Merriest Christmas Ever Read online

  She raised her head to look at him, and the pressure of her breasts deepened, and his hardness pushed into her soft belly. His breath grew ragged, and he raised his mouth. She met him halfway, and they sighed into one another, settling into the snow with their lips meeting and caressing, their tongues delving and touching. “Merett.” Her word was a sigh.

  “What?” he asked in a strangled tone.

  “I...don’t know.” She sank into him, her head against his shoulder, the pain of desire cutting through her, a feeling so new and overwhelming she could scarcely breathe.

  “I think we both know,” he said, and stopped to rain tiny kisses over her face and neck before finishing, “we should go home.”

  Chapter Four

  Merett awoke for the first time in months and months with a smile. He and Gracie hadn’t gotten any work done the night before. He was afraid to go in after the incident in the park, but he’d promised to come back tonight, and told himself he’d exert strict control. When he said they should go home, he wanted to go in her house with her, but he knew better than to get involved.

  “Mornin’, boss.” Henri Wilkes, a young redhead who dressed fit for work at the New York Times, greeted him in a small town manner.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, and she beamed him a smile. Feeling chipper, he smiled back. With a degree in journalism, she could have gotten work at an Indianapolis newspaper, but she’d chosen the Reporter. “Nice outfit.”

  “I think it’s important for the society editor to dress attractively.” She smoothed her hand over her short skirt.

  “I think it’s important to be comfortable.” Grinning, the sports ed smoothed her gray sweats.

  Both women had other duties in the small newsroom, but those were the favorite parts of their jobs. Chuckling, Merett sauntered to the back of the office and his desk. He hoped he hadn’t offended anyone when he had had a freestanding divider installed to separate himself from his staff, but he’d been determined not to become part of the office chit-chat pool.

  “Coffee.” A light knock on the divider sounded, as he settled himself in his wooden arm chair, and Emma Rollins, the motherly secretary-receptionist, popped in.

  Motioning her to sit down, Merett tilted his chair back. He’d told her a dozen times he could get his own coffee. “Thanks, Emma.”

  While he sipped, she slid the mail addressed to him across his desk, then recited a list of phone calls. “And your father called, suggesting you call a Ms. Saylor about decorating the office for Christmas.”

  Merett had taken off for work without breakfast; afraid Dad or Kirsten would spoil his good mood. Tenting his fingers, he took a swift look around. The office did look drab. The walls were tan with a few framed certificates; the only stab at decor. The certificates, which he’d scarcely noticed before, were mostly diplomas, but two were awards the Daily Reporter garnered under previous management. Could it win one again if he wanted to put forth the effort?

  Emma tapped a pale green flyer at the top of the mail pile. “We also received an ad about holiday decorating today from a business called Special Effects.”

  He’d avoided mentioning where he worked to Gracie. Everyone in high school thought he’d become a star athlete, but he’d botched up his knee first thing. Knowing he’d disappointed Holly, who had her heart set on being a pro-football player’s wife, he’d figured the glamour of New York City would help make it up to her, and it did. But once again, he’d failed to make it in the big league. And here he was, two career downs later, in a small potatoes job as editor of a daily rag in his small hometown. He couldn’t bear to see disappointment in those beautiful pansy eyes of Gracie’s.

  Emma cleared her throat. “Decorations might boost office morale, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir.”

  “What’s wrong with morale?” His tone was sharp, and Emma blinked rapidly.

  “Well, since you asked. Long hours are tough on everyone. Since you’ve been here, two employees quit. I’m not saying it’s your fault.” She hesitated, looking at him searchingly. “But you haven’t replaced them. Which is your prerogative, of course, sir.”

  It was true he hadn’t replaced the two, whoever they were. Had they quit because of him? He hadn’t been a picnic to work for. “Anything else?”

  “Working conditions. The roof in the press room leaks. The water cooler doesn’t cool.”

  “Why didn’t anyone tell me about these things?”

  Emma studied her blunt nails. “You’ve had a lot of adjustments to make, sir.”

  So they hadn’t bothered him with things he should have noticed for himself. “Call someone to fix the water cooler, and ask them to do it at once. Obtain two estimates on fixing the roof and then get back to me. Bring me job descriptions of the employees who left, and I’ll see about hiring replacements. I’ll speak to Ms. Saylor myself about the decor.” Thinking about Grace brought an unbidden smile to his face.

  “Oh, thank you, sir. The others will be delighted.”

  Merett straightened his tie. Like the society editor, he thought some decorum was needed. People who dressed sloppily did sloppy work, his mother said. Or was it his father who said that? Dad took great pride in his business.

  “Your father didn’t give me Ms. Saylor’s number.”

  Ms. Saylor. It bothered Merett to think of Gracie married to that creep, Sonny. The guy was a loser; anyone could see that. And how could Gracie, of all people, be so blind? But she’d wised up to him, and left, and if she knew about Merett’s lack of success... He tapped the flyer sharply. “She runs Special Effects. The number’s here. And Emma, don’t be afraid to come to me when things need done. I know I haven’t always been cordial, but...” He tunneled his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

  “I knew you’d come around, sir.” She smiled and started to walk away.

  Please don’t call me sir, he thought, but didn’t say it. Did he want his employees to call him Merett? Or Mr. Bradmoore? He didn’t know how to relate to them. He’d never set out to be anyone’s boss.

  “Wait,” he called. “I’ve changed my mind.” She turned, looking alarmed. “I’d like you to call Ms. Saylor at Special Effects.”

  “Oh, that.” Emma smiled, picking up the flyer. “I’ll be glad to, sir.”

  “Make arrangements for her to decorate the office at night, and ask the custodian to let her in.” It made sense to have the work done when everyone was gone except the Bosso boy. “And Emma, one more thing. Don’t call me sir. Call me Merett.”

  He could have told her to call him Santa Claus, she looked so astounded.

  * * *

  Merett called at five, and told Gracie he’d be late. It had something to with his secretary being too efficient, and a repairman arriving already. Gracie, who had been counting the minutes until his arrival, hung up the phone. Checking her reflection in the mirror above the hall table, she fluffed her hair, admiring the way the yellow sweater brought out the highlights. She moved away before she could change her mind about the choice. She’d changed clothes twice already. Hugging her arms to her waist, she remembered how it had felt to lie against him the night before.

  An hour later, Merett called again to say he wouldn’t be able to make it for the light supper she’d suggested. The repairman had to go somewhere for a part, and had just come back. He’d eat a sandwich at work, and see her as soon as he could. Gracie wasn’t hungry, so she continued to work alone. Their moment of passion last night must have scared him, considering the way he rushed her home and gave her a brotherly hug goodnight. She’d been scared, too, and she was embarrassed to admit, disappointed. He’d surprised her when he offered to help again tonight.

  The doorbell rang. At last.

  Gracie opened the door, and Kirsten shrugged out of her winter jacket and stomped snow off her boots. “Daddy still can’t get away, so he asked Grampa to bring me over to help.”

  Gracie swallowed her disappointment as she and the little girl set to work together.
Decorations for the banks were finished, and she’d set out materials for the Greenfield tearoom, Sugar and Spice, where the owner wanted a warm, homey look. Kirsten talked while she worked. “You knew my daddy a long time ago. So, you probably knew my mother. Mommy was beautiful. I’m not beautiful. Pretty, maybe.”

  Gracie had Holly’s dark eyes and hair, but there was something of Merett in her, too. “I’ll bet your mother was pretty at your age, just like you. And when you’re older, you’ll be beautiful like her.”

  “I never thought of that. Pretty must be for kids, huh?” She hopped off her chair to give Spook a hug. “When we’re finished here, I’ll make you a Christmas outfit, I promise.”

  It would be hard for a parent to keep up with her. Mom never could keep up with her kids, so Gracie had had to chase after Faith and Hope. But she’d still envisioned her and Sonny moving to the city, where they’d live in a cute apartment, and have an adorable baby. Instead, they lived in a third floor walkup that stood in the shadow of a warehouse with a patch of cement below and sooty gray sky overhead. And Sonny had wanted to be a child, not father one.

  Kirsten held the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she wired red cherries onto green calico print bows. Gracie sat next to her, painting wooden gingerbread men spicy brown. Dipping her brush into the paint jar, Gracie looked out the workroom window on a snowy lawn, gray-blue sky, and house lamps lit against an early dusk. She was glad she’d left Chicago behind.

  “Last year, Daddy sent me here to spend Christmas. Gramma was in the hospital then, a real hospital, not a home like where she is now. She was mixed-up, and the doctors were trying to figure her out. We went to visit, and I liked her. She held my hand a lot, and called me Anna. That’s her sister. Grampa said I look like Anna’s pictures when she was little.”

  Gracie smiled. “I remember your grandmother as being very nice.”

  Kirsten bobbed her head in agreement. “Grampa’s nice, too. He and I put up a tree together last year. We were going to bake cookies, but neither of us knew how. So we bought some at the store, and put icing on them. Then we sprinkled them with those colored thingamajigs, and put them in boxes to give people. We bought gifts, too, for a family without much money. And we had a turkey baked at Kroger’s, and we took all that stuff. The people were really grateful.”

  Tears sprang to Gracie’s eyes, imagining Harry and his young granddaughter doing all that alone, for poor people. A man whose wife was in the hospital being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and whose daughter-in-law had just died.

  “After Christmas vacation, I went back to Daddy, but I had to stay with a sitter after school. I hated her, and missed Mommy, and Daddy wasn’t fun company. Grampa was lonely too, because Gramma had to go to that place to live, so we moved back here. I’m glad. Mrs. Jarvis watches me when Daddy and Grampa are gone, so I don’t need a sitter. She doesn’t smile much, but she lets me watch television all I want.”

  Kirsten looked down at Spook who’d fallen asleep, his head on her foot. “If I’d had a pet in New York, I might not have felt so lonely.”

  * * *

  When Merett came to pick Kirsten up, she was searching the house for Spook. Her attention had waned, and Gracie excused her from work to make the cat a Christmas outfit, but she hadn’t found him yet.

  “I’m sorry,” Merett said, taking her hands. “I really meant to help.”

  “Kirsten and I got quite a bit done.” Gracie wondered if she should mention what his daughter said about wanting a pet. As a child, Gracie had wanted a pet, too, but it was out of the question. As an adult, she’d lived in apartments where they weren’t allowed. A few days after she had moved into this house, Spook was left on her doorstep in a cardboard box, and she’d considered the little kitten a miracle. It would be easy for Kirsten to have a pet at the Bradmoore house, but Gracie didn’t want Merett to think she was interfering.

  “Daddy, come see what Gracie and I made,” Kirsten begged, running back into the hallway and spotting him.

  Gracie could tell by the bemused expression on Merett’s face that his thoughts were on something else when Kirsten showed him the results of their evening’s work. “Nice. But we have to go now. It’s past your bedtime.” He handed Kirsten her coat, and turned the front doorknob.

  “Nice?” Kirsten’s lip dropped. “I think it’s be-yoo-ti-ful.”

  Gracie hugged her arms to her waist, wishing he’d show more enthusiasm over the job Kirsten had done.

  “It is beautiful. It is also late. I’m sorry I couldn’t help, Gracie.”

  She nodded, sorry herself.

  They were almost out the door when Spook popped out, and Kirsten grabbed him. “I didn’t get to make Spook clothes, yet. Please, Daddy. I have to stay. I promised him.”

  “A cat has a fur coat and doesn’t need clothes. Or understand promises.” Merett looked and sounded exasperated.

  Kirsten looked to Gracie, her eyes begging her to understand. Gracie knew what it was like to be a little girl with no power. “These clothes were to be special, not to keep the kitten warm. And Kirsten knows what promises are. It wouldn’t take long.”

  “She can wait.” His eyes sparked, and he backed toward the door.

  “And you can’t?” Gracie put her hands on her hips, and took a step forward. Kirsten had lost a mother, and was afraid she wasn’t as beautiful as the ghost she’d competed with for months following her death. She was afraid of being lonely again, and needed a pet. Or more attention and love from her dad.

  Merett’s green eyes shadowed like a stormy sea. “I think I know what’s best for her.”

  She was his daughter, and Gracie backed down, realizing she had no right to interfere. Children never wanted to wait, but they didn’t hold a grudge like grownups did. She’d spent most of her life trying to keep people happy, and this wasn’t the time to quit. Turning to Kirsten, Gracie smiled gently. “Your daddy’s tired, and it is late to start an important project. I’ll help you another time.”

  Kirsten wiped away a tear. “Could I come back and make cat clothes, Daddy?”

  Merett shuffled his feet, and she could tell he was angry. “Sometime, but I don’t know when.” He looked at Gracie. “I just told her last night she’d have to start riding the bus to and from school. Things are in a mess down...at the office...and I can’t leave to pick her up every day.”

  “The bus could drop me off here after school one day.” Kirsten, holding up her hand to talk behind it, confided in Gracie. “I hate school buses. They smell like rotten apples and dirty feet. But I’ll ride one for you.”

  “And I could take you home when we finish. If that’s okay with your daddy.”

  “Thanks!” Without waiting for her daddy’s consent, Kirsten threw her arms around Gracie’s waist. “You’re the best!”

  * * *

  “You’re the best.” Merett savored the silence of night on the country road. Kirsten had fallen asleep soon after they left Gracie’s, and he welcomed the time to sort out his thoughts. His daughter was vulnerable since she’d lost her mother, and was getting too close to Gracie already. And Kirsten wasn’t the only one vulnerable to Gracie’s charms. He’d be taking a chance if he went back to help again tonight, so he hadn’t offered, but he hadn’t been able to forget the way she had felt pressed against him the other night in the snow. He’d picked up the phone half a dozen times today, thinking he’d call and see if she needed his help. But he hadn’t phoned because he couldn’t do that to her. She was the type of woman to play for keeps, and he couldn’t give more of himself than the moment. He was determined to go back to New York and prove himself, and he didn’t want to take a chance on hurting her when he left.

  A vision came into his mind of Gracie sitting across the breakfast table from him in a robe that clung to her curves, hair tousled from sleep, the two of them looking down over New York’s Central Park, with squirrels scampering, children playing, lovers strolling hand-in-hand. At night, over dinner, they’d gaze at the skyline,
knowing soon they’d lie next to one another in bed. Gracie hadn’t liked Chicago, but...under other circumstances...she might enjoy life in the city.

  Kirsten sighed in her sleep, as if she knew he was daydreaming again. And he was. Gracie would be a fool to consider marriage to a man who ran a paper with a circulation of less than twenty-thousand, lived with his father, and was lacking in some serious aspect of the soul, as seen by his not visiting his mother. He wasn’t the golden boy everyone at Ferndale High used to think he was, and Gracie would realize that soon. Not that he was thinking of marriage, nor could he afford an apartment in the area of Central Park.

  Kirsten breathed gently in the passenger seat, and he touched a fingertip to her cheek. Gracie was patient with her, and he wished he could be. Perhaps if he didn’t have so many things on his mind, he would be a better father.

  Parking the Jeep in front of the house, Merett stepped out. The snow had stopped falling, and lay like a blanket of serenity on the ground. Overhead, stars glittered in an onyx sky. He needed to find peace within himself. Lifting Kirsten gently from the seat, he carried her inside, her head on his shoulder.

  Merett yawned as he passed his father to carry Kirsten upstairs. “I think I’ll turn in.” He needed time alone to figure things out. It probably was time to move on, but he hadn’t thought he could. He hadn’t wanted to, and didn’t feel he should—until now. He wanted to kiss Gracie, and hold her tight. She was so lovely, and he’d waited a long, long time.

  * * *

  Merett was riffling through the Daily Reporter’s mail when he came across a letter addressed “Publisher/Editor.” With a slash of a brass letter opener, he pulled out a sheet of cream-colored paper. An impassioned plea for small business, the letter gave a slap in the face to large corporations that bought up little companies. It was the Reporter’s policy to print letters to the editor, and many of the townspeople would applaud this one. He, personally, didn’t agree with the sentiment.