Читать книгу That Maddening Man - Debrah Morris, Debrah Morris - Страница 10

Ellin and Lizzie entered the winter-bright dayroom ahead of Santa, whose arrival was heralded by the little girl’s enthusiastic bell-ringing. A fragrant Douglas fir in the corner was as laden with ornaments, tinsel and lights as the red-draped refreshment table was with treats. Elderly residents wearing holly corsages and expectant expressions sat in easy chairs and wheelchairs arranged in a circle around the perimeter.

Ellin smiled and waved when she spotted her grandmother. Ida Faye sat in a wheelchair on the far side of the room, her knobby, arthritic hands clutched in her lap. She had a red scarf around her neck and a colorful afghan over her legs. Her thin white hair was carefully parted, held in place by plastic barrettes like Lizzie’s.

Ellin was struck anew by how small and frail she’d become since the accident. Celebrating her eightieth Christmas this year, she wouldn’t have many more. Due to her parents’ divorce, Ellin hadn’t spent much time with her paternal grandmother over the years and hoped it wasn’t too late to make up for lost time. It was important for Lizzie to know her great-grandmother, to feel connected to her family. But it might never have happened if circumstances had been different.

Ellin worried that by leaving Chicago she’d taken the coward’s way out. That coming to this remote little town meant she was running away from her problems instead of solving them. But then she saw how Ida Faye’s face lit up when they walked in, and she knew there were things more important than her career. What had seemed like a fall from grace now seemed more like a blessing in disguise. Only a fool would turn down a sudden, if undeserved, gift of fate.

She and Lizzie lavished Ida Faye with big hugs and damp kisses. Then Ellin deposited Pudgy in his mistress’s lap. He stood on his hind legs to lick her pale, wrinkled cheek.

“I’m so glad ya’ll could come. And thank you for bringing this old rascal to see me. I’ve missed him so.”

“He’s missed you, too.” Ellin helped Lizzie out of her coat and mittens, noting the smiles her outfit generated.

When it came to fashion statements, her only child believed individuality was the way to go. Today she’d insisted on wearing her pink ballet slippers and a puffy-sleeved, full-length princess dress constructed of frilled layers of pink and purple chiffon. According to Lizzie, it wasn’t just a Halloween costume. It was appropriate party attire.

“Okay now, that’s enough, Pudge.” Ida Faye settled the dog down for a petting session. Then she gave Ellin a wide, denture-baring grin. She whispered behind her hand so Lizzie wouldn’t hear. “Ain’t that Jack a honey?”

“Who?” Someone brought a chair and Ellin scooted it close. Lizzie settled on the floor at her feet, Santa’s bell in her lap.

“Jack Madden,” Ida Faye said. “The young fella playin’ Santy Claus. You oughta know him, you came in with him.”

“Oh, so that’s his name.” It sounded familiar. Where had she heard it before? Ah, yes. The owner of the newspaper had mentioned him. “He works for the paper, right?”

Ida Faye nodded. “Yep. But that’s just a sideline. His main profession is schoolteaching. He’s good as gold, our Jack is.”

“Hmm.” Ellin settled back and watched the ersatz Santa work the room while an old lady in a bright red dress pounded “Here Comes Santa Claus” from an out-of-tune piano.

He belted out several rounds of hearty ho, ho, hos, clasping his king-size belly until it shook like the proverbial bowl full of jelly. Then he swung his heavy sack to the floor and strode around the dayroom, greeting the old folks by name and inquiring if they’d been good boys and girls. He shook their blue-veined hands, kissed their blushing cheeks and wiped their sentimental tears.

Then he passed out the gifts Ida Faye said he’d inspired his high school students to collect and wrap. Volunteers and family members helped the elderly residents open them to find the warm socks, slippers, stuffed animals, colorful posters, and bottles of lotion and aftershave inside. Then they passed out sweets and diabetic treats along with cups of holiday punch.

Lizzie tugged on Ellin’s slacks. “What is it, honey?”

Her little face scrunched up. “I didn’t get a present.”

“That’s okay. We’re just guests at this party.”

“But Santa said.”

“I know, but—”

“Hey, princess. Did you think I’d forgotten about you?” Santa Claus, alias Jack Madden, handed Lizzie a small bundle wrapped in red tissue paper.

“Oh, no,” she denied. “I knew you would never forget me. I’m your helper, right?”

“You sure are. Aren’t you going to open your present?”

She eagerly ripped off the paper to find a floppy dog with droopy ears and large button eyes. “Oh, my very own puppy,” she squealed.

“Do you like him?” Jack asked.

She hugged the toy to her chest. “I love him. I’ve been needing a doggie just like this.”

Ellin shook her head. Yeah, right. Lizzie’s stuffed animal collection easily filled three or four packing boxes.

“I’m glad to hear that. See that nice lady over there?” Jack pointed discreetly to a sad-looking old woman perched alone on a vinyl-coated sofa.

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t she look like she needs to see your doggie? I bet it would make her smile if you went over there and showed it to her.”

“Okay.” Eager to do Santa’s bidding, Lizzie scampered off. Sure enough, the woman’s expression was transformed from sadness to delight at the sight of the little girl in the froufrou dress and tiara. Lizzie smiled shyly as a trembling hand reached out to caress her golden curls.

“That was quite a performance, Mr. Madden,” Ellin said with a grudging smile. “You make an entirely credible Santa Claus.”

“Thank you, Ms. Bennett.” A well-brought-up Southern gentleman, he turned solicitously to his elder. “You’re looking lovely today, Mrs. Boswell. And how are you feeling?”

“As right as an eighty-year-old cripple with a pin in her hip can feel, I reckon. Jack, I want you to tell that aunt of yours to make them nurses let me stay up and watch Jeopardy. They put a body to bed way too early around here.”

He patted her hand. “I’ll talk to Aunt Lorella and see what I can do.”

Ellin looked at him sharply. Aunt Lorella? No wonder he’d known the administrator’s life story. “So Mrs. Polk is related to you, is she, Mr. Madden?”

His eyes glinted with what would have been called mischief in a ten-year-old. “My mother’s sister. But please, call me Jack. After all, we’re going to be working together.”

“So I hear. What is it exactly you do at the paper?” Ellin had not survived in a difficult profession by being indecisive. She trusted her instincts, made snap judgments and found her first impressions were usually right on target.

But this time she was baffled. She couldn’t quite put the Jack Madden puzzle together.

He shrugged. “Whatever needs doing. Jig calls me the sports editor, but the title’s just an excuse to attend all the high school football and basketball games in the area.”

“I understand you’re a teacher.”

“Yes, ma’am. High school English.”

“I want to thank you for being so nice to Lizzie today. The move was hard on her. Meeting you, I mean Santa Claus, really made her day.”

“I was happy to do it,” he said with a shrug. “She’s a real cutie pie.”

“Thanks for playing along with her fantasies. I hope you don’t mind staying in character a bit longer. She isn’t up to speed on St. Nick mythology.”

“Not a problem,” he told her. “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to call a friend to come and haul me to a gas station so I can retrieve my truck and go home.” He turned to walk away.

“Mr. Madden? Wait.” It was out of character for Ellin to extend herself in such a way. Normally, she managed her problems and expected others to do the same.

But thoughts of fate and its unexpected gifts lingered in her mind. Combined with her under-exercised conscience it tweaked her into action. Here was a chance to help a man who’d gone out of his way to be nice to her daughter, her grandmother and a whole crowd of old people.

“You can call me Jack when Lizzie’s not around,” he said.

She tried to ignore his comment, but that sexy, Rhett Butler accent did some tweaking of its own. “I’ll drive you to the gas station.” It wasn’t so much an offer as it was a revelation of fact. Once Ellin made up her mind to do something, it was a done deal. “Then I’ll take you to your truck.”

“That’s very generous, but I wouldn’t want to put you out in any way.”

His tone of voice, along with the look in his eyes, let her know that he was well aware of being bossed around. Apparently, it amused him.

“Nonsense. I said I’d drive you. So I’ll drive.” Her words were a bit crisper around the edges than she intended.

“Well, if you’re sure.”

The man had to have the most intriguing eyes Ellin had ever seen. Because the rest of his face was concealed beneath the curly white beard, her attention focused on the intelligence and humor sparking behind those wire-rims. Something in their depths made her want to know him better.

And figure out just what made him tick.

It might be interesting to discover this paragon’s faults. Surely, the guy had some of those. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go.” She used her best managerial voice.

“Okay, then.” His gaze swept the room, lighting on several residents who appeared to need a bit more cheer. “I want to mingle a little longer. How’s half an hour sound?”

“Fine.”

“Don’t forget to talk to Lorella,” Ida Faye called after him as he walked away.

The old woman smiled and reached out to squeeze Ellin’s hand. “You’re in Arkansas now, Ellie.”

“I know that.” She was still wondering what had possessed her to offer to help Jack Madden. Ordinarily, it would never have crossed her mind to reach out like that. But given the lengths he was willing to go to, just to bring a little happiness to others, it would have taken a harder heart than hers to refuse the call.

“Well, seems to me, you’re still acting like Chicago.” Her grandmother gave her a knowing look.

“What do you mean?”

“Around here, honey, folks are more friendly-like than maybe you’re used to in the city.”

“I was friendly,” she protested. “I said I’d help him.”

“It weren’t what you said, Ellie.” Ida Faye cackled. “It were the way you said it.”

Jack made good on his promise and remained firmly in Santa mode. After seeing Ida Faye back to her room and helping her into bed for a nap, Ellin drove him to the nearest station where he borrowed a gas can and filled it at the pump. Several people spoke to him in the process, calling him by name. She was amazed so many seemed to recognize him beneath the disguise. Granted, Washington wasn’t that big, but he couldn’t know everyone in town, could he? She hadn’t even met the people who lived next door to her in Chicago.

Excited by the party and fueled by high-octane sugar cookies and candy canes, Lizzie monopolized the conversation on the drive back to the stranded truck.

“We don’t gots a Christmas tree yet, Santa.” The can-you-believe-the-injustice-of-that was implied in her tone.

“What with the move and all, we haven’t had time to buy one yet,” Ellin said defensively. How could she admit to a man in a red velvet suit that she couldn’t muster enough holiday spirit to provide her child the most basic of Christmas traditions?

“You don’t buy Christmas trees around here,” Jack scoffed.

“You don’t? Where do you get ’em then?” Lizzie was always willing to learn something new.

“Why, you go out to the woods and chop one down. Don’t tell me you’ve never chopped down your own Christmas tree?” he asked with mock disbelief.

Lizzie shook her head solemnly. “Nope. Can you help us chop a tree, Santa?”

“Well, I have to get back to the North Pole and make sure those elves make enough toys for the children.” Her little face fell, so he added, “But I have a special friend named Jack who would be happy to take you and your mommy out to the woods.”

“I just bet he would,” Ellin muttered. What was he thinking? Didn’t he know how dangerous it was to plant an idea like that in the fertile imagination of a four-year-old?

“Can we, Mommy? I never been to Christmas tree woods before. Oh, no! We don’t have somethin’ to chop with.”

“My buddy Jack has an ax.” He smiled at Ellin. “A big one.”

Ellin raised one brow. “Oh? He should be careful. A guy who doesn’t know what he’s doing could get hurt.”

Santa Jack winced. “I’ll warn him.”

“Can we go today?” Lizzie was all atwitter at the prospect of not only chopping down a tree, but meeting one of Santa’s special friends.

“That’s up to your mother.” Jack shot Ellin a look that was pure challenge.

“Can we, Mommy? Plee-e-se?”

Ellin decided Jack Madden knew exactly what he was doing. He’d set her up to score major villain points if she vetoed the plan now.

“Maybe.”

Lizzie pushed out her bottom lip and folded her arms on the padded restraint. “You say maybe, but that just means no.”

“It does not.” Ellin didn’t like being put in the hot seat. She was used to getting what she wanted and it wasn’t often someone turned the tables on her. Jack Madden might be good as gold, but he was also sly as a fox.

“Say yes!” Lizzie whacked the back of Ellin’s seat with her wand, either to get her attention or magically change her mind.

“Okay!” Wow. She’d just been suckered by Santa Claus. She eased on the brakes when she spotted Jack’s truck.

Lizzie went from pouty to perky in ten seconds flat. “We’re gonna chop a Christmas tree.”

Santa grinned. “I’ll tell my old buddy Jack to swing by your place later this afternoon. Around four o’clock?”

Ellin shoved the gearshift into Park with more force than was needed and popped open the trunk. “Fine. We’re staying at Ida Faye’s.”

“Oh, he knows where you live.” He sounded like a character in a cheesy horror movie. “Dress warmly. It gets cold out in the woods.”

Ellin answered his gotcha grin with a frosty glare. He shivered. “Oooh. It’s getting a little chilly in here. He turned to Lizzie. “You stay good, princess.”

“I will,” she promised. “Tell your friend Jack to help us chop down a big tree.”

“I’ll do it. Will you put out some cookies before you go to bed on Christmas Eve?”

“Yep. You like chocat chip? Or peanut butter?”

He appeared to think it over. “Chocolate chip, I think.” He gave Ellin a smart little salute as he got out to retrieve the gas can. “You have yourself a merry little Christmas, Ms. Bennett.”

“Yeah, yeah. You, too.” What an exasperating man. She’d like to deck Kriss Kringle’s halls for him.

“So, what’s she like?” Jana McGovern folded her arms on her desk and leaned forward in the classic pose of one who is all ears.

“She’s nice enough.” After changing out of the Santa suit, Jack had stopped by his twin sister’s small accounting office to get permission to cut a tree on the wooded property she owned with her husband Ted. As usual, he could not escape her evil clutches without first being grilled like a slab of sirloin.

“You sure about that? Because I heard she was a real pain in the butt.” Jana poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of her brother. “I believe ‘stuck up’ was the sobriquet of choice.”

“I think she’s just—”

“Aloof?” Jana supplied helpfully. “Arrogant?”

“I was going to say self-assured and outspoken.”

“You’re too nice, little brother,” she dismissed. “Poor Jig had to kick his blood pressure medicine up a notch after one brief meeting with the lady in question. Owen wouldn’t come out of the men’s room for an hour.”

Jack smiled. Owen Larsen, the newspaper’s layout artist and town’s oldest bachelor, was notoriously shy. “She’s not so bad.”

“Looking?”

“What?”

“Is she as attractive as I’ve heard?”

“Depends on what you call attractive.” Jack couldn’t afford to give her any encouragement. Minding her own business was not a life skill Jana had mastered.

She was always after him, nipping at his heels like a determined cattle dog. According to her, he’d needed to get back out in the world, take another chance, have another adventure. Use his God-given writing talent, and most importantly, fall in love. Apparently, being older by seven minutes entitled her to tell him what to do.

She just didn’t get it. He liked waking up every morning knowing exactly what the day would bring. Predictability was highly underrated, in his opinion. He knew all too well what the rest of the world had to offer and liked this part of it better. She accused him of being an underachiever, but he was just an old-fashioned guy trying to make a difference right where he was. He enjoyed both his jobs. He couldn’t imagine leaving his many friends to live among strangers.

And adventures? They were more often misadventures with ugly consequences.

“Attractive may be a subjective term,” Jana said. “But most of us agree on its basic meaning. So how good-looking is she?”

“Somewhere between mud fence and Mona Lisa.”

She gave him a knowing look. “Oh! You like her. I can tell.”

“You can’t tell anything.”

“Hah! Of course, I can. You’re not talking about her, so therefore, you think she’s hot.”

“Remind me again,” he drawled. “Is it Aristotelian or Ramistic logic that enables you to reach such truly cockamamie conclusions?”

“Jack, you little devil.” Jana reached out and patted his cheek. “You’re spouting big words. You are definitely working on a serious crush here.”

He gave her a concerned look. “Will you be visiting our planet much longer? Or do you plan to catch the mothership next time it’s in town?”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with you getting a little action, for a change.”

“For your information, twisted sister, I happen to get plenty of action.” He dated. Some. He was waiting for the right woman to come along. The woman his father assured him he would “know” when he met her. The one who’d “turn him inside out and five ways to Sunday.” He wanted happily ever after and the kind of relationship his parents had. Up until today, he hadn’t met anyone who even remotely filled the bill.

Jana laughed. “Sure you do. Like I get plenty of chances to dance on MTV. Just be careful, little brother. She’s older than you, and she’s from the big wicked city. A woman like Ellin Bennett will chew you up and spit you out like an Arkansas hairball.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “What colorful imagery, Jana. Maybe you should be a writer.”

“Nah, I’ll leave it to you. So how’s the book coming?”

“On its own terms.” Jack had long since stopped trying to explain right-brained activities to his left-brained sister. “Writing isn’t like bookkeeping.”

“When was the last time you worked on it?” she demanded.

“What are you, my conscience?” He finished his coffee. “I didn’t come in here to be pecked to death. You don’t understand the creative process.”

She snorted in derision. “What do you mean? I’m creative.”

“You’re an accountant,” he reminded dryly. “Being creative could land you in the slammer. Now, are you going to let me cut the damn tree or not?”

She fished the key to the property gate out of her purse with a big grin. “Here you go, Don Hemingway Juan. Knock yourself out.”

Ellin was poking Lizzie’s arms and legs into her purple snowsuit when someone knocked on the door. She glanced at Ida Faye’s weird clock that burst into birdsong every hour, on the hour. Madden was right on time.

“Just a minute!” She zipped Lizzie up and tucked her hair into her stocking cap. “There. Run and open the door for Santa’s friend.”

She collected her parka and purse. She had changed into a heavy sweater, jeans and thick-soled boots. She snugged a wide knit headband over her ears and dashed into the living room.

If she had been one of Lizzie’s Saturday morning cartoon characters, the rug would have accordioned as she plowed to a stop and her eyes would have popped out on springs. The man standing by the door, his hands clasped behind his back, could not be Santa Jack.

He was younger than she’d expected. Way younger. A good four or five years her junior, for sure. And taller than she remembered. Without the extra pillow padding, his slim, well-built physique was even more impressive. Wide shoulders. Trim waist. Narrow hips. And, unless she was completely out of touch with reality, which was possible considering she’d agreed to this rendezvous, that heavy seaman’s coat concealed a nicely developed chest and biceps.

His brown hair was cut in a short, messy-trendy style that he must have combed with his hand. With his eyes closed. His bottom lip was fuller than the top and high cheekbones lent his face an interesting angularity. The arching brows were brown, not white. And without the beard, well, you really had to admire the strong chin.

He wasn’t soap-opera handsome. His features weren’t quite perfect enough. But damn, he was cute. Adorable. Like a great big, cuddly, overgrown elf. He still wore the wire-rims, which were obviously not part of the costume, and the smug look in the merry eyes behind the lenses indicated just how much he was enjoying her discomfort. He opened the door with a lopsided grin and dramatic flourish.

“Mommy, this is Santa’s friend Jack.” Lizzie performed the necessary introductions as they walked to the street. “And guess what? He gots a truck just like Santa’s.”

“What a coincidence.”

He grinned. “So. Ellin Bennett. How’re you this fine day?”

It took her a moment to respond. Jack Madden was just full of surprises. “Fine.”

“Are you ladies ready to chop down a Christmas tree?” He opened the truck door, and she and Lizzie climbed inside.

“Yeah!” Lizzie submitted to being buckled into a regular lap belt on the seat between them but couldn’t sit still.

Ellin pulled on her gloves as though her composure were perfectly intact. Jack gallantly ignored her as he drove out of town. By directing his comments to Lizzie, he gave her time to get over her initial shock.

What had happened to her internal alarm? It was supposed to warn her when she was about to do something really stupid, but it seemed to be malfunctioning today. She considered bailing out and running back to the house. She didn’t trust that instant spark of attraction that had cranked up her heart rate and interfered with her objectivity. She knew how dangerous desire could be.

Something was happening here, chemistry-wise. It might feel good, but it was bad. It was beyond bad. The man aroused feelings she’d hadn’t felt in a long time. They would only complicate things, and her life was plenty complicated enough. If she were to research “Bad Idea” on the Internet, Jack Madden’s name would definitely pop up.

Then she looked at Lizzie’s excited little face. How could she deny her only child a much-anticipated experience?

It wasn’t like this was a date, she told herself. It didn’t have to be the start of anything. In fact, she was probably reading far more into it than she should. The man was just being neighborly. Wasn’t that what people did in Arkansas? What was she so worried about? They would get the stupid Christmas tree to make Lizzie happy, and that would be the end of it. It was up to her to keep their relationship strictly professional. She could do that. She wasn’t known as the Ice Queen of Chicago for nothing.

So what was the problem?

Him. Her. The situation. Spending time alone in the woods with a charmer who didn’t even know how appealing he was. Letting herself get close to someone she’d have to leave behind in a few months. The list could go on and on, but the point was Jack Madden would be nothing but trouble. And it was her policy to not go out looking for trouble. It found her often enough on its own.

Jack looked at her over Lizzie’s head, and his grin sent a rush of heat through her. Why did she feel he could actually read her thoughts? This was not good. As Ida Faye would put it, she was poking a wildcat with a short stick.