Merriest Christmas Ever Page 4

  “You can’t do much with one hand,” Merett muttered.

  Of course she couldn’t, but she was trying to make his daughter feel better. Couldn’t he see that? He waved her toward a green vinyl-cushioned straight chair, one of a row that had probably sat there for the past thirty years or more. He talked to the receptionist, a young girl who appeared to be the only new addition to the office, and then sat down next to Gracie. There were other people in the waiting room, but five minutes later, she was called first. Angry at Merett for pulling strings, she entered the doctor’s stainless steel-and-porcelain inner sanctum. Old-fashioned and unchanged, an antiseptic smell still filled the air.

  “Gracie.” Dr. Hiram, his face wizened, hair thinner, still had a twinkle in his eye. “When I heard it was you who was hurt, I had to see you right away. It’s been a long time. How are you, dear, and how are your sisters?”

  It wasn’t Merett’s name and clout, but hers that got her in first. Tears sprang to Gracie’s eyes. After Pop’s job was phased out, they hadn’t had insurance, and seldom sought the doctor’s care. But Dr. Hiram was a kind man in a small town, with a memory for people. It was an affirmation of why she’d returned.

  “Hope lives in Daleville, and she’s fine. I haven’t heard from Faith in over a year.”

  “Family feud?”

  “Family drop-out. Faith’s always had a mind and direction of her own.”

  “She should have turned out well,” Dr. Hiram said, motioning Grace to climb up on the examining table. “You practically raised her.”

  If Dr. Hiram was complimenting her upbringing abilities, the praise was undeserved. Faith had started rebelling in her early teens, and hadn’t straightened up yet. Job after job, guy after guy, town after town, until Gracie wondered how it would end. There was always the fear she’d receive a call and find out Faithie was dead.

  “And you? Married? Kids?”

  Gracie shook her head.

  “Your elbow is sprained,” he told her, a little while later. “Wear this sling for a few days, and after that, this elastic bandage will do.” The doctor gave her the bandage, and wrote a prescription for pain medicine.

  “I have work to do,” she protested. “Christmas…”

  “By Christmas, you’ll be good as new,” he promised, giving her a dry peck on the cheek. “And, Gracie?” She looked at him. “Don’t wait too long for those babies if you want me to deliver them.”

  Pain, far deeper than the pain in her arm, clutched Gracie’s heart.

  * * *

  “Mr. Bradmoore’s already taken care of your visit.”

  The receptionist shook her head when Gracie opened her purse to take out her checkbook. After wrapping her coat around her...the sling wouldn’t let it go on...he led her from the office, and inquired about what the doctor said. Gracie’s arm and head hurt, she had decorations to make while she was half-incapacitated, and the reminder of the babies she’d never have distressed her.

  “My arm is sprained; that’s all. Merett, I want to pay my own way.”

  Casting a furtive glance at Kirsten, he spoke quietly. “I feel responsible for your injury.”

  So that was the reason for the concern she’d seen in his eyes when he caught her; a sense of responsibility for his daughter’s part in the accident. It wasn’t concern for the woman he secretly cared about, as Gracie so foolishly hoped.

  Refusing to get her prescription filled, she asked him to take her to her car, insisting she could drive home. Instead, he drove toward her house. When she pointed out she needed her supplies, he swung the Jeep around and returned to Colleen’s lot to load them in his Jeep. At her house, he carried the things inside and set them in the hall by the door.

  “Thanks, Merett. I’ll be fine now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She wished he’d leave before she felt further indebted. “I’m not going to sue, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’ll have your car picked up and returned.” His face was impassive, his voice cold, and guilt swept over Gracie as he turned to go. He’d tried to take care of her, and she’d acted badly.

  “Wait.”

  Merett stopped without turning around.

  She touched his back gently and smiled, hoping he’d hear it in her voice. “I’m going to have a cup of hot tea for my crankiness. Would you care to join me?”

  * * *

  Managing the tea kettle with one hand proved difficult, and Merett rushed forward to help. “You don’t need to,” she said. “I can…”

  Their hands locked next to one another’s on the handle, and he grinned. “You’re not very good at letting someone take care of you.”

  “I haven’t had much experience.”

  “You might enjoy it. Let go, and rest.”

  She might, but what if she got used to it? His hand was warm against hers, and Gracie released her hold slowly. Merett nodded approvingly, but she felt cold without his touch. Shivering, she excused herself to take aspirin in the tiny lavender-sprigged bathroom under the staircase.

  When she returned, the kettle was boiling, and he’d set out tea bags, cups, and spoons. He’d even found the cocoa mix and marshmallows for Kirsten, who, tongue between her teeth, was arranging cookies in an overlapping circle on a plate.

  “I remembered where you kept these, and thought you might be hungry. I am, after school.”

  Gracie remembered feeling hungry after school.

  Turning back to the cookie plate, Kirsten added a plump marshmallow to the middle. “That’s for decoration,” she said, setting it in front of Gracie.

  “Do you like to decorate?” Gracie was glad to see Merett wrap his arm around Kirsten’s waist. It was natural to lose patience sometimes, but they must be close.

  “Yes, and my teacher said I’m good at it. She let me help decorate our room for the holidays.” Kirsten sat down, and folded her arms, looking up at Gracie with puppy dog eyes. “I’ll bet I could help you.”

  Merett tapped Kirsten lightly on the head, and motioned her to sit back. Sliding a cup of cocoa in front of her, he plopped in two marshmallows, and then slid a cup of tea in front of Gracie. “Cream? Sugar? Marshmallow?”

  Laughing, she shook her head. It felt good to hear him joke.

  “Could I help you? Puh-lease, with marshmallows on top.”

  Gracie studied the little girl’s eager face. There were things she could do, and she’d be fun to have around. Gracie had always enjoyed Faith, while Mom, who was forty when she was born, had never had patience with her. Of course, Mom had only been thirty when Gracie was born, and had never had patience with her, either.

  Kirsten touched Gracie’s sling. “Since I kind of made you fall, I should help you with your work.”

  She wiggled her fingers, and pain shot up her arm. She eyed the boxes Merett had set on the floor. Wreaths, ribbons, silk holly, and more waited inside them. Tying bows, winding ribbon, and hot-gluing all took two good hands. And if Kirsten was worried, it would make her feel better.

  Merett spoke up from where he leaned against the counter, sipping tea. “You’re too young.”

  Leaning on a child for help was a desperate measure, but Gracie was a desperate woman. “I think she could help. My arm should be better in time for me to go to the sites and put things in place. But for the next couple of days, I have a lot to do, putting decorations together here at home. Kirsten could be my apprentice.” Gracie flashed a smile at the little girl and looked boldly to Merett. The man he used to be wouldn’t have hesitated. The man she’d glimpsed earlier wouldn’t consider granting her request.

  He scraped his chair back. “If you really think so.” He shrugged. “I’ll set the supplies you bought in your work area.”

  “Yippee!” Kirsten leaped out of her chair.

  Gracie, fighting the urge to throw her arms around Merett, led the way to her workroom, the large sunny room that had once been a library. One shelf held the few books she owned. Craft materials and finishe
d displays filled the others.

  “Oh, this is pretty.” Kirsten touched a cluster of silvery snowflakes strung on a blue silk ribbon that lay on the long table where Gracie worked.

  Gracie explained how she’d made it, and soon, Kirsten was following directions for assembling another just like it. It was a simple project, but her fingers were small and nimble, and she showed skill for a child. She looked up at her father, who was watching over her shoulder. “It’s real easy, Daddy. You could help, too. Then Gracie and I could finish faster.”

  Merett straightened and checked his watch. “Are you feeling okay, Gracie? Are you sure you want to work now? It’s five o’clock already. She could come after school tomorrow.”

  “I’m better.” Knowing she had an extra pair of hands, however small and inexperienced, was reassuring. “And every minute counts. Go ahead with your business. Kirsten and I’ll manage a bite to eat for supper, if it’s all right with you.”

  Merett addressed his daughter. “I’ll pick you up at seven. Two hours long enough?” he asked Gracie.

  It wasn’t, but it would have to do. “Fine.”

  “Daddy?” Kirsten called as he started for the door. “Why don’t you pick up a pizza and bring it back?”

  “You’ll be hungry long before seven o’clock.”

  “No, I won’t. I’m full from cocoa and marshmallows.” Kirsten rubbed her tummy. “And if Gracie and I don’t have to cook, we can work more. What kind of pizza do you like, Gracie?”

  The child was either a diplomat or con-artist. “Your dad doesn’t want to—”

  “It’s okay. Just don’t think it’s going to become a habit,” Merett said sternly.

  Gracie looked up, startled, and felt relieved to see he was looking at Kirsten. “I’ll eat whatever kind you two like.”

  Kirsten burst into giggles. “Mushrooms and hamburger is what Daddy likes. Isn’t that dumb?”

  While his daughter pretended to barf, Gracie saw Merett out. “Thanks for loaning her to me, and taking me to the doctor.”

  “I had to make sure you were okay, so you wouldn’t sue me.”

  Gracie pushed out her lower lip. “And I thought you cared.”

  He touched her cheek, looked into her eyes, and wet his lips with his tongue. She waited expectantly. Merett rushed out the door.

  Was he giving off mixed messages, or was it her?

  Chapter Three

  Merett drove around watching fat snowflakes swirl lazily to the ground. He didn’t want to go back to work, and didn’t want to go home. Dad’s dinner meeting at the Country Club didn’t begin until seven, and he would want to talk about Mama. He visited her every day after closing his clothing store, and reported every optimistic sign. She remembered something she’d had for lunch. She held hands with him when they walked the halls. She looked into his eyes and he could see the love in them.

  The Jeep seemed by its own volition to turn onto West Seventeenth Street, where it passed Sunny Haven. A sprawling complex of gray buildings with slate roofs, dim lights shone from the windows. Dad said it was clean and nice inside, and they treated Mama well. The only Ferndale facility with an Alzheimer’s unit, it was either Sunny Haven or an Indianapolis facility. And, he asked, what was more important, daily visits or fancy surroundings Mama didn’t comprehend?

  Merett turned into the circular drive and stopped near the glass doors. The reception area had peach walls and pale green tile floors. Several women in white tunics and pants, LPNs maybe, milled around. In their breast pockets, they wore brightly colored handkerchiefs. That small note of cheer said something, didn’t it? He couldn’t bear to think of Mama in a bleak setting with workers who didn’t care. There were no patients in sight. Were they in bed? Having dinner? Was Mama eating well? Was the food fit to eat?

  He shot out of the driveway, skidding on the snow as he turned onto the street. He wanted to go see her, but he just couldn’t. She was so lovely, so sweet. And now...

  He drove by the newspaper office. Work would kill the empty time until he went back to Gracie’s. Without realizing what he was doing, he found himself driving by her place again. Kirsten wasn’t old enough to help. He should have stayed. They were probably both hungry already. Hell, he was starving.

  Twenty minutes later, Merett, piping hot pizzas in hand, rang Gracie’s doorbell.

  “You’re early. We’ve barely started.” With her free hand, she shoved back one side of her hair. A gorgeous wild mane of blonde curls, it had darkened only slightly over the years. “I have so much to do.” She laughed, a silvery sound, and motioned him inside.

  He stamped his feet on the porch, and then wiped them one at a time. “Where’s the imp?”

  As Gracie looked over her shoulder, her generous breasts, still round and high, strained at the front of her soft lavender sweater. “She’s so engrossed in her work she didn’t even look up when the doorbell rang. Why don’t you set those pizzas in the kitchen? There’s beer and pop in the fridge, and paper plates in the cabinet to the left of it. Set out whatever you want. I’ll get her.”

  “Gracie! Where are you? I have a knot here.”

  Gracie had an enticing walk, and in fast motion, swung her hips, a tempting sight in form-fitting jeans. Pizzas in hand, he followed and peeked into the workroom where his daughter sat on a high stool.

  A jumble of ribbon lay in front of her on the table. A spool had rolled off on the floor, and the kitten was playing with it. Kirsten had red sparkle in her hair, silver on her sweatshirt, and a determined look on her face as she fiddled with a knot in a piece of delicate gold cord.

  Setting the pizzas on the kitchen table, he took out the paper plates. Kirsten and Gracie were talking as they came down the hall. “I didn’t mean to break it, but I didn’t know that cord was such flimsy stuff,” Kirsten complained.

  “You’ll learn. You have to be gentle when working with craft materials.”

  “What do you want to drink, Kirsten?” Merett held up two kinds of pop. Gracie’s violet eyes looked troubled, and he understood.

  “Mountain Dew. Please.”

  “Coke or 7 Up are the choices.” He wiggled the cans.

  “You could have bought...”

  He popped open a can of 7 Up and set it on the table, firmly motioning her to a chair. “Gracie? You look like you could use a beer.”

  A trace of a smile played around her full lips. “Sold,” she said, sinking into a chair.

  Gracie opened the pizza boxes and neatly folded the foil covering, a trick with one arm in a sling. Licking her lips, a delightfully distracting habit he’d noticed, she passed slices around. “Mmm.” Chewing slowly, eyes closed, she took another bite.

  He’d never seen anyone chew so sensuously, and when she closed her eyes in pleasure, she looked like someone enjoying great sex. The building tension in his body, and his corresponding arousal under the table, reminded him just how long it had been since he’d had great sex. Or any kind at all.

  He studied the sunny yellow walls, the fruit border running around the middle above the chair rail, and the collection of wicker baskets on top of the oak cabinets. He looked out the window, where across the side yards, he could see a man and woman playing checkers at a kitchen table. Gracie’s radio was silent this evening. He dared another look at her.

  “How’s the arm?” He should have asked sooner, but it wasn’t her arm he’d been thinking about. While she had a sort of ethereal beauty, a sweet innocence, she had a sultry side, too. The way she tossed her hair with a flip of the arm that made her breasts rise and fall. The way she raised one shoulder in a lazy kind of shrug. Damn! He was killing himself here. Shifting in his chair, he realized he hadn’t heard her answer. He barely remembered his question.

  Gracie glared at her arm, and laid her second piece of pizza back on her plate. Sipping her beer from the bottle—he’d forgotten to give her a glass—she looked pensive. “I have to get rid of it soon.” She must be talking about the sling. Shrugging, she turned to Kirs
ten. “How’s your pizza?”

  “Delucious.” He’d gotten her a small ‘cheese only’ of her own. She waved a piece in the air. “Am I good help, Gracie, except for that one thread I broke?”

  Kirsten had this habit of mispronouncing words. Not regularly and not often; just enough to irritate Merett. Sometimes he thought she did it for that reason.

  “You’re very good.” Gracie looked and sounded sincere, and setting a far better example of patience than he could, went on to explain about apprentices being workers in training. It was hard acting as both mother and father, and he sometimes resented the need. While she talked, Merett polished off the rest of their pizza, except for one piece. He was about to pitch it when Gracie waved the foil that had covered it.

  “Don’t throw that away. Use this to wrap it.”

  In the fridge, he saw several small dishes covered in plastic wrap, and his heart wrenched for the woman who saved everything because she had had so little as a child. Was Gracie financially stable now, or was her business a risk? She had a lot of work, and it would be hard with one arm. “I could spare an hour or two, if you need another apprentice.”

  “Oh, Merett!”

  Pleasure flooded his senses as he saw the delight in her beautiful oval face. She had a perfect nose, slender and slightly tipped. Delicately arched brows. Thick lashes. Full lips. There had never been anything between him and her. Except a kiss. Desire. And an unspoken agreement to deny the strong attraction they shared.

  Gracie laid her hand on his arm, and he felt the hairs stand on end. Her touch electrified him, just as it always had. When she’d made that joke about thinking he cared, he’d had a crazy urge to tell her he did, and confess how strongly he’d been attracted to her in high school. He remembered the flowery fragrance she had worn, and every tiny freckle that bridged her nose after a day in the sun. He remembered her sitting on a cement bench in front of the school, legs stretched out beneath her skirt, face turned upward to catch the sun’s warm rays. It was the spring of his senior year, he was going away to college in the fall, and she was only a freshman, but he’d wondered what her future held.