Читать книгу What She Wants for Christmas - Janice Kay Johnson - Страница 9

NICOLE WAS DISCOURAGED, but she wasn’t about to give up. This was her life she was talking about!

Mom didn’t even listen when she tried to tell her about her day at school.

“The bathrooms are gross,” she said. “And the girls are all ignoring me. It’s like I don’t even exist.”

“Are you sure you’re not ignoring them, too?” her mother asked, handing her a cookie and a glass of milk, as if she were five years old, home from a day at kindergarten.

“I’m not walking around grinning like some idiot, saying, ‘Hi, I’m new!’ if that’s what you mean,” Nicole said disagreeably. She bit into the cookie, which was still warm.

“How about the boys?”

She shrugged. “Oh, some of them are coming on to me. Like I’d be interested in any of them. But I guess you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”

Mom’s eyes narrowed and she held up one hand. “Okay, that’s it. Time for a little chat.”

“Little chats” were lectures. Nicole wasn’t going to argue during this one. She shouldn’t have said that; Mom didn’t date very often, even though she was still pretty, and it wasn’t like she was marrying the guy. The dig had just slipped out.

Mom put her hands on her hips. “A. I will not put up with any more snotty remarks. I know you’re unhappy, but you don’t have to make everyone else unhappy, too. B. I will have no sympathy for your unhappiness until you start making some effort to adjust to the move. You’d decided you were going to hate this place before you even saw it. Why not give it a chance?”

Tears came in a rush and Nicole wailed, “Because I was happy before! What was so wrong with that?”

“Absolutely nothing,” her mother said gently. “But you can be happy again. Happiness is inside you, not a place.”

Nicole took a deep breath, sniffed and wiped at her tears. “Jeez, Mom, you ought to write greeting cards.”

Her mother gave her a mock frown. “Okay, it sounds sappy, but it’s true, believe it or not.”

“Are you happy?”

One of the nice things about her mother was that she really thought about questions like that before she gave an answer. It would have been easy to snap, “Of course I’m happy!” whether she was or not. But she frowned a little and finally said, “Yes, I think I am.” She actually sounded surprised. “This move is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Our house in Bellevue fit your dad better than it did me. I like small towns, I like Eric, I like this house.” She wrinkled her nose. “I guess I like a challenge. And I’ve certainly bought into one, haven’t I?”

The screen door banged and both Nicole and her mother looked up. Mark kicked the kitchen door shut, dropped his backpack on a chair and headed straight for the fridge.

Mom’s face brightened. “How was your day?”

Nicole knew what he was going to say even before he said it.

“Cool! Can I have this chocolate milk?”

“Sure. Still liking your teacher?”

“Yeah, she’s okay.” He’d found the cookies. “She’s into astronomy. I like stuff like that.”

“Make some friends?” Mom asked casually, as if it was that easy.

He shrugged and shoved a whole cookie into his mouth. Around it, he mumbled, “I hung around with a couple of guys all day. Can I watch TV?”

“Yes, you may watch TV. For half an hour.”

“Gol, I don’t have any homework or anything.” He grabbed three more cookies and his chocolate milk and headed for the living room.

Nicole blew her nose. Her own brother hadn’t even noticed she’d been crying. “How come it’s so easy for him?” she asked.

Her mother kissed the top of her head. It felt good. Comforting. “Maybe because his personality is different. He’s always been cheerful and outgoing, uncomplicated. Maybe because he’s a boy, and boys accept newcomers more readily. Maybe just his age. It’s harder to leave your friends when you’re a teenager.”

“Then…why wouldn’t you let me stay in Bellevue? I could have finished school there.”

Brown eyes serious, her mother faced her. “For lots of reasons. I might have considered it if you’d been a senior, but you have three more years of high school. I don’t think Jayne’s parents were really prepared to finish raising you, and I didn’t want to let them. I’m already in shock at how fast you and Mark are growing up. You’ll be gone before I know it. But I’m not ready yet, and neither are you. You’re still a kid, and you’re mine.”

She hardly ever sounded that firm. Secretly Nicole didn’t mind. She’d wanted to stay in Bellevue, but the idea of becoming part of her friend’s family had been a little scary. She hadn’t wanted to lose her mother or even Mark, brat though he was. She just didn’t want to move.

Now she nodded. But she wasn’t going to pretend she was Mark, either. “I still hate it here.”

“I know.” Her mother gave her an odd twisted smile. “But I hope, after a while, that you won’t. Think about getting a horse. That might be some consolation.”

Nicole had always wanted a horse more than almost anything else in the world. But she wasn’t about to let her mother buy her cooperation. She shrugged sulkily. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“Well, then,” Mom sounded as tart as a green apple, “don’t act like one.”

Nicole stomped off to her bedroom.

LEAVING NICOLE sulking in her bedroom and Mark in front of the TV, Teresa went to town. The farmhouse needed remodeling, starting with the basics, and she might as well take advantage of the rest of her day off. She hadn’t forgotten Joe’s sister worked at Browder’s Flooring, but Teresa told herself curiosity wasn’t why she’d chosen to start there.

A woman named Carol offered to help her, then let her browse in peace among the carpet and vinyl samples. Almost immediately she realized she’d better choose kitchen and bathroom countertops before the flooring.

The back of the store was a veritable treasure trove, if you liked redoing houses. Shelf after slanted shelf held tiles in a mouth-watering selection of colors and textures. Blinds in colors equally rich covered mock windows on the wall and were topped by calico and satin and wood valances.

Teresa headed straight for a lacy pleated blind that would be perfect for her old house.

At her murmured “ooh” of pleasure, an amused voice from behind her said, “A woman of taste, I can tell. I put that one in my own living room.” When Teresa turned, the woman held out one hand. “Hi, I’m Rebecca Ballard.”

Joe’s sister-with-a-big-mouth. In her mid to late thirties, she had little in common with him physically except the blue eyes. Her curly brown hair brushed her shoulders, her smile was as warm as a cup of hot chocolate, and she was just a little plump—and undeniably pregnant. Teresa liked her on sight.

“Teresa Burkett,” she introduced herself.

“The new vet.”

“Yes,” she said a little warily.

“Jess told me about you. Jess Kerrigan. She’s my sister. She said you were dating Joe.” Rebecca clapped her hand over her mouth. “And I was to pretend I don’t know,” she said sheepishly.

Teresa grinned. “He did mention the family grapevine.”

“More like a patch of blackberries. You know how fast they spread.”

Teresa’s laugh felt good. “Yes, we had dinner. Your brother seems nice. He took out some trees for me and gave me a good deal.”

“Oh, he’s nice.” Rebecca shook her head. “A little hard to get to know, but don’t let that stop you.”

She wanted badly to ask why he was so guarded, but refrained. This was, after all, a complete stranger. Her struggle must have showed, though.

His sister tilted her head to one side. “I’d love to tell you his life history, but I have a suspicion he’d be annoyed at me.” She thought about it for a moment. “Well, probably not annoyed. Mad as hell. I’d better let him tell you in his own good time.”

“You’re probably right,” Teresa said. “What I’m really here for is help picking out some tile. And window covers. And, heck, I even need a new kitchen sink. You don’t happen to sell those, do you?”

“Nope, but I keep some catalogs on hand, so you can match colors if you’re not planning to go with plain white or stainless steel. The hardware store sells Kohler and a couple of other brands. Shall I dig the catalogs out?”

Teresa spent a happy couple of hours poring over the tiles, carrying them to the vinyl, discussing how best to get the hardwood floors refinished.

“My daughter’s room first,” she said. “Nicole’s miserably unhappy about the move. She keeps bemoaning her old bedroom’s built-in vanity and window seat. Maybe I can shut her up by making her new one equally charming.”

“How old is she?” Rebecca asked.

“Fifteen.”

“You have my sympathy. My son, Alan, was barely sixteen when I met my current husband. Alan didn’t think he liked him, and you wouldn’t believe the stunts he pulled.”

“Oh, I’d believe them,” Teresa said grimly.

Rebecca tilted her head to one side again. “I don’t suppose your daughter is petite, dark-haired and takes French III?”

“That’s her.”

“Ah. Alan’s mentioned her.” Rebecca heaved a wallpaper book onto the counter. “He thinks she’s, uh, pretty.”

“I don’t suppose that’s the word he used.”

Joe’s sister gave her a wry look. “I don’t want to sully your ears with current teenage-boy terminology.”

“Probably no worse than ‘chick’ or ‘babe’ or ‘fox.’” Teresa contemplated briefly. “’Babe’ and ‘baby’ were always my personal pet peeves. They’re so…so…”

“Belittling?” Rebecca asked. “Sort of like going through life as ‘Becky’?”

“Exactly!” Teresa raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t start that way, did you?”

“No. Sam, my husband, asked once if I liked to be called Becky. I told him only if he wanted to be Sammy. That nipped it in the bud.”

“I can see why,” Teresa agreed, amused.

She borrowed samples of tiles, wallpaper and vinyl, then made an appointment for Rebecca to come to the house and take measurements. She’d let Nicole pick out her own wallpaper and window coverings—within reason.

Lugging the wallpaper books, she came in the back door to hear the phone ringing. Both the kids were upstairs. She dropped the books on the table and grabbed the receiver on the fifth ring.

“Hello?”

“Teresa, this is Joe. Joe Hughes.”

“You’re the only Joe I know,” she said. “Hey, a poem.”

He groaned. “Just don’t add another line, okay?”

“All right. I can’t think of anything that rhymes, anyway. Except toe. And no. Neither of which are fraught with possibilities. Unless you want to get kinky.”

Silence. Then, “I won’t answer that one.”

“Very wise.” She leaned against the counter. “So, uh, what can I do for you?”

His voice was low and amused. “Do you want to get kinky?”

She chuckled. “I set myself up for that one, didn’t I?”

“Yup.” She could hear his smile, which sent a flood of warmth through her. “Actually,” he went on, “what I called for was to ask if you’d like to have dinner again.”

“I’d love to,” she said promptly. “If we can make it Saturday night, I could even stay out later than nine o’clock. I don’t work Sunday. It’s Eric’s turn to be on call.”

“Saturday sounds good,” Joe agreed. “How about a movie, too?”

“As long as it’s not too gory.”

“You’re a vet. You’re used to blood and guts.”

“Not human blood.”

“You’d faint if I cut myself?”

“Probably,” she said cheerfully. “There’s a reason I didn’t become an M.D.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you?”

He only laughed. She loved his laugh, a husky rumble that sounded just a little rusty, as if he didn’t laugh often enough. Well, he lived alone, so he probably didn’t. To keep their sense of humor intact, adults required children. Or maybe it worked the other way around: you required a sense of humor to stand your children.

THE WEEK SEEMED LONG without seeing Joe. It was funny, considering she hardly knew him. She watched for him in the grocery store and at stoplights. Logging trucks, a common sight in a town with two lumber mills, reminded her of him. She did see his sister, Jess, once to wave to, and Rebecca came out and took measurements. Teresa craned her neck every time she drove past the auto-body-repair place on Third. She felt like a teenage girl with her first crush. It felt like a first crush; falling in love with Tom had happened an eternity ago. The first flush of romantic feelings were unfamiliar but absurdly sweet.

The saving grace was that she was busy at work. Not doing farm calls; of necessity, Eric handled all of them. Which meant that the clients who arrived with a sick cat or an injured dog had to accept her or go to the other animal hospital in town, where, Eric had told her, the vets seemed to rotate more often than a horse threw shoes. Teresa was accepted. She brought an epileptic spaniel out of a prolonged seizure with phenobarbital, stitched up a Lab that had argued with a car, catheterized a cat with a blocked urethra and removed a fish hook from a dog’s lip. He’d apparently tried to snap up the fly when the owner was practicing casting.

As she calmly handled one emergency after another, it seemed to her that the staff was warming to her. They’d been pleasant but distant thus far: she was their employer, but that didn’t mean they had to like or respect her. She began to hope that they’d decided to do both.

On Friday morning, she had to put down a puppy with parvo. She comforted the owner, thanked the technician who was disposing of the body, then walked into the office and started to cry.

“Dr. Burkett?” someone said uncertainly.

She snatched a tissue and looked up.

Marilyn, the younger of the two technicians on duty, stood in the doorway. “I’m sorry. There’s a phone call—”

“That’s okay.” Teresa gave a wavery smile. “I just hate doing that. I should be colder, shouldn’t I?”

“No.” Marilyn’s smile trembled, too. Her own eyes, now that Teresa looked, were red.

Teresa took the call and saw another client a few minutes later. The routine marched on. But something had changed; for the first time, Marilyn and Libby, the other veterinary technician working that day, invited her to join them for lunch. It felt like a victory.

When Saturday night finally rolled around, Nicole whined only halfheartedly about having to baby-sit her little brother, who made only the obligatory objection to the words “little” and “baby-sit.” Joe knocked on the door promptly at seven, Teresa called goodbye to her kids and whisked out onto the porch.

Joe’s smile was the deliciously slow lazy one that muddled her insides. “Cabin fever?” he asked.

“Kid fever.” She smiled back. “Actually, they’re being good. Amazingly good. I figure if I make a quick escape, it might stay that way.”

Belatedly it occurred to her that, if she was imagining Joe as husband material, she ought to quit complaining about her children. After all, husband also meant stepfather. The way she’d been talking, he must think her kids were hell on wheels.

She made a point over dinner of bragging about them. Which, she realized in amusement, must mean she was thinking about him as a potential husband.

“Mark never seems to lift a finger, but he gets perfect grades. He’ll be starting in the gifted program, which I’m excited about. I know he gets bored sometimes.”

Joe only nodded. His face was annoyingly expressionless. She couldn’t decide whether she was boring him or whether he was only waiting for her to go on. Well, if he was bored—tough. She came as a package with her kids.

“Nicole’s a good student, too, but what she loves—besides boys, of course—is to dance. Ballet and jazz both.”

“There’s a dance school in White Horse, you know.”

“Is there?” She set down her fork. They were eating at a waterfront restaurant on Marine View Drive in Everett. Boats at a marina just below the big windows bobbed gently on quiet shimmering swells. “I hadn’t checked into it yet. I ought to get her started.”

“Two of my nieces dance.” Joe grinned ruefully. “I get to see the recital every year. Thank God they’ve progressed from the junior recital to the senior one. The first year, I thought the three-year-olds in their pink tutus were cute. By the second year, I was wondering why the hell their parents were paying for dance lessons when they were obviously too young even to learn how to stay in line, never mind how to pirouette.”

“I remember those days.” Oh, boy, did she. “Ragged rows of little girls—and an occasional boy whose friends hadn’t yet persuaded him it was unmanly to dance. Usually there’d be a couple who had some vague idea what to do, and one or two sucking their thumbs, frozen in terror. The rest would just kind of wander around.”

“One of my nieces was a thumb sucker. We have it captured for all time on videotape.”

“You sound like a fond uncle.”

His big shoulders moved uneasily, as though he didn’t know how to take compliments. “Yeah, I guess so. Tell you the truth, I’ve tried to stand in for Rebecca’s first husband and Jess’s ex. Neither of them was any great shakes as a parent. Alan especially—Rebecca’s boy—needed a man around sometimes. Before Rebecca remarried of course. I, uh, didn’t mind.”

Okay, so he hadn’t been bored; he liked kids. Definitely husband material. Except that he couldn’t be as good as he looked. Otherwise, why wasn’t he married? Teresa didn’t believe in that “waiting for the right woman” stuff. Just like animals, humans reached an age when they were ready to mate. Occasionally that urge got sidetracked—it often happened to vet students, because they were too busy and too tired for the dating rounds. But Joe must be in his mid-thirties at least. So what had he been doing, instead of marrying?

“How old are you?” she asked.

He looked startled, but answered willingly enough. “Thirty-six. You?”

“Thirty-five. And yes, before you count back, I had Nicole before I started veterinary school. I must have been nuts. Fortunately, while Tom may have had his flaws, he was a great father. We did wait to have Mark until I was done with my schooling, though.”

“Does Mark even remember his father?”

“Yes, but his memories are fading,” she said with sharp regret. “He was in his second day of kindergarten when I had to meet him at the bus with the news that his dad was dead. It’s natural that he’ll forget him. I mean, all you have to do is think back. If you’re like me, you can hardly remember your kindergarten days.”

“I remember them.” Before she could begin to speculate about what his flat tone meant, he added, “That must mean you just passed the anniversary of your husband’s death. Does it still hit you hard?”

“It has before, but not so much this year.” She made a face. “I was so damned mad at a farmer who decided he didn’t really need a vet when he saw me get out of the car, it carried me through the day.”

His mouth had an odd twist. “Anger is a useful emotion.”

“Mmm.” All she had to do was remember the days after Tom’s death. “Very.”

Joe glanced at his watch. “Still in the mood for a movie?”

“You bet. I even looked at the listings in the paper. I don’t suppose you like sword and sorcery?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Swordplay usually leads to some blood and gore. Don’t I remember that being forbidden?”

“It’s different from a contemporary shoot ’em up,” she tried to explain. “Less realistic. In a fantasy, the blood doesn’t count.”

He loomed above her as he helped her out of her chair. More of that sense of being fragile and feminine that she usually hated. “I think you’re splitting hairs,” he said in amusement.

“Swirling capes and galloping horses are romantic.”

“The truth comes out! All women want is romance.”

She had to ask. “Is there something wrong with romance?”

Their eyes met, held. Her skin tingled. “No,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing wrong with romance.”

The other patrons and the hovering waitress blurred; for a heartbeat, only the two of them existed. Then she blinked, or he did, and the moment passed. He was laying some bills on the table, thanking the waitress, holding out Teresa’s sweater for her. Slipping her arms into it, Teresa gave her head a small shake. Had she imagined the intensity of that look?

Then Joe’s eyes met hers again, and she thought, No. I didn’t imagine it. Why else was he so wary now?

Her dates in recent years had taken her to French restaurants and the symphony and the opera. When half an hour later she settled into the plush seat at the movie theater, her upper arm just brushing Joe’s, Teresa decided this was more romantic, no matter what movie was projected onto the big screen.

The lights were already dimming; she was very conscious of the man so close beside her. She felt his every breath, knew when he glanced at her, even though she pretended to watch the previews. Would he put his arm around her? She would have liked to lay her hand on his thigh. Her eyes and the nearly forgotten recesses of her memory told her it would be solid, bulky. The muscles might ripple under her touch.

She swallowed hard, disconcerted by the strength of her longing. What was wrong with her?

Joe reached out and took her hand. She jumped, and he whispered, “Sorry,” and started to let her go.

She grabbed his hand and held on. His went still for a surprised moment, then relaxed and returned her clasp. He exhaled what might have been a chuckle.

Then he lifted their clasped hands and laid them on his thigh. Oh God, had he read her mind? He shifted in his seat, and the muscles under the fabric of his pants bunched. Teresa sat motionless, taking in every sensation. Heaven.

It wasn’t Joe in particular, she told herself in panic; it couldn’t be, not so quickly. He must just represent something to her—solidity, masculinity, a calm reassuring presence. A sexy body, honesty made her add; a sensual mouth, hands that knew how to touch a woman. In other words, a man. She’d turned into that pathetic creature, a sex-starved widow who’d take whatever she could get.

Well, no. She’d had other chances to take, and turned them down. This was the first time she’d been tempted to grab and hold on. Literally and figuratively. So maybe it was Joe. Maybe him in particular, or because he represented whatever she’d been looking for when she bought into the White Horse Animal Hospital and practice.

It might be fun to find out.

Eventually Joe let her hand go, and she made a tiny noise of disappointment she prayed he hadn’t heard. But apparently he’d only released her so that he could put his arm around her shoulders. Now he tugged her closer to his warmth. Of course, the arm of the theater seat dug into her rib cage, but who was noticing? The feel of his mouth against her hair was far too tantalizing.

After a while, he murmured, “Ever necked in a movie theater?”

She sneaked a glance around to make sure no one had sat near them. Only a few others were scattered throughout the theater. The movie had been out for weeks and was probably about ready to disappear from Everett. Nobody was nearby at all.

“Not since I was young enough for a curfew.”

“Me, neither. Want to pretend we’re too young and horny to wait until we can find a deserted side road?”

Pretend. Oh, sure. She could do that. “Why not?” she whispered, and turned her head to meet his mouth. Pure excitement shot through her. It added eagerness and urgency to their kiss from the moment his lips claimed hers.

They kept it discreet. Nobody moaned or whimpered. Joe didn’t rip her clothes off or throw her down onto the sloping aisle. Not, as far as she was concerned, for lack of wanting. After the first few seconds, pretty much anything would have been fine with her. Which was, when she thought about it for a fleeting moment, alarming. What was happening to her?

Whatever it was, it felt good. His hand brushed her breast, cupped it. His teeth grazed her neck. She nipped the lobe of his ear. She tasted the skin at the base of his strong brown throat. She kneaded the muscles on his shoulders and neck. She hadn’t the slightest idea what happened to the sorceress in distress up on the movie screen. She didn’t care.

When the credits rolled, they rearranged their clothing to leave. Teresa was very careful not to look at anyone else, just in case they’d glanced over their shoulders and noticed the couple in back. She didn’t want to face a knowing smile or disapproving frown. Blast it, she was blushing again!

Thank God, she thought suddenly, that Nicole hadn’t made any friends! What if one of them had seen her mother carry on this way? Nicole would have run away from home.

Teresa wasn’t eager to meet Joe’s eyes, either. They passed through the lobby and out into the night. A mist scented the air and glistened off the pavement and car windshields under the yellow sodium lamps. Joe unlocked the passenger door first and held it open for her. Inside, she stared straight ahead while he circled the pickup and climbed in behind the wheel. He didn’t start the engine. She felt his gaze.

“I don’t suppose you want to find that deserted road.”

“I, uh, don’t think that’d be such a good idea.”

“Are you embarrassed or mad?”

She appreciated his bluntness. It made it easier to turn toward him. “Embarrassed,” she admitted.

“I don’t usually act like a randy teenager.”

“I didn’t do any better.”

“I enjoyed it,” he confessed.

“Me, too.”

“Then?” He waited.

“Oh, heck.” She fidgeted with the seat belt. “I just don’t want you to think—”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, well, since we’ve settled that…”

He must have liked her sarcasm, because he laughed. “I’ll give you a chaste good-night kiss. On the cheek.”

“Something to live for.”

He laughed again, the sound less rusty than the first time she’d heard it. She had some use in life.

The good-night kiss wasn’t all that chaste. But this time, there wasn’t any potential audience, either. Her legs felt a little shaky when Joe walked her to the front door. She didn’t want him to go tonight, either, which made her wonder with renewed panic where, and how quickly, this relationship was headed. How long would he—would she—be content with kisses? Was she really ready to have an affair with a man she hadn’t met three weeks ago?

And in all honesty she had to admit she didn’t know him very well. They talked, they laughed, but he hadn’t let her see below the surface. Maybe he had no profound secrets, but everyone had a darker side. Every time she edged too close to a truly personal issue, his face went expressionless. Even kissing her, he hadn’t yet reached the edge of control. How could she make love with a man she’d never seen angry, despairing, laughing helplessly? She wanted to know that he went deeper than amusement, amiable charm, lazy sensuality.

Maybe she was expecting too much after two dates—well, counting the lunch, two and a half. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything to goad him to anger or despair, or that she was all that funny.

But then, she shouldn’t be thinking about making love with him, either. It was too soon.

Oh, how she wished it wasn’t.