He was wearing a grey suit and red tie and she shrank back when
he stalked into the room and stood over her.

“Little girl!  What are you doing in here?”  He asked
angrily as he surveyed the broken pieces of statue.

“You’re supposed to ask if I’m okay.”  Hattie scowled at
him.

“What?”  He scowled back.

“When a person is in an accident, you’re supposed to ask if
they’re okay.”  She started to stand and the man reached out and hooked his
hands under her armpits.

“You’re going to cut yourself,” he snapped. 

He lifted her until she was dangling in front of his face. 
“Who are you?”

“I’m Hattie Brooks.  Who are you?”  She asked.

He blinked at her.  “I’m Deacon Stone.”

Her eyes widened.  “You’re the toymaker!  I have one of your
trucks!  Not the really cool one that you can drive with a remote but it’s
still pretty great.  I accidentally pushed it off our balcony and it didn’t
even break!”

He studied the little girl silently.  She was wearing jeans
and a bright pink shirt and her dark hair hung down her back in two neat
braids.  She stared silently back at him with her light blue eyes.

“Hattie?  Hattie, where are you?  I told you to – oh no.” 

Deacon watched as a woman, she was short and slender with
light brown hair pulled into an unflattering ponytail and eyes the same colour
as the little girl, ran into the room.  She was wearing a bright yellow t-shirt
with the words, “Bee Clean” and an oversized bee embroidered on the front of it
and jeans.

“Hattie, honey are you okay?”

Hattie gave him a smug look.  “See, I told you.”

She smiled at the woman as she continued to dangle in
Deacon’s grip.  “I’m fine, mama.”

“Oh, Hattie.  What have you done?”  Claire stared in dismay
at the broken pieces of statue.

“It was an accident,” Hattie said.  “My feet slipped out
from under me and I fell down.”

“I told you to stay in the library,” Claire said as Deacon,
bits of statue crunching under his feet, stepped away from the mess and set
Hattie down on the floor.

Claire put her arm around Hattie and gave him a tentative
smile.  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stone.”

He looked her up and down and she flushed at his silent
judgement. 

“Ms. Brooks, is it?”

“Yes, Claire Brooks.” she said quietly.

“Tell me, do all maids bring their children to work now or
is this a new thing?”

She flushed again.  “I’m so sorry, there was an emergency
with my babysitter and – “

He held his hand up and cut her off, “I don’t care.  But
there is the issue of my broken statue.”

“I’ll pay for the damages,” she said quickly.

He frowned at her.  “Will you?”

“Yes,” she said before glancing at Hattie.  “Just please, if
you could keep this quiet with the cleaning service, I’ll personally pay for
it.”

“Can I assume that your boss won’t be pleased to hear that
you’re bringing your child to work?”

She nodded.  “Yes.  We can do an insurance claim, the
company is bonded and insured, but if they find out that I brought Hattie here,
I’ll lose my job.  And I really need my job, Mr. Stone.  I’m a single mother
and I – I don’t have a lot of extra cash.” 

She tried to smile winningly at him but it withered and died
under his hot gaze.

“If you just let me know how much the statue cost, I’ll
write you a cheque.”

“That statue cost seventy-five grand, Ms. Brooks.”

Claire’s mouth dropped open as Hattie said indignantly, “You
paid seventy-five dollars for that?  It’s not even pretty.”

“Hattie, shush!”  Claire said weakly.  “Mr. Stone, I – I
don’t have that kind of money.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to speak to your boss about this
after all,” he said.

Her face paled and she couldn’t stop her squeak of dismay. 
Hattie took her hand and gave her an anxious look.  “I can help you pay for it,
mama.  You can have my birthday money.”

“Thank you, honey, but you keep your birthday money.”  Claire
tried to smile at her.

“I’m saving up for one of your toys,” Hattie informed him. 
“I have ten dollars and I only need another,” she frowned in thought, “ninety
dollars and then I’ll have enough.  It’s the – “

“Hattie, hush, please,” Claire said. “Mr. Stone, could we
work something out?”

“Like what?”  For some reason his gaze dropped to her
breasts and he could feel his own cheeks reddening when she crossed one arm
over her chest.

“I could pay you a weekly amount,” she said, “until the
statue is paid for.”

He didn’t reply and she cleared her throat.  “Um, I could pay
you a hundred dollars every Friday.”

His snort of laughter died away at her look of shame.  She
blinked rapidly, he was suddenly horrified to realize that she was on the verge
of tears, and cleared her throat again.  “I’m sorry, that was stupid.  I’ll let
the company know what happened and fill out an insurance claim.  They’ll
contact you with the details.”

He nodded and she glanced at the shattered statue.  “I’ll
just, uh, clean this up and then go.”

“Leave it,” he said.

“No, I can’t do that.  I’ll clean it and then be out of your
hair.”

He shook his head.  “I think you’ve done enough damage for
one day, Ms. Brooks.”

“Right,” she said.  She gave him a final apologetic smile
before leading Hattie toward the door.

“Good-bye, Mr. Stone,” Hattie said.  “I’m very sorry I broke
your statue.”

Deacon drummed his fingers restlessly on the top of his desk
before staring out the window.  Snow was falling steadily and he watched the traffic
zipping by.  It was late Thursday afternoon and he was no closer to solving his
problem.  If he didn’t have a wife by Monday his grandmother would give her
portion of the company to Brandon.  If that happened, Deacon would be out of a
job by Tuesday.  It didn’t matter that ten years ago he had taken over the
failing toy company from his father and turned into in a multi-million dollar success. 
His grandmother has lost her marbles and her old-school belief that he needed
to be married and starting a family had finally crossed over the line.  He had
never dreamed that she would hold the company hostage just to see him married. 

Who even did that?  His crazy grandmother, that’s who.

His assistant’s voice came over the speaker phone.  “Mr.
Stone?  There’s a Mrs. Talson from “Bee Clean Maid Services” on line one for
you.”

“Thank you, Tabitha.”

He punched line one and said curtly, “This is Stone.”

“Mr. Stone, my name is Edith Talson and I’m the owner of Bee
Clean Maid Services.  I’m calling to personally apologize for the incident
yesterday and to reassure you that we are fully covered for accidents of this
nature.”

“Good,” he grunted as he scrolled through his emails. 

“We hope that you’ll continue to use our services.  You’ve
been a client for nearly five years now and  - “

“I’m not going to fire you,” he interrupted.  “But I would
prefer to have someone other than Ms. Brooks cleaning my house.”

“That won’t be a problem, Mr. Stone.  Ms. Brooks no longer
works for our company,” Mrs. Talson said.  “We’ll have a new girl out next week
to clean.”

“You fired her?” 

“Of course,” Mrs. Talson replied.  “We take our work very
seriously and an error of this magnitude can’t be – “

“Thank you, Mrs. Talson,” he cut in.  “I appreciate your
call.”

He hung up before she could reply and swung his chair around
to stare out the window again.

Way to go, Stone.  You got a single mother who looked
like she could barely feed her child fired from her job.  You’re a real hero.

It’s not my fault she brought her kid to work
, he
argued with himself. 
She shouldn’t have been letting her run around like that.

You’re an asshole.

Alright, fine, he was an asshole.  But his maid’s personal
problems wasn’t
his
problem.  He had enough of his own damn problems to…

He trailed off mid-thought and stared blankly at the falling
snow.  The maid obviously had very little money and he was desperate for a
wife.  He rubbed at his forehead.  She was pretty enough, seemed intelligent,
and as long as she didn’t have a criminal record or something stupid like that,
she would work fine as his fake wife.  Plus she had a kid – his grandmother
would love that.  She was crazy for kids.  Personally he thought they were
messy and annoying as hell but his grandmother – she was a softie for them. 

He punched a button on his phone.  “Tabitha?  I need an
address for a woman named Claire Brooks.”

* * *

Claire sat on the couch and stared numbly at the spot where
the television used to be.  Two weeks ago she had sold it, crying guiltily
later that night as she remembered the way Hattie had pleaded to keep it, to
add to the rent money.  Like the necklace, it had been a pointless gesture. 
She was being evicted on Monday and not only would she and Hattie be homeless,
she was also unemployed.

She had cried and literally begged Edith not to fire her,
something she couldn’t even bring herself to be ashamed about, but it hadn’t
helped.  Edith had felt bad but she had a business to run and Claire couldn’t
really blame her.  She had just cost the company a shitload of money.

She rubbed at her forehead before heading to the bathroom. 
“Hattie?  I’m going to have a shower and then I’ll make us some dinner, okay?”

“Okay, mama,” Hattie called from the bedroom they shared.

* * *

Deacon stood in the hallway and stared in disgust at the man
sprawled out on the floor of the hallway.  The smell of stale beer wafted from
him and he snored loudly, drool slipping from between his lips to puddle on the
floor.

The entire building was a dump and Deacon knocked firmly on
the apartment door as he shifted the brown paper bag he held into his left hand. 

After a moment, he knocked again and Hattie said, “Who is
it?”

“It’s Deacon Stone.”

There was silence and he said impatiently, “Do you remember
me, Hattie?”

“The toymaker,” she said through the door.

“Yes, may I come in?”

“Mama says I’m not allowed to let strangers into the house.”

“I’m not a stranger, Hattie,” he said.  “We met yesterday.”

The door opened and Hattie stared up at him.  Today she was
wearing a Hulk t-shirt with her jeans.  “What do you want?”

“I need to speak to your mother.  May I come in?”  He asked.

She peered into the hallway.  “What did you do to Terry?”

“I didn’t do anything to him,” he said.  “He was like this
when I came in.”

“Terry!”  Hattie nudged him with her foot.  “Wake up,
Terry!”

The man muttered in his sleep and rolled over.  Hattie
sighed.  “He’s always falling asleep in the hallway.  Mama says he’s got a
disease called,” she frowned in thought, “alcoholics, I think, and it makes him
really sleepy.”

She stepped back and he followed her into the apartment.  It
was a bit dismal looking and ridiculously bare.  There was a couch in the
living room and a bookcase shoved full of brightly coloured children’s book and
that was it for furniture.  A chest with toys piled in it sat against the wall
and he followed Hattie to the couch.

“Won’t you please sit down, Mr. Stone.  Mama’s in the shower
right now,” she said politely. 

He sat on the couch, it was lumpy and the fabric was faded. 
A tear in the arm had been repaired with bright pink duct tape and he smiled
stiffly at Hattie as she climbed up beside him.

“What’s in the bag?”  She asked.

“It’s a present for you.”

“Really?”  Her face lit up and he nodded and handed her the
bag.

She opened it eagerly and pulled out the large doll with
curly blonde hair and blue eyes.  A look of disappointment crossed her face. 
“It’s a doll.”

“Yes.  It’s brand new on the market.  You’ve probably seen
the commercials for it on TV,” he said.  “If you press the button on her back
she talks to you.”

“We don’t have a TV.”  She poked at the doll’s fabric body. 
“Mama sold it.”

She set the doll on the couch beside her.  “Thank you for
the doll, Mr. Stone.”

“You’re welcome.  Why did your mama sell the television?”

She shrugged.  “Because we’re poor.”

She gave him a cautious look.  “Don’t tell mama I said
that.  She thinks I don’t know.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

“I miss TV,” she sighed.  “We didn’t have cable but I used
to watch my DVD’s.”  She paused.  “Mama sold those to the man at the pawn shop
too.  But she said she would buy me new ones when she bought a new TV.”

She touched the doll’s fake hair for a moment before smiling
at him.  “Would you like something to drink, Mr. Stone?”

“Sure.”

She jumped off the couch and walked to the tiny kitchen. 
There was no table or chairs, just a couple of white, plastic TV trays pushed
against the wall, and she opened the fridge and peered into it.  “We have milk
or water.”

“I’ll have a glass of water.”

“You’ll have to get the water jug out for me.  It’s too
heavy and mama says I might break it.”

He joined her at the fridge, frowning at how empty it was. 
There was a carton of milk, a large glass jug of water, a bag of carrots, some
containers of yogurt, and a package of ground chicken. 

“It’s right there.”  Hattie pointed to the jug and he
carried it to the counter.

“The glasses are in that cupboard.”

He opened the cupboard and pulled out two plastic glasses
with Disney princesses on them.  “Would you like a glass of water?”

“Sure,” she said.

She watched silently as he poured them both a glass of water
and returned the jug to the fridge.  There was a piece of paper on the counter
next to the fridge and he scanned it briefly.  It was an eviction notice and he
felt a stab of guilt as Hattie said, “Are you rich, Mr. Stone?”

“I am.”  He took a sip of water and followed the little girl
back to the couch.

“How much money do you have?”

“A lot.”

“I have ten dollars,” she said.  She glanced at the closed
door next to the kitchen.  He could hear the sound of the shower and she cocked
her head for a moment before saying, “I got it for my birthday from Pam.  She’s
my babysitter.  I was saving up for one of your toys.”

“Which one?”  He asked.

She grinned at him.  “The remote control truck!  You know
the big one with the blue racing stripes?  I’ve never had one before and a boy
at my school, Ricky, has one.  He brought it for show and tell one day and we
all got a turn driving it around the classroom.  I was really good at it.”

“I bet you were.”

The smile dropped from her face.  “It costs a lot of money
though.  I was going to ask Santa for it this year but mama said that a lot of
kids wanted that truck and Santa’s elves probably couldn’t make enough of
them.  She said if I was really good, maybe Santa would bring me one next year
when not so many kids wanted them.  It’s a long time to wait though, don’t you
think, Mr. Stone?”

“It is.”

She sidled a little closer and gave him a look that would
melt butter.  “Do you know Santa, Mr. Stone?”

“Why?”

“Well,” she smiled sweetly at him, “you’re the toymaker so I
figure you probably know Santa personally.  Or maybe even his elves help you to
make the toys for your store.  Now that we’re friends, maybe you could ask them
to make one extra truck for me for Christmas?”

A small grin crossed his face.  “I could do that.”

“Thank you!  That’s very nice of you.”  The pure delight in
her voice made his grin widened and he made a mental note to ask Tabitha to
pick up one of the trucks.

“So, if you get a truck for Christmas, what are you going to
spend your birthday money on?”

“I’m going to buy mama’s necklace back,” she said.

“Her necklace?”

“Yes, her grandma gave it to her right before she died.  It
was so pretty.  It was silver and had a blue stone.  Mama said that after me it
was the thing she loved most.”

“What happened to it?”  He had a sinking feeling in his
stomach.

“She sold it to the man at the pawn shop,” Hattie said. 
“She cried after.  She thought I was sleeping but I heard her crying in the
bathroom.”

She stared moodily at the doll.  “I hate it when mama
cries.”

“Does she cry a lot?”  He asked.

“No.  But she cried really hard last night.  The lady at the
cleaning company said she didn’t have a job anymore.  I felt really bad but
mama said I shouldn’t.  She said it wasn’t my fault that your floors were so
slippery, and that she would find another job.”

He felt another stab of guilt as the little girl’s stomach
rumbled loudly.  She laughed and patted her stomach.  “Mama’s going to make
dinner when she gets out of the shower.”

“How would you like to go out for dinner?”  He asked
suddenly.  “My treat.”

“Where?”  She asked.

“Well, I know a good sushi place or – “

“What’s sushi?”  She interrupted.

“It’s raw fish.”

“Ew!”  She gave him a look of disgust.  “I’m not eating raw
fish.”

“We don’t have to go there.  We can go wherever you want,”
he said.

“Do you like McDonalds?”  She asked.  “They have good
nuggets and there’s a car with racing stripes in the Happy Meal right now.”

He laughed.  “I’m sensing a theme.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.  If you want to go to McDonalds for dinner, that’s
where we’ll go.”

She made a sharp squeal of excitement as the bathroom door
opened and her mother appeared in a cloud of steam, wrapped in a towel and drying
her hair with a smaller towel.

Her voice muffled by the towel, she said, “Just let me get
dressed, Hattie, and I’ll start dinner.”

“You don’t have to, mama!”  Hattie crowed excitedly.  “Mr.
Stone is taking us to McDonalds for dinner!”

Claire froze and pulled the towel from her head.  She stared
through the tangles of wet hair at the man sitting on the couch and holding a
Disney princess glass in one large hand.

“Wh-what are you doing here?”  She whispered.

“Hello, Ms. Brooks.”

“He came to talk to you, mama.  And he’s going to take us
for dinner!”  Hattie bounced up and down on the couch.  “I’m going to have
nuggets and French fries and an ice cream cone!”

“I – what?”  Claire whispered.

“Ms. Brooks,” Deacon stood up from the couch and took a few
steps toward her.  “I wanted to speak with you about something important.  I
told Hattie I would take you out for dinner if that’s okay with you?”

“Please, mama, please!”  Hattie said.  “We haven’t gone to
McDonalds in forever!”

“Um, sure, okay,” Claire said faintly.  She started forward
and Deacon cleared his throat.

“Perhaps you should get dressed first, Ms. Brooks.”  His
gaze dropped to her cleavage and then her pale legs and she stared blankly at
herself before twitching wildly.

“Oh my God!  I’m so sorry.  Please, excuse me.”  She
disappeared into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

“Mr. Stone, I’m so sorry about your pants.  If you let me know
how much it costs to get them cleaned, I’ll pay for it.”