Читать книгу Her Mistletoe Man - Carolyn Greene - Страница 12

It was common knowledge in Willow Glen that Aunt Shirley had recently bought a new car with moldy money—cash that had apparently been buried somewhere on the property and retrieved when her dotty aunt was ready to make her purchase. Judging from the way Tucker had moved stuff around up here, it appeared as though he had heard about Aunt Shirley’s odd banking habits and decided to make a withdrawal for himself. Just as she had suspected, he was not only a fraud, but an opportunist as well.

Tucker stood abruptly and cracked his head against the low attic ceiling. Rubbing the tender spot, he rumpled his hair, which made him look even more devilish.

Humph! The others might be swayed by his charm and good looks, but Ruth had learned to develop an immunity to such virtues, especially after Aunt Shirley had been taken to the cleaners by the fly-by-night roofing repairman and the so-called investment counselor. Besides, she had seen it all and heard it all, from adorable fourth-grade boys and girls who were adept at manipulating their parents and other adults into giving them what they wanted.

Ruth had a sixth sense about knowing when her students were up to mischief, but it didn’t take a psychic to see that something was definitely off-kilter here.

“It’s not what you think,” he said, putting a hand up to the exposed beam he’d cracked his head against a moment before. He seemed to consider something for a moment, then asked, “Do you work here?”

“Do I work here? What kind of question is that?” Sure, she was working—especially this year as she sought to relieve her aunt of the burden of being hostess to so many houseguests. But he had asked as if he thought she were being paid to do her labors of love. Ruth climbed the remaining steps into the attic, but she didn’t have to stoop as he did. “What I want to know is what you’re looking for.”

“Well, it’s a long story, actually.” Tucker wondered if he should go into the drawn-out course of events that had brought him here. When she hollered downstairs for Aunt Shirley to call the sheriff, he decided it would be prudent to start explaining. He paused, wondering how to begin.

“I’m waiting.” Her toe tapped the rough board beneath her feet. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and he tried not to notice how that simple action enhanced an already admirable feature of hers.

Before he could begin, Eldon came galloping up the stairs with Brooke hot on his heels. “Stay behind me, Brooke. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

He brandished a small pearl-handled pistol and scanned the close confines of the attic, his gaze skipping past Ruth and Tucker. He turned his back to Tucker, who was grateful to be out of range of the waving pistol, and faced the woman who had called for help.

“What’s the matter, Ruthie? Did you see a mouse again?”

“No, I saw a rat,” she said, pointing past Eldon, “and he’s standing right behind you.”

Brooke did an about-face and returned to the stairs. “Gross! I’m outta here.”

Curious onlookers blocked her retreat. Tucker peered down the stairs as Eldon aimed the gun at Aunt Shirley’s trunk. Sure enough, there in the hall stood Aunt Shirley and the rest of the guests.

Ruth tugged Eldon’s sleeve in an effort to regain his attention. “I wasn’t talking about a rat rat. I was referring to a person rat.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Once again, Eldon looked past Tucker as he searched for an intruder.

“Him!” Ruth stepped closer and patted Tucker’s arm. “This rat.”

Obviously confused now, Eldon stuffed the gun into his waistband. “Cousin Tucker? What’d he do?”

“Good grief, Ruth,” piped in her older sister, “if you go with a guy to the attic, you really can’t complain if he gets fresh with you.”

Ruth sighed a huge breath of exasperation. “He didn’t get fresh.”

“Sounds like they need some mesh,” said Boris from his vantage point in the hall.

Aunt Shirley patted his hand. “Turn up your hearing aid, dear.”

By now, Ruth’s face had turned a becoming shade of pink. Tucker wasn’t sure whether that was from the cold or from her anger at having found him here. He rather liked Vivian’s interpretation of the current scenario and briefly wondered if Ruth would consider an invitation to come back up here with him later. He looked over at her and saw that the sleepy expression in her eyes had been replaced by barely suppressed fury. Maybe now wouldn’t be a good time to suggest such a rendezvous.

“I didn’t come with him to the attic, I found him here.” She pointed an accusing finger at Tucker’s chest. “This man is an imposter. He came here, pretending to be a part of the family, just so he could rip us off.”

“Family? What family?” Tucker took a step toward Ruth, ducking to avoid the noggin-hazard beam. When Eldon touched a hand to his waistband, Tucker figured he’d better start talking. Fast. “Look, I can explain everything.”

“Great,” said Ruth. “Then you can begin by explaining exactly where you fit into the Babcock family reunion.”

“I don’t know who the Babcocks are, or anything about their family reunion. I just came here for some peace and quiet.”

“Ha!” Ruth whirled to face the others. “See, I told you he wasn’t our cousin.”

“You’re right,” said Vivian. “If he knew anything at all about our family, he wouldn’t have come here for peace and quiet.”

Tucker scratched his head and took a seat on the old trunk. “You folks are all family?” At their affirmative nods, he asked, “Then what are you doing here at a bed-and-breakfast inn?”

The fiercely determined expression on Ruth’s face dissolved into confusion. “This place hasn’t been a bed-and-breakfast inn for almost eight years.”

“But the Newlands, they sold it…”

“Right,” said Ruth, “and when the inn went broke three years later, Aunt Shirley bought it. We’ve been having our Christmas reunions here ever since.”

“You mean you’re not our cousin after all?” Vivian asked. Ruth could have sworn she saw an interested gleam in her sister’s eyes.

Tucker shook his head. Now that Chris Newland and his parents were gone… “I don’t have any family.”

“And you’re spending Christmas alone?” Ruth asked, temporarily forgetting about his being a potential thief as she imagined him spending the holiday by himself.

“That was the plan.” He rose from his perch on the trunk. “I’m really sorry about crashing your reunion. I’ll go gather my things and get out of your way.”

Aunt Shirley hollered up into the attic. “Where will you go? The motels around here must be full.”

He leaned forward to peer down at the speaker. “Yes, ma’am, they are. I’ll just go back to my apartment in the city.”

“And who would you spend Christmas with?” Ruth asked.

Tucker shrugged. “I’ll probably just go to work at the office. It’s amazing how much you can get done when no one else is around.”

“You’re not going to spend Christmas alone.” Aunt Shirley’s words were an order. “You’re going to stay right here and celebrate the season with us.”

“That’s very kind of you, ma’am, but I really don’t belong here.”

Ruth rubbed her arms to ward off the chill as she forced herself to remember that this stranger was an unwanted intruder. “You’re right about that. And you still haven’t explained why you were snooping through Aunt Shirley’s attic.”

“We’re letting all the heat from the house up here,” he said. “Why don’t we go downstairs, and I’ll be happy to answer your questions.”

As the family members moved down the stairs, Ruth said to Eldon, “I think you should frisk him before he leaves this attic. There’s no telling what he may have found before I caught him.”

Tucker couldn’t blame her for feeling this way. He’d be suspicious, too, if some stranger showed up on his doorstep and rummaged through his belongings.

“I ain’t friskin’ Cousin Tucker!”

Downstairs in the parlor, ten pairs of eyes studied the stranger who sat in their midst. They had just finished telling him about their initial assumption that he was a long-lost cousin. Now they were waiting for his explanation.

They were nice people. He doubted he’d be as understanding if someone had infiltrated his home. Ruth’s reaction was closer to what his own would be, except that she didn’t have the strength to pick him up and literally throw him out of the house. Instead, she sat there throwing daggers with her eyes. She was skeptical, and he didn’t blame her. He plucked a strand of tinsel off the tree and toyed with it as he collected his thoughts.

“I started coming to Willow Glen Plantation when I was ten,” he began. In the next few minutes, he explained how he’d come to consider the Newlands his family and this big old house his own. He’d thought that by returning here he could relive some happy memories.

Ruth still wasn’t convinced. The others were hanging on his every word, but she’d learned not to take everything at face value. For instance, his claim of being a high-ranking corporate executive clashed sharply with the leather- and jeans-clad interloper who had barged uninvited into their home. What she couldn’t understand was why the rest of her family couldn’t see what she saw. And why hadn’t they learned from Aunt Shirley’s earlier bad experiences? “What about the attic?”

“I’m getting to that.”

That piece of tinsel was getting wound around his fingers, weaving and curving in just the way she suspected the speaker was winding her own trusting family around those same fingers.

“Chris Newland was my best friend,” he said. “He was like a brother to me. The year we turned eleven, we decided to make it official by becoming blood brothers. We signed a pact, put it in an envelope and sealed it with our blood.” He turned to Ruth. “That’s what I was looking for in the attic. We hid it under a loose board.”

He seemed shaken. For a moment, Ruth’s heart went out to him. But then she remembered that scam artists could be very convincing.

“So why, after all these years, did you finally decide to come looking for the envelope?”

“Ease up on the boy,” said Aunt Shirley. “Can’t you see he’s upset?”

And couldn’t they see she was only trying to be prudent? Couldn’t they see that someone needed to look out for the best interests of the family?

“That’s okay,” said Tucker. Although his words were directed to Aunt Shirley, his gaze met Ruth’s and held it. “If I were in her shoes, I’d be asking the same questions.” Then, to Ruth, he said, “I didn’t come here looking for the envelope. As I said before, I came for some peace and quiet.”

He sighed deeply before continuing.

“Chris and his parents were killed in a traffic accident last Christmas. Seeing this big old house again brought back lots of memories, one of them being the pact Chris and I signed.”

Aunt Shirley stood, signaling an end to the interrogation. “If you want peace and quiet, honey, then that’s exactly what you’ll get. You go on back up to your room. I’ll give everybody strict orders not to disturb you. If you don’t feel like coming downstairs for meals, just let me know and I’ll bring ’em up to you.”

“Aunt Shirley!” Ruth couldn’t believe her ears. “You can’t let a complete stranger live in our house. You don’t even know if he’s telling the truth. He could have a criminal record or…or mental problems.” Realizing, after the words were out, how they must have sounded, she said to Tucker, “No offense, but we’ve been burned before.”

Oren took the sting out of her words by adding cheerfully, “You’ll know he has mental problems if he chooses to stay in this house.”

Tucker grinned. The bickering, the teasing, the noise and commotion…it all reminded him of the happy times he had spent with the Newlands in this house.

“I can’t send him back to the city to work through the holidays,” Aunt Shirley insisted. “Everybody’s got to be somewhere at Christmas…he may as well be here. Besides, we have plenty of room.”

“Yeah, Ruth,” said Vivian. “Don’t be such a wet blanket.”

Judging from the look Ruth threw her sister, he doubted Vivian’s words helped his case. Not that it mattered. No matter how enticing Aunt Shirley’s offer might sound, he couldn’t accept. It wouldn’t be right.

On the other hand, his only other option—working through the holidays—was less appealing than remaining here. At home, he’d be miserable. He’d be miserable no matter where he was, but at least this was a change of scenery. And the best part of the scenery was the lovely young woman who was watching him as if he might steal the silverware.

He definitely wanted something from her, but silverware wasn’t what he had in mind.

Aunt Shirley interrupted his hesitation. “I insist.”

“Then I insist on paying regular hotel rates, and for the meals as well.”

Tucker didn’t know what made him agree to stay, but he suspected Ruth had something to do with it. It was nothing she said or did. More, it was a feeling he got from her. Although they came from different circumstances, he sensed they shared a common bond. He detected an undercurrent stirring her soul, creating a whirlpool of emotions in her inner being. As for himself, his whirlpool felt like a deep, black hole out of which he feared he’d never emerge. But, for some reason, that hole seemed a little less black, a little less bottomless, when he was near Ruth.

“We’ll discuss that at checkout time,” said Aunt Shirley, smiling. Then she mumbled something about making room at the inn in Bethlehem. The older woman seemed obviously pleased to have him join their household.

He could tell, however, that Ruth was not happy with the arrangement.

Ruth wasn’t happy with the arrangement. She suspected the charming newcomer was up to no good, and she wondered why she was the only one who could see through this guy. But her family’s willing acceptance of the stranger and their open invitation to him were thwarting her attempts to protect her impulsive aunt. Maybe he’d been telling the truth about the blood-brothers pact. But what if he hadn’t been?

She got a stack of plates out of the cabinet and placed them around the table. When she was done with that, she returned to the cabinet for glasses. As she reached for the first one, a movement through the window over the sink caught her eye. A leather-jacketed figure was moving the two-seater convertible sports car to the carriage-house-turned-garage behind the house. Of course. He wouldn’t want anyone ripping off his car while he ripped off her aunt.

He was convincing, that was certain. But apparently she was the only one who picked up on the subtle vibes that their handsome visitor sent out. Sure, Vivian and Brooke had picked up on some vibes, but she suspected they were more hormonal than anything else. Besides, Vivian picked up vibes from—and sent out signals to—all red-blooded males.

The message Ruth received from him was that he was a man on a mission. True, he was looking for something, but Ruth was convinced the “something” he sought was not a slip of paper under a floorboard. There was more. And she intended to find out what else he was after.

Ruth leaned against the sink and watched as he came out of the carriage house, pausing in the doorway to survey the grounds. Tucker was a devilishly good-looking man, no doubt about it.

Something brushed against her arm, pulling her back to the present.

Vivian nudged her with an elbow. “Want me to get a mop? Someone could slip and fall in that puddle of drool.”

Ruth bristled at her sister’s misinterpretation. “I just don’t think he should have the run of the place. Who knows what he might be getting into?”

“Let it rest,” said Vivian. “By the way, Aunt Shirley said to add another plate for dinner. She talked Cousin Tucker into joining us this evening.”

By now, Ruth was gritting her teeth. “He’s not our cousin!”

“Yeah. So?”

There was no arguing with these people. Once her headstrong family members had their minds made up, there was no changing them. And since, for the space of about forty-five minutes, they’d thought Tucker to be their cousin, he would forever after have that status. Talk about family ties!

Ruth got out another plate, and Vivian helped her carry the rest of the glasses to the large formal dining room.

When dinner was served, it turned out to be anything but formal. The noise and commotion were enough to make the Ringling Brothers envious. Aunt Shirley had to rap her tea glass with her spoon to quiet everyone for the blessing.

After grace was said, Brooke began filling Tucker in on who was who in their family, starting with Ada May. “Did you know Aunt Ada’s a hooker?” she asked matter-of-factly.

Tucker glanced down the table at the sweet white-haired woman who appeared to be every bit of eighty years old. This was the one who, while they were decorating the Christmas tree, became embarrassed when Brooke casually used the word pregnant to describe the situation of a girl at her school. Ada May had hastily advised her young niece to say “in the family way” instead.

But now, having been called a hooker, she merely nodded sweetly, the flesh of her chin bobbing as she did so.

Tucker turned to the girl beside him and spoke in a low, unbelieving tone. “She used to do that, eh?”

“Still does,” Brooke insisted. “Don’t you, Aunt Ada?”

Ada May nodded again, making the flesh under her chin ripple like water on a rock-skipped pond. “I tried to get Oren interested in doing it, too, but it’s not his cup of tea. He said the little bit of money I get out of it isn’t worth all the effort I put into it.”

Tucker frowned, trying to make sense of it. “You actually have…customers? And Oren doesn’t mind?”

“Sure, I have them lined up waiting for my next piece,” she said. “And of course Oren doesn’t mind.” She bestowed a loving look on her husband. “He likes to watch me work…says it’s very relaxing.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t kid you. If you’d like, we can go into the parlor this evening, and I’ll show you some of the tricks and fancy maneuvers I’ve learned over the years. I won’t even charge you.”

Tucker rubbed his chin, scratching the newly sprouted bristles. “That’s, uh, very generous of you.”

Sitting beside the elderly woman, Ruth smiled at Tucker as she patted her aunt’s hand. “If you don’t have time for a lesson,” she told him, “perhaps you’d rather take a look at the assortment of rugs Aunt Ada has hooked.”

Brooke giggled as the cat was let out of the bag. However, judging from Ruth’s careful selection of words, it was clear they were not to let the elderly craftswoman know she’d been the butt of a naughty joke. She’d surely die of embarrassment.

Tucker took the hint and decided that changing the subject would lessen the chances of Ada finding out what was so funny.

“In that case,” he confided aloud to the girl beside him, “I guess you could say I was once in a motorcycle gang.”

“Really?” Brooke looked skeptical.

“Yep. When I was eight I joined a gang of kids who all wished we had motorcycles.” He nodded thoughtfully. “We even got lick-and-stick tattoos.”

Although Brooke rolled her eyes in the age-old tradition of teenagers, Tucker was rewarded with a smile from Ruth.

He liked her smile. He supposed it was the infamous Babcock smile since many of the people sitting at the table shared a similar feature. But hers was somehow different. Although her sister’s smile was more stunning in an overt sort of way, Ruth’s seemed to hint that there was quite a bit more to her than what showed on the surface.

And despite her understandable apprehension toward him, he wanted to get to know her better. Explore those marvelous Babcock lips. Make them turn upward with satisfaction like a cat that’s had its fill of cream.

She averted her gaze and scooped up a forkful of mashed potatoes. Tucker watched, transfixed, as she brought it up to those full, lush lips that pursed to receive it.

“When’s the last time you had a home-cooked meal like this?” Oren demanded.

Reluctantly, Tucker pulled his attention away from the lovely woman who had held him in her spell and turned it to Oren. He surveyed the blue china plate that was heaped with mashed potatoes, green beans, corn pudding, succotash, hot biscuits and meatloaf smothered in onion gravy. The last time he’d eaten like this was…well, when he’d been here with the Newlands.

“Oh, about eleven or twelve years, I suppose.”

“You poor thing,” said Aunt Shirley as she passed him the bowl of potatoes. “Eat up, dear. We have plenty. And there’s pumpkin pie for dessert.”

The rest of the meal passed in a blur, with everyone trying to get him to take more than his fill.

When everyone was finished, he picked up his plate as he’d always done with the Newlands and started to carry it to the kitchen. At the doorway, he paused. Emboldened by the family’s unconditional acceptance, he considered the opportunity that presented itself. When Ruth, apparently unaware of his hesitation, collided into his back, he decided to go for it.

Recovering, she tried to peer around him. “What’s the holdup?”

Turning around, Tucker took care to block the doorway to keep her from moving past the threshold. With a satisfied grin tugging at his lips, he met her questioning gaze and pointed to the cluster of greenery that dangled above them.

He glanced at the woman beside him to see how she was taking this obvious setup.

Not well. Her brown eyes flashed a warning at her giggling cousin, but it was too late. The rest of the relatives were now in on it and cheering them on.

Tucker flashed her his most encouraging smile. “The first Christmas kiss of the season is good luck.”

“Really? I never heard of that tradition.”

“Neither did I,” Tucker admitted. “I just made it up.”

The kinfolk behind them formed a semicircle to get a better look. Though Tucker found the idea of kissing her quite appealing, he would have liked it better if they’d been here alone.

“Just do it and get it over with,” said Aunt Shirley. “If you make us old people stand here much longer, our varicose veins are going to explode.”

Tucker looked at Ruth and gave a questioning shrug.

She returned with a resigned sigh. “We may as well do it, because they won’t leave us alone until we do.”

He took the plate from her and set them both on the sideboard. Then he lifted his arms, unsure whether he should hold her or just bend down and give her a little peck on the cheek. When she moved forward, face upturned and lips slightly puckered, he immediately discarded the latter idea.

Her arms hung by her sides, a clear indication that he was not to take this too seriously. He rested his hands on her shoulders. Although the bulky sweater made her look soft and round, her arms were lean and firm under his touch.

They each tilted to their right but still managed to bump noses. She looked away, embarrassed. While she was distracted, he touched his mouth to hers, the movement brief yet decisive. And more than a little pleasurable.

She tasted of sweetened iced tea, and her lips were warm, soft and surprisingly welcoming. Her eyes closed for an awe-inspiring second. For the briefest of instants, Tucker almost forgot they were surrounded by family.

When their lips parted, she met his gaze, all signs of embarrassment gone. Her clear, golden-brown eyes appeared to be smiling, as if she may have enjoyed the kiss as much as he had.

The first Christmas kiss under the mistletoe. As far as he was concerned, it was indeed a lucky kiss.

Feeling magnanimous after his victory, he lifted his head to thank his lucky stars and the little green ball of leaves that dangled over their heads.

“Oops, I was mistaken,” he told her without a hint of remorse. “That’s not mistletoe…it’s holly.”