Merriest Christmas Ever Page 3

  “Sorry,” he murmured. “I should watch where I’m going.”

  Gracie longed to lean against his hard chest and play the scene out as she planned, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t honest. Breaking free, she bolted down the steps, but Merett caught up with her. It was dark, and she couldn’t see his face, but his voice was warm and husky.

  “You shouldn’t walk home alone at night. Let me take you,” he said, motioning toward his Camaro glistening under a street light.

  Climbing into the black car, she inhaled deeply, taking in the new leather smell. He smiled, she ducked her head, and he tilted her chin with his finger. “It’s okay.”

  She tried to lower her chin, but he kept his finger firm. “Hey,” he said softly. “There’s no reason to be embarrassed or afraid. Keep your chin high, and look the world in the eye. You’re pretty and smart, and don’t need to worry what anyone else thinks.”

  Slowly, he moved his face toward hers, and her heart almost stopped. Their breath mingled, and time stood still as his lips met hers in a gentle kiss with the sweet taste of heaven.

  To this day, she’d never forgotten his advice, nor his kiss.

  Gracie swabbed the kitchen table with her dishcloth. Merett never kissed her again or mentioned that night. But, when they worked close together on the Clarion, the school newspaper, she’d feel the electricity between them. “M. B. wants to kiss me again,” she’d written in her diary, “but he won’t because of H.L.”

  Gracie hung up her cloth and dried her hands. She’d spun beautiful daydreams back then. Merett asking her to his senior prom. Calling her nightly from college. Giving her his fraternity pin. Giving her an engagement ring. Walking down the aisle. Having a baby boy with dimples and dark hair. But none of her dreams came to pass.

  “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas,” Bing Crosby’s voice crooned, and Gracie looked out the window at her lawn, pristine under a blanket of fresh snow. Across the yards, in the kitchen next door, Margaret and Homer Riggs smiled at one another over the dinner table. A chill swept over Gracie, and she hugged her arms to her waist as she turned away. The only thing missing from her life was someone to share it with.

  Dusk came early in December, and as she walked up the dim hall from the kitchen to the front of the house, candlelight from darkened rooms lit her way. A street lamp shone through a stained glass window in her front door, casting a pattern of rays on the foyer floor. Today was Sunday, but the stores would be open until seven, and she needed to shop for lights and ornaments. An old-fashioned hall tree stood in the shadowy corner by the front door, and Gracie, groping for her coat, was startled by luminous green eyes staring up at her. Spook bared his tiny white teeth, and loneliness and fear disappearing into the night, Gracie laughed aloud.

  * * *

  Gracie made a quick stop at Dollar Variety to buy tree ornaments and lights, then drove to Cherry Park Plaza. A sign at the entrance of the strip mall, known for its specialty shops, alternately flashed date, time, and temperature. December 1. 5:55 P.M. 32 degrees. Happy Holidays. If she hurried, she might be able to replace Kirsten’s mittens before Merett learned she’d lost one.

  At Kids Galore, a warm blast of air and the jolly refrain of “Frosty the Snowman” greeted Gracie as she pushed through double doors. Tree lights twinkled. A mechanical Santa beat a drum. A child sat in one aisle, trying out a robot and laughing. Christmas was the best time of year, and kids were what it was all about.

  Pawing through the mittens, she remembered a year when Faith longed for a Cabbage Patch Doll, and got Cabbage Patch mittens instead. Kirsten, like her father, would never have to worry about such disappointments.

  The pink mittens looked babyish, and Gracie was about to leave when she spotted a pair of rose suede gloves that were velvety soft.

  “Your daughter will love these.” The checkout woman added a candy cane to the brightly striped bag.

  Her daughter. Soon to be thirty, there would be no little girl for Gracie. No son. She’d vowed long ago never to be an older parent, and her chances to be a young one had just about run out.

  Smiling ruefully, she exited into a blowing snow. Powder-fine now, it would take a while to mount up, even with the inch or so they’d acquired earlier. She used to love playing in snow. Making angels. Sliding down a hill on a flattened cardboard box. Kirsten was probably dusting off her sled.

  The Bradford house stood at the edge of town amidst pine trees that covered several acres of ground. A wrought iron fence surrounded the property, but wide double gates stood open, and Gracie parked behind Merett’s Jeep in the circular driveway. Looking up at the impressive two-story colonial, her nerve almost failed her, until she whispered the words Merett had taught her. Look the world in the eye.

  * * *

  Merett sat staring at The New York Times, wishing he were back East, eating salami on rye from Nickerson’s Deli instead of waiting for Mrs. Jarvis to finish dinner. The housekeeper, who had been with his family since he was a child, was an excellent cook, but grew slower each year. The aroma of beef roasting in rich brown gravy had been tantalizing him for what seemed like hours. And now, someone was at the door. Tippy was yapping her silly little head off.

  “Gracie!” Kirsten cried. “Come in. Daddy’s in the library.”

  You wouldn’t know by his daughter’s voice that she hadn’t spoken to him since he carried her in the house and sent her to her room for an hour. A blast of cold air rushed around the corner to where he sat. Tail between his legs, the old Pekinese, who had never liked anyone but Mama, scooted through the library door to hide behind his chair. Kirsten followed, smile radiant, dragging Gracie along.

  Gracie, blonde hair streaming from beneath a red knit hat damp with glittering snowflakes, stood feet apart, hands behind her back. “Kirsten lost a mitten at my house.”

  My house. She said it so proudly. It was his family’s tradition to help a family in need each Christmas, and when she had opened the door that Christmas, he’d seen hers was desperately poor. After school resumed, and he realized where he’d seen Gracie before — in his journalism class — he worried that she might feel embarrassed. Instead, she joined the Clarion staff where he was editor. Holly teased him about a freshman having a crush, but he never told her why Gracie looked at him with stars in her eyes.

  Kirsten dangled a mitten in front of his face, and a loose pink yarn tickled his nose. “Did you hear, Daddy? Spook tried to eat my mitten, so Gracie brought me new ones.”

  “Actually, I bought gloves. The pink mittens at Kids Galore were all so juvenile.”

  “That means kiddish, doesn’t it?” Without waiting for an answer, Kirsten stuck her hand in the sack Gracie proffered, and drew out rose-colored suede gloves. “Oh, look, Daddy. Aren’t they bee-yoo-ti-ful?”

  Beautiful but not practical. He could just see them after she threw a snowball or ate a chocolate ice cream cone. His disapproval must have shown in his eyes, because Gracie lifted her chin, bringing back the memory of the first time he’d really noticed her. He had been leaving the library when he’d crashed into her, and she had looked up, taking his breath away. Her eyes were the most incredible color, and with that mass of golden curls, she had looked too vulnerable to be out alone. So he’d offered her a ride home. Then he’d been the one to take advantage, by kissing her. What possessed him to do it, he didn’t know, but as enthralled by her sweet lips as by her silky gaze, his youthful body responded instantly to the feel of her. He had had a hard time falling asleep that night, and the sweet scent she wore lingered as he slept. He hated to shower next morning, but didn’t want Holly to find out, even though she’d been out with his best friend.

  His father’s voice brought him back to the present. “Those gloves are beautiful. Just like you, young lady.”

  Kirsten beamed up at him as he hugged her to his side. “Do you know Gracie, Grampa?”

  Dad held out his hand to their guest. “We met many years ago.”

  Kirsten crawled up on Merett�
��s lap, and laid her head back against his chest. Difficult as she could be, she was everything to him. He brushed his lips across her hair. She was probably tired.

  “You’re as lovely as ever, Miss Singleton,” his father was saying.

  “Her name is Ms. Saylor,” Kirsten interjected, “but you can call her Gracie.”

  Merett’s father looked amused. “So you married Sonny, did you?”

  Nodding, she turned up her nose prettily. “It’s such an appropriate name; I wonder if his mother had a premonition he’d remain infantile.”

  “What’s infantile?” Kirsten asked.

  Merett silenced her with a stern look. The aroma of roast beef was tying his stomach in knots.

  “Sonny used to caddie at my club,” Harry said, “and was undependable, even then.”

  “I know what undependable means,” Kirsten announced proudly. “Someone who’s late getting home from work.”

  “In this case, it meant someone who didn’t show up for work,” her grandfather said, glancing at Merett.

  Holly used to complain that he stayed on his newspaper beat too long, but he wanted to prove himself, and thought if he worked enough hours, followed enough leads, he could become an ace reporter. She’d craved the glamour connected with pro ball, and he’d let her down, botching up his knee. So, when he turned to his second dream of a newspaper career, and she suggested they move to the Big Apple, he wanted to make it big for her there. She’d grown up with so much; he wanted to make her happy.

  “Speaking of dinner, ours is nearly ready. Why don’t you join us, Grace? Or have you eaten?”

  “Oh, no. I mean, I haven’t but I can’t.”

  “Why in blazes not? You must be hungry, and we have a meal ready.”

  Her eyes grew wide, and Merett prayed she wouldn’t let Dad intimidate her into staying.

  “Mrs. Jarvis, put another plate on the table,” Harry bellowed, holding out his hand for Gracie’s coat.

  “You better do as Grampa says,” Kirsten told her. “He’s the boss.”

  Gracie’s laughter bubbled like champagne, but she looked to Merett for approval. What could he say? Dad was boss, and it was his house. Somewhere along the way, Merett had lost all control.

  * * *

  “The meal was delicious.” Gracie wiped her mouth on a linen napkin, a touch of elegance she’d never thought about for home. “Thank you.”

  Mr. Bradmoore patted her hand and nodded toward the stern-faced woman setting a fresh basket of rolls on the table. “When my wife was well, she liked to do some of the cooking herself. But now…Mrs. Jarvis does it all.”

  “I’m sorry about your wife, Mr. Bradmoore. Merett told me she’s in a nursing home.”

  “Harry. Please.” He cleared his throat gruffly. “Alice is in Sunny Haven, a long-term care facility for Alzheimer patients.”

  Gracie’s fork clanked on her plate. “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s not an easy subject to discuss.” He glanced at Merett.

  Gracie tried not to follow Harry’s gaze. “It must be very hard for you.”

  “We’re all lonely without Alice, but her illness isn’t a fact we can hide. Nor is there any reason to. It’s not a contagious disease.”

  “That means you can’t catch what Gramma has. I want to go see her, but Daddy won’t let me.” Kirsten stared at her father accusingly.

  Harry patted her hand the way he had Gracie’s. His granddaughter’s presence must be a comfort. But she felt sorry for Merett, with the two of them ganging up on him.

  “Your parents died early, didn’t they, dear?” Harry asked Grace.

  She scooted her chair back a little, suddenly eager to leave. “Yes, sir. Pop was hit by a train, and Mom died a few months later of a heart attack.”

  “My mother died, too,” Kirsten said, her voice choked with feeling.

  “Oh, Kirsten. Merett.” Gracie wished she knew the right words to say. No wonder he’d changed - losing his wife, and left with a rambunctious child to raise alone.

  “Holly had viral myocardia,” Merett said quietly, his eyes on his plate. “She died last year, two weeks before Christmas.”

  “It happened really fast. She got sick and went to the hospital and never came home.” Tears pooled in the little girl’s eyes.

  He had married his high school girlfriend. Gracie blinked back tears of her own. Merett, thirty-three years old and a widower. And poor Kirsten. “I’m sorry.”

  Silence settled over the table.

  “So, Grace,” Harry said, clearing his throat. “What do you do for a living?”

  She struggled to set her mind back on track. “I managed a special occasion company for a lady in Chicago, and I’ve set up a similar business, Special Effects. I’ll decorate homes, churches, halls, whatever. For holidays, weddings, and other special occasions.”

  “You really think a business like that will succeed here?” Merett asked.

  She’d asked herself that question time and again. “This town’s small, but it’s close to Indianapolis and its well-to-do bedroom communities. And I hope Ferndale residents will want to see a hometown girl make good.”

  Gracie pushed her chair bank. “If you’ll excuse me, I really should go. I have two banks in Indianapolis and a tearoom in Greenfield to decorate this week, and I have to make wreaths and bows tonight.”

  “I could help, Gracie,” Kirsten said. “I can tie a bow.”

  “Merett could help spread the word about Special Effects,” Harry said.

  “I’ll see Gracie out,” Merett said, rising swiftly. “We don’t want to keep her from her work.”

  Don’t let the door hit you in the back end, Gracie thought, as Merett took her coat from the front hall closet. “Kirsten wants to help with everything, but her lopsided, rabbit-ear bows wouldn’t win you any customers.”

  His dimples flickered, and Gracie longed to touch his face. He held her coat, and, sliding her arms in, she found herself leaning ever so slightly against his chest. When she was fourteen, she had known how bad things were for her family, and suspected they’d never get any better, but he’d given her hope for a better life. That alone could have made her fall in love with him, but there was so much more; charm, good looks, and a kind heart.

  He slid the coat onto her shoulders, and paused, his hands tightening. “Gracie, I...” She looked over her shoulder at him questioningly. “I’ll see you around.”

  * * *

  Gracie was thinking about Merett the next day when she left Colleen’s Crafts, head down against the wind. He’d done so much for her, she’d like to help him, but it didn’t look like she’d have the chance.

  Prices at Colleen’s Crafts were higher than those of large supply houses, but Gracie preferred to buy from local business owners. She’d found most of the things she needed, and would try to make do without those that the smaller shop lacked. Pushing a full shopping cart across the mall parking lot, she wished she’d worn boots. The snow was packed down from traffic, and slick, and the wind pushed her and the cart along faster than she liked.

  Thankful to reach her car safely, she dug in her jacket pocket for her keys. “Gracie!” Kirsten’s voice rang out close behind her.

  Gracie whirled, and her feet slid out from under her. She never could do splits, but was about to now. One hand caught in her pocket. She waved the other frantically.

  Merett caught her around the waist, just as her free arm grazed the ground. He eased her to her feet, and turning in his arms, she looked up at him. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed, his breath warm against her face. Seeing his look of concern and feeling his arms around her, Gracie trembled, and he tightened his hold. She leaned into him. His breath grew ragged, and he steadied her, slowly drawing his hands away.

  “Are you all right?”

  She was shaking, but not so much from the fall. “I’m fine, thanks to you.” Feeling foolish for having read too much into the moment, she reached into her pocket for her keys again, and winced. />
  “What’s wrong?” Merett took her elbow, and gently pulled her glove from her hand. A moan escaped her lips. “You scraped your hand through your glove.”

  He brushed her fingertips with his. Another time she might have appreciated his touch. “My arm is the problem. I must have twisted my elbow.” He moved it gently back and forth, and she gasped. “Don’t, Merett. Please.”

  Kirsten, white-faced, clutched her father’s camel-colored wool topcoat. Through her pain, Gracie smiled reassuringly. “You’re not to blame. It was the icy lot, and my fault for not wearing boots.”

  “Stand still,” Merett ordered. “I’ll put your purchases in your trunk, and take you to County General’s ER.” Locking her trunk, he shepherded her into the front seat of his Jeep, and Kirsten into the back.

  Gracie had contracts to keep, and her future depended on them. Her head began to throb just thinking about it. Putting her hand to her temple without thinking, caused pain to shoot up her arm. “Those places take hours, and I have work to do.”

  “Then I’ll take you to Doctor Hiram.”

  Dr. Hiram delivered Gracie and her sisters, and she was surprised he was still practicing. Merett drove fast, wheeling into the parking lot next to the doctor’s building with a squeal of tires. Jerking the door open, he helped her out. Kirsten, wearing her new rose gloves and a solicitous expression, walked beside her as they entered the small brick building. “Luckily,” Gracie told her, “it’s my right arm, and I’m left-handed.”