Merriest Christmas Ever Page 15

  Grinning, he kicked his shoes off and lay down. He lay there for a long while, listening to her stage whispers. “Spook. Where are you? Spook?”

  He had a lot of things to sort out. The end of the year report that wasn’t going to get done tonight. Gracie’s roof and possible end to her business. The job with Tom in New York.

  * * *

  Merett wondered where he was and what had awakened him. Staring into the darkness, he drowsily remembered… Gracie’s house. Snowed in. Closing his eyes, he was trying to doze off when he heard it again. It sounded like...footsteps. Faint, light-as-a-feather steps on the stairway. Mirabelle.

  Or Holly. He tried to picture Holly in heaven. He heard them again. Footsteps. A light breeze or a shiver passed over him. He froze, willing his body deeper into the couch. He lay with his head toward the door of the sitting room. The steps came closer. Like a child, he squeezed his eyes shut.

  A cool hand stroked his forehead, pushing his hair back.

  “Gracie.” A sigh escaped his lips. Opening his eyes, he smiled.

  “Shhh,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “What are you doing up?” He caught her wrist as she started to move away.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” She tried to pull loose.

  “Please. Don’t go. Stay awhile.”

  She smiled. “Warm company’s good comfort on a cold night.”

  “Your grandmother’s saying?” She’d told him her grandma, like Mama, handed out ‘homespun wisdom.’

  Gracie nodded and settled onto the floor next to the couch. In the faint light, her honey hair fanned out around her pale face in a halo. “I thought you were a ghost.”

  His eyes accustomed to the dark now, he could see the sparkle of mischief in her eyes. “Maybe I am.”

  “You’d better not be. I need earthly company. When I felt you push my hair back, I knew. No one else ever did that.”

  She pushed it back now, even though it didn’t need it.

  “Lie here with me,” he whispered.

  “Merett, I can’t.”

  He heard the fear in her voice. “I won’t do anything, I promise.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “That you want me as much as I want you? I understand that very well.”

  Gingerly, she lay alongside him, snuggling like two spoons in a drawer. “Do you understand why I can’t? We can’t?”

  “I think I do. Actually, I’m not sure. It seems so right, Gracie. I know you have your morals, and I do too. But it seems so completely right and good.”

  She snuggled a little, and his body sprang to life, blood surging. He willed it to stop, but it had a will of its own. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Gracie chuckled. “Yeah, sure.”

  He blew in her ear and tickled her a little. She giggled and turned her head for a kiss. He grazed her lips lightly. It was all he dared. If he kissed her deeply, he’d never stop. She nipped his lips with her teeth, and then turned her head.

  “I’m not helping anything, am I?”

  They were both quiet for a long while. “I’m glad you’re beginning to enjoy the season,” she said at last. “You are, aren’t you?”

  He confessed he was, and told her how he’d missed the closeness of holidays since he left his parents’ house. “In New York, I did everything that was done for Christmas. Fixed the turkey. Put up the tree. Filled Kirsten’s stocking. It wasn’t the way I wanted it to be. I used to love the holidays, and that love is coming back to me.”

  Grace nodded against his bare chest, and he dipped his head to capture her lips. It was a tender, agonizingly slow, sweet kiss he wanted to last forever. Her robe slipped open, and his hand glided smoothly over her thin silk gown, so thin he could feel the heat of her body burn his palm. His fingers lingered, stroking her softly-rounded belly.

  She dipped her hand beneath the blanket and extracted his, to lay it safely on her arm. Sighing, he nibbled her ear. When she didn’t respond, he decided to behave himself. The time wasn’t right, if it ever would be. Leave it to him to pick such a moral woman.

  “You changed my life at Christmas time,” she said, so softly he could barely hear.

  “Don’t sell yourself short. You’d have turned your life around without me.”

  She rolled over to face him. “You really think so?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  She smiled triumphantly. “I knew you were getting your optimism back. You think I’d have succeeded in changing my life, and seeing what you saw of my life back then, tell me that’s not optimism.” She punched him in the arm. “Tell me.”

  “You’re nuts,” he said fondly. “You’re the optimist. Always seeing the good in everyone. Always helping people.”

  “I never helped anyone.”

  “You took care of your sisters, expecting everything to turn out for the best. That’s why you’re so disappointed in them right now.”

  “Cockeyed optimism?” Gracie rolled her Elizabeth Taylor eyes skyward.

  He abruptly sat up, and she nearly rolled off the sofa. He caught her arm, and she straightened, sinking back into the cushions. “I’m not the guy you think I am, Gracie. I’m no optimist and I’m not a hero.” For the next half hour, he told her why. He told her how he drank after Holly’s death. He confessed he’d resented his father buying him the newspaper, but had been too much of a wimp to tell him. He confessed he couldn’t make up his mind what to do with his future.

  “Stop, Merett.” Gracie laid her hand on his knee. “I’ve heard enough.”

  He’d disgusted her, totally disenchanted her. He turned his head toward the door. “I’ll see if the roads are clear enough for me to leave.”

  She turned his face around with her hand. “You’re a-wonderful-noble-person.” She tapped his chest, punctuating each word, as she said it. “A fine son, and a terrific father.”

  “I wanted another child. A son.” It was the first time he’d told anyone, and he saw the amazement in Gracie’s eyes. “Holly enjoyed making Kirsten into a little lady, but didn’t want a boy. She wanted a social life like her parents. I wanted a home life like my parents had. Ours wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t the same.”

  Gracie pleated her robe with her fingers, looking off into space, silent for a moment. “Most marriages aren’t as good as your mother and dad’s.”

  “But they can be,” he said emphatically.

  She smiled up at him. “I was ready to throw in the towel when I opened that zoning board notice, but you restored my faith with yours. And you still believe in a good marriage. Now, that’s true optimism. Whether you know it or not.”

  “You always have to have the last word, don’t you?”

  Chuckling, she leaned back in the curve of his arm and snuggled close, and he thought--with a woman like her, marriage would be good.

  * * *

  If could have been minutes or hours later when the first strong rays of morning light fell across her face and Gracie stirred in Merett’s arms. They must have fallen asleep sitting up and tumbled over in the night, because when he opened his eyes, she was lying next to him in his arms. God, but it felt good to wake up next to her.

  “Kirsten,” she murmured.

  “Where?” Merett looked around.

  “I…I suppose she’s still in bed. I just don’t think she should find us like this.”

  “How about like this?” he asked, before slanting his lips over Gracie’s.

  She tasted his mouth thoroughly before drawing away. “I don’t think so. But just to make sure...” Gracie kissed him again, then leaned back to shake her head. “She shouldn’t.”

  Laughing, she slipped away and stood at the window, looking out. “There must be a foot of snow.”

  He came up behind her to slide his arms around her waist. “Completely undisturbed. They haven’t opened the roads yet.”

  “You sound awfully happy for someone being held prisoner.”

  “Mm,” he s
aid, nuzzling her neck.

  “I’m going to make coffee,” she said. “I can’t fend off passes until I’ve had something hot to drink and read the morning news.”

  “Afraid you’re out of luck with the latter. No newspaper carrier’s going to ride a bike through that stuff.”

  She opened the front door to look around. A cloud of snow blew inside on the wake of a cold gust of air. Shivering, she closed the door and leaned against it, grinning sheepishly. “I love the Daily Reporter so much, I had to be sure.”

  “You love the Reporter?”

  “Well, sure. All you hear on TV and radio are bad things. The Reporter is a window on the real world where good people are born, graduate, marry, have children, and their lives are celebrated when they die.”

  Merett had never thought of his newspaper as anything so noble. He’d wanted to save the Reporter to save face, but he’d never really thought about the people that read it—until now. Drawing his number one fan into his arms, he kissed her again. And again. He had to call Tom soon.

  Chapter Ten

  Coffee burbled softly in the pot. The smell of bacon hung heavy in the air. The kitchen windows were steamy, but outside, Gracie could see piles of fresh white snow, pillow-soft and shining. Across the yards, the Riggs faced one another over the breakfast table in matching plaid flannel robes. Could they see Merett taking the bacon out of the microwave? Except for being barefoot, he was dressed, but Gracie was making French toast in her bathrobe.

  Merett laid the strips of bacon on a plate, and slid them into the conventional oven to keep warm. Passing behind Gracie to make more, he lifted her hair to kiss her neck, and she shivered. “You’re as beautiful in the morning as you are at noon and night,” he said.

  She smiled up at him. “You have a poet’s soul.”

  He chuckled and kissed her cheek. “No one ever accused me of that before.”

  “Did we spend the night?” Kirsten’s sleep-drugged voice from the doorway sounded confused.

  Her daddy swooped her up for a hug. “We did indeed, princess. We are snowed in. The roads are closed, and there won’t be any school today.”

  “Oh, boy” She wriggled out of his arms and ran to the window. “I wish I had my sled. The snow is be-yoo-ti-ful. What smells so good?”

  Gracie smiled at Merett’s daughter. Her dark hair, usually silk and smooth, lay in tangles on her shoulders. “Why don’t you run upstairs and use my hair brush? By then, breakfast will be ready.”

  Merett opened the cabinet next to Gracie, and took out three cobalt blue glasses and blue pottery plates. As he set the table, he whistled a lilting tune. Gracie stole a glance at his handsome profile, and decided he looked particularly sexy unshaven.

  Kirsten reappeared with neatly smoothed hair, and Gracie set the platter of golden, steaming bread next to the bacon, and then realized she was still in her robe. “I should dress.”

  “The food will get cold. You’re fine,” Merett said.

  Wriggling her toes in her fuzzy slippers, she smiled as the piano began to play a carol. The music added to the warm feeling that pervaded the room. As Merett savored his food, drops of syrup beaded on his lip. Gracie, aching to lick his sweet mouth, darted her tongue out to slowly trace her lips. He looked up, caught her action, and smiled seductively.

  As Gracie looked through the wreath of steam on the window at Margaret and Homer, she half-wished they could see her, with Merett and Kirsten gathered around the table.. “I feel as if we’re in a cocoon,” she said, wrapping her hands around her hot cup. “Sealed off from the outside world.”

  “Like caterpillars,” Kirsten agreed. “And like a real family.”

  Her thoughts mirrored Gracie’s, and she glanced up to see Merett’s fork freeze in midair.

  Kirsten rubbed her tummy. “Breakfast was deluscious”

  “The word is delicious,” Merett said.

  “I’ve heard of luscious. And everyone’s heard delicious. So deluscious might be double-good.” Kirsten jutted out her chin and grinned triumphantly. “Right, Gracie?”

  “Sounds reasonable to me,” she agreed.

  Merett threw up his hands, and Gracie felt relieved to see him smile. “How can I win an argument with two smart, beautiful women ganging up on me?”

  “Daddy thinks you’re beautiful, Gracie. Do you think he’s handsome?”

  “Of course,” she demurred, scooting back her chair. “I should—”

  “So why don’t you two get married?” Kirsten looked from one to the other.

  “People don’t get married just because they admire one another’s looks,” Merett said.

  “But Gracie cooks good, and she’s nice. You like her, don’t you?”

  Merett clenched his coffee cup so tightly Gracie feared it would break in his hand. He hated the thought of marrying her; he couldn’t stand the idea. And she’d begun to think he cared. Tears stung her eyelids, but she refused to let them fall. “Your father and I are friends, Kirsten.”

  Tossing her dark head, Kirsten sat back. “Can’t friends get married, Daddy?”

  He pushed his fingers through his hair and shoved his coffee cup away. Gracie bit her lip. Kirsten was indomitable when she wanted to be. She didn’t wait for her father’s answer. “Would you like kids, Gracie? You have to get married to have them. You don’t have any yet, and you can’t have them when you’re old.”

  Merett half-rose off his chair. “Gracie is far from being old.”

  “I know, but she isn’t even married. She should get started.”

  “And you should keep your mouth closed, young lady.”

  Kirsten’s lower lip trembled. “Gracie would make a good mommy. You like me, don’t you?” She looked to Gracie.

  “Certainly. You’re a very special girl.” Gracie’s heart ached, as she took Kirsten’s hand. She could be a good mother to Kirsten. You didn’t have to stay up nights with an almost eight-year-old, and the experts said the critical formative years were before age six, so Gracie couldn’t mess her up too much. But Merett wanted a son, and the mother of a newborn needed to be young and energetic.

  “You can’t pick a new mother like you would a toy, Kirsten.” Merett’s voice was taut.

  Gracie concentrated on the dark liquid in her cup. Merett didn’t want her for a wife. Why had she ever thought he would? She was only passably pretty, and Ferndale offered plenty of beautiful women far more qualified to be a Bradmoore. Like Beryl Marcum for example; a woman of similar social status, even if she was a witch. Gracie spread her hands and forced a smile. “Christmas and my business are keeping me so busy. I don’t have time to think about marriage and children right now. But I’ll keep your advice in mind, Kirsten, for when I do. Now, who’s going to help clean up so we can play Scrabble?”

  * * *

  While Kirsten traipsed back and forth to the sink, Gracie rinsed plates silently. Keeping his distance, Merett put things away in the pantry.

  He couldn’t believe the dismay on Gracie’s face when Kirsten initiated the conversation about marriage. Maybe he was conceited, but he thought Gracie cared about him. Was he just a charity case? I’ll help Merett set his life back on track, then I’ll have done my good deed—is that what she thought? Merett swept the floor with hard, swift strokes. Marriage wasn’t in his plans, so why even try to figure it out? Stashing the broom, he slammed the pantry door. Gracie shot him a curious glance.

  “I’ll set the Scrabble board up,” Kirsten said, clomping out of the room.

  Those damned Mary Janes drove him nuts. Maybe it was motherhood that scared Gracie. But she’d known from the day they met again that he and Kirsten were a package deal. Last night, though, he’d confessed to wanting a son, and Gracie once told him it was too late for her to have kids. Which was ridiculous. Looking at her in her fluffy blue robe, hair drawn back, cheeks rosy from the heat of the dishwater, she looked like a wife and mother. She’d make a wonderful mother. And wife.

  He straightened a dish towel on the
rack, and their elbows bumped. She looked at him, startled, and he wondered if she felt the electricity between them every time they touched. He saw the longing in her eyes every time their gazes met. She wanted him in the same way he wanted her. He knew that. But a man liked to know he was wanted in more ways than one. So why did the mention of marriage upset her so much? He touched her. He couldn’t help himself.

  “I’m sorry my daughter put you on the spot.”

  “I wasn’t the only one on the spot.”

  “But I’m the one who’s supposed to have taught her manners.”

  Gracie raised a golden eyebrow. He traced it. She turned her head. “It was an honest mistake. It was a cozy scene.”

  Merett turned her toward him. “And very pleasant. I wasn’t belittling it. Last night was special.”

  “I thought so.”

  “Daddy, I want Gracie for my partner,” Kirsten called from the parlor. “I can’t spell very well by myself.”

  Merett loved his daughter, but she had a knack for spoiling tender moments. He rested his forehead against Gracie’s. “If you’d like, we can talk about this more when we’re alone.”

  “I wonder if there’s anything to say,” she said gently.

  * * *

  While he pondered that remark, the two females beat him at Scrabble. Once. Twice. And they were working on a third time. Snow had stopped falling and the sun peeked out, too high and cold to cause any melting, but a splash of sunshine spilled across Gracie’s golden curls. He yawned and stretched.

  “Didn’t you sleep well?” she teased.

  “I had a dream. A nice dream, but it kept me awake a while.”

  Their eyes met in a smile. Lord, she was beautiful.

  “This is bor-ing,” Kirsten declared, giving him a playful poke in the arm. “Gracie and I win every time.”