Читать книгу I'll Be Home for Christmas and One Golden Christmas: I'll Be Home For Christmas / One Golden Christmas - Lenora Worth, Rachel Hauck - Страница 12

The next week passed in a busy rush for Myla. After getting the children back in school, and finding a church nearby to attend while she was working for Nick, she fell into the daily routine of cleaning and cooking, and learning more about Nick’s life. Each detail drew her closer to the man who’d reluctantly saved her from the streets, and each detail showed her that Nick needed to find his own faith again. He’d refused her invitation to attend church.

“I send them a hefty check each month,” he informed her. “I catch up on paperwork on Sundays.”

“You should rest, and spend the day in worship,” she replied. And have some fun, she wanted to add.

He’d shot her one of his famous scowls, but his words hadn’t been as harsh as he’d have her believe. “You should mind your own business.”

“Yes, sir.” She certainly knew her place, and she needed the money. She’d have to be more cautious in her resolve to help him spiritually. And more cautious about her growing feelings for her employer.

But how could she resist being drawn to this intriguing man? She watched him leaving the house in a hurry each morning at the crack of dawn. He hardly bothered to stop and sip the coffee and orange juice she had waiting. She watched him come dragging in at night to wolf down the dinners she prepared before he went straight into his spacious office and clicked on the computer. Nick often worked long into the night. She knew, because she couldn’t sleep very well in her new surroundings and she’d seen the light on in his office many times.

Myla had had an instinctive urge to go and check on Nick in the middle of the night, the way she used to do with her late husband. But that wasn’t part of her official duties. And neither was being so attracted to him.

Her duties this morning involved cleaning the master bedroom. As she stood in the wide upper hallway, she prayed for guidance.

Dear Lord, give me the strength to get my work done, and not think about the man who’s helped me so much.

But the minute she entered the big masculine room decorated with tasteful plaids and subtle stripes, Nick’s presence shouted out at her. His suit from yesterday was draped across the standing valet. Out of habit, she brushed it out and hung it up, so he could wear it once more before she took it to the cleaners.

His shoes were shelved in the long, well-lit closet off the dressing room. He had several pairs, some black and brown leather, some gleaming white athletics, all expensive and classic in design, just like their owner. His shirt, impeccably white, was tossed on a chair, waiting to be laundered and pressed at the cleaners, along with all his other tailored shirts.

So much about Nick’s habits reminded her of Sonny. Sonny had been a perfectionist, almost fanatical in his demands. Nick wasn’t quite that bad, as far as she could tell. He demanded loyalty, hard work, and the best in everything—but he demanded those things in himself first and foremost.

Myla picked up the shirt, catching the scent of his spicy, crisp aftershave. The shirt spoke of the man. Solid, honest, clean. And lost. He was a good man, but he was a lonely, sad man. His quiet, aloof nature drew her to him, then his rare burst through smiles and dry humor held her.

She couldn’t fight her feelings, but she reminded herself she’d been on the bottom for so long, coming up for air was scary. She couldn’t read anything into Nick’s smiles and concerned gestures. He was just being kind. And he was used to having someone wait on him hand and foot. He was selfish and stubborn at times, and other times, he was caring and compassionate. Just his nature. She didn’t think she was ready to deal with another domineering male just yet, though.

“Come on, Myla,” she told herself as she hastily cleaned the large, elegant room. “You work for him. He gave you a job and a place to stay and food for your children. Nothing more. He owes you nothing.”

Since she was alone in a twenty-room mansion, she could talk out loud. “And I owe him everything.”

Silently, she thanked the Lord for giving her this reprieve and remembered that she’d promised to do things differently this time.

Moving into the bathroom, she cleaned the large garden tub with a new vigor, putting images of Nick Rudolph’s handsome face out of her mind. Then she hurried out of the room, determined to stick to business.

And ran right smack into the arms of the very man she was trying to escape.

Myla’s dust rag and cleaning supplies went in one direction and her armful of laundry went in the other as she plowed into Nick, sending him back against the sturdy oak railing on the second floor landing.

Catching her just as his back hit the banister, Nick gripped her shoulders to keep both of them from toppling down the stairs. “Goodness, is there a fire in there?”

She leaned against him in relief. “Nick, you scared me!”

“I’ll say. Are you all right?”

Myla glanced up at him, embarrassed and acutely aware of his arms holding her. She had to learn not to be so clumsy! “I’m fine. What are you doing home so early?”

Nick hesitated, his smile as wry as ever. Then she noticed with a mother’s keen eye, he looked flushed and his dark eyes were glazed over with a red-rimmed heat.

Concerned, she automatically put a palm to his forehead. “Why, you’re burning up with fever!”

He pushed her away with a gentle shove. “Tell me something I don’t know. Don’t get too close. According to my friend and racquetball partner, Dr. Loeffler, I’ve got the flu. That’s the only way he’d ever beat me and he knows it.”

Myla kicked her scattered cleaning supplies out of the way and steered him toward his room. “You went to work like this, and played racquetball! Honestly, don’t you ever know when to quit?”

He drew his brows together, amused at her righteous indignation and her bossy nature. “I felt kind of tired this morning, but things got progressively worse as the day wore on. Dr. Loeffler checked me over after our game and told me to get home. Guess he couldn’t believe he’d actually beaten me.”

Myla clucked over him with all the vigor of a mother hen. “Will you stop making jokes and get into bed? I’ll make you some chicken soup and get you some medicine for that fever. What did the doctor tell you to do?”

Nick gave her a lopsided grin. “He told me to let a beautiful woman serve me chicken soup and give me something for my fever.”

Laughter bubbled in her throat, but she managed to keep her tone stern. “You’re impossible. You’d better be all tucked in when I come back.”

“Yes, ma’am, Nurse Myla.”

She put both hands on her hips. “And don’t expect me to baby you. I’m busy and you need to rest. I know you must really feel horrible. You never come home early.”

He sent her a mock scowl. “No, I don’t, but I still intend to get some work done. So, hand me my briefcase before you head down to concoct your flu survival kit.”

Hissing her disapproval, she picked up the heavy leather satchel he’d left on a chair. Shoving it at his midsection, she said, “You do love your work, that’s for sure.”

Nick watched as she pranced out of the room, then he dropped like a lead weight onto the big bed. Holding his hands around the stuffed briefcase, he nodded to himself. He did love his work, but right now it was the last thing on his mind.

He fell back in a heap against the fluffy plaid pillows. Well, if a man’s gotta be sick, he reflected with a grin, at least it helps to have a spunky redheaded nurse waiting on him hand and foot. This might turn out to be a good thing. He could actually enjoy being here, that is, if his body would just stop hurting all over.

A few minutes later, Myla was back with the promised soup and medicine, glad to see he was dressed in a blue sweat suit. He sat propped against pillows with paperwork scattered all around him, and a laptop computer centered in front of him on the bed.

“Are you going to eat and then rest?” she questioned as she set the bed tray down in front of him, then pulled the laptop away.

Giving her a mock angry glare, he brought the laptop back beside him. “Can you spoon-feed me?” he teased, enjoying the way her denim skirt whirled around her boots as she fussed with his discarded clothes.

“I don’t think so,” she retorted, a smile creasing her lips in spite of her reprimanding look. “You don’t seem that weak to me.”

“Gee, such a caring nurse.”

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, taking his droll humor seriously. “I’m just not used to you being home during the day. You’ve thrown me completely off schedule.”

Nick knew his smile was awfully smug. He’d also brought a becoming blush to her apple cheeks. He liked knowing that his presence distracted her. That meant she was interested. Although, he reassured himself as he watched the winter sun dancing off her radiant auburn hair, he really didn’t have time to indulge in a relationship. And he had no earthly idea where this one was going.

He put the laptop aside, then sampled the soup before sitting back to stare up at her. “I think you’re just not used to me, period. But I’d say, all in all, this arrangement is working out okay. Other than that one unfortunate incident with Shredder and that overgrown puppy of Carolyn’s, you and the children haven’t been any trouble, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not,” she said, backing away, memories of being in his arms in the middle of the kitchen floor reminding her that she needed to concentrate on her job. “I’d better get back to work.”

“Myla, wait.” He gave her a questioning look. “Tell me how you do it?”

A look of confusion colored her green eyes. “Do what?”

“Keep that serene expression on your face. After everything you’ve been through, including putting up with my demands, you seem so at peace.”

She looked up then, her not-so-serene gaze meeting his. “I found my strength again,” she said simply. “I found my faith again, after I thought I’d lost it forever.”

Uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation, he said, “How’d you manage a thing like that?”

She lifted her chin. “Prayer. You know, Nick, when you have nothing left, you always have prayer.”

No, he didn’t know that. It had been a very long time since he’d relied on prayer. “Why…how did you lose your strength?”

She backed farther away, like a frightened bird about to take flight. “I don’t want to discuss that.”

“I’d really like to know…and to understand.”

When she didn’t answer immediately, he said, “Look, I’ll take my medicine, and I promise I’ll eat my soup. Sit down in that chair over there and talk to me.”

Myla hesitated only a minute. Wanting him to see that he, too, could find his strength in faith, she sat down and watched as he diligently took two pills with a glass of juice; then, his eyes on her, he dutifully ate his soup.

Satisfied that he’d finish the soup, she leaned back for a minute. “You see, at one time, I thought God had abandoned me.”

Surprised, he stopped eating. Funny, he’d thought that very thing himself, right after burying his father. “Why would you think that? You seem so sure about all this religious stuff.”

She lowered her head, her hands wringing together, her eyes misty with memories. “I wasn’t so sure for a while. Because of something I did, or rather, something I didn’t do—and I’d rather not talk about it. It took me a long time to see that God hadn’t abandoned me. It was the other way around.”

“You mean, you abandoned Him?”

She nodded. “I gave up on Him. I didn’t think I was worthy of His love.”

“Why would you think a thing like that?”

“I had it drummed into me enough,” she said, then gasped. “Oh, never mind. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well, you did. What do you mean?”

When she didn’t speak, Nick sat up to stare across at her. “Does this have something to do with your husband?”

Her silence told him everything he needed to know. And brought out all the protective instincts he’d tried so hard to ignore. “Myla, did your husband do something to hurt you?”

Myla didn’t want to cry. She’d learned not to cry. But now, after she’d heard Nick voice the truth, her worst secrets floated up to the surface of her consciousness, causing the tears to roll down her cheeks like a torrent of rain coming from a black cloud. Holding her eyes tightly shut, she tried to block out the painful memories. She couldn’t let him see her like this. Lifting out of the chair, she said, “I need to get back to work.”

Nick moved his tray away with a clatter and stood up. “Myla, did you and he…was it a good marriage?”

She bit her bottom lip, then gave him a soul-weary look. “In the beginning, yes. But, it turned ugly after a few years.”

Nick closed his eyes, then opened them to look at her with dread. “Did he…did he abuse you?”

She brought her hands up to her face and cried softly.

Nick pulled her hands away, his eyes searching her face. “Did he?”

“No, not physically,” she said, her hands automatically gripping his. “Nick, please don’t make me talk about this now.” She didn’t want the bond they had developed to be destroyed, not yet.

“I want…I need to know,” he said, his voice husky, his words gentle. “I won’t judge you, Myla.”

But she was afraid he would, just as so many others had. “I’m…not ready to tell you everything.”

The pain in her green eyes stopped Nick from pushing her any further. Instead, he said, “What can I do, to help you?”

She looked up at him, unable to ask for his help, unable to ask for his understanding.

But Nick knew instinctively that she needed both. So before she could bolt, he tugged her into his arms and rocked her gently, as if she were a child who needed reassuring. “No more questions,” he promised. “But if you want to cry, you go right ahead.”

Myla did cry. Shutting her eyes tightly closed, she let him hold her for a while, thankful that he didn’t press her any further about her marriage. Just to be held, unconditionally, that was comfort enough for now.

“All right,” he said after a while, letting go to pat her shoulder. “Feel better now?” At her silent nod, he added, “You can’t keep this inside. Lydia knows people, therapists and counselors, who can help you. And…I want to help, too.”

She lifted her head, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, resolve settling back over her like a protective winter cloak. With a shaky smile, she said, “You’re a fine one to be giving me advice. I am a lot better now, though, really.”

He looked doubtful. “How can you say that?”

“I told you, I found my faith again—alone, on a dark cold night. I was huddled in the car with the children, with nothing left…nothing. In the moonlight, I saw my worn Bible lying on the dashboard. I hadn’t read it in months. I did that night, though, with a flashlight. While my children slept in the cold, I found my faith again in that single beam of light, and I cried long and hard, and I prayed, really prayed, for the first time in a very long time.”

Nick swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. “What did you find there in that light, that helped you?”

She sniffed, then lifted her head. “He said He would not leave me comfortless, but I had forgotten that promise. In First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, verse thirteen, the Bible says, ‘And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three: but the greatest of these is love’.”

Nick stood there, his heart trembling. Love. The one thing he’d been so afraid of since his father’s breakdown and death. “How did that verse sustain you?”

She smiled then. “I knew that no matter what, I had my children with me and I loved them above all else, except the Lord. They were my gift, and no matter what kind of life I’d had with their father, they were my responsibility. Love, Nick. Love is the greatest gift of all. It gives us our strength. It gives us a reason to go on living, even when we’d rather curl up and sleep. I realized that God gave us unconditional love when He sent His son to save us from our sins. I realized that God hadn’t abandoned me. He was reaching out to me on that dark night.”

Nick sighed, his own fears cresting in the midst of her eloquent story. “But…unconditional love is so hard to give and so very hard to expect. To love so completely, you have to give up so much control. How can you trust something that abstract, something that can make you seem so weak?”

“That’s the whole point,” she said, her expression changing from sorrowful to hopeful. “Love doesn’t make us weak, Nick. Love gives us the strength to go on. That night, alone and afraid, I remembered God’s unconditional love for me. I’d lost that, as well as my trust. I’d been emotionally stripped of that love and that trust, by a man who didn’t know how to give either.”

“Your husband.”

She nodded, then stepped back. “I’m all right now. I won’t be afraid of the dark, ever again. I made a promise to take care of my children. They don’t deserve to have to live like this—they didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Neither did you. You seem so brave. Is that for your children’s sake?”

“I have to be strong, for them.”

Nick felt his heart melting in half. He’d never seen such a fierce defense of love, or heard such a strong testimony. She had come to him with nothing, yet she had more to give than any woman he’d ever known. “Is there anything I can do?”

Unable to look at him, Myla couldn’t speak about her pain. Leaning close, she whispered, “Just hold me again.”

He did, for a long while, his arms wrapping her in what little protection he could offer. Finally, he brought a hand up to her chin so he could wipe her tears away. Gazing down at her, Nick wanted badly to kiss her.

But Myla stood back, her voice clear once again. “You’d better rest. And I’d better get away from you. I don’t have time to get the flu.”

He laughed at that. “Always the practical one.” Leaning back down on the bed, he added, “I am feeling a little wobbly. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine now,” she said as she lifted his tray away, her eyes downcast. “Do you need anything else?”

He looked up at her, thinking how right it seemed to have her here with him, thinking he needed her strength. “No, thanks. You’ve spoiled me quite enough, I believe.”

His words soothed Myla like a balm. “Nick?” she called from the door.

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you, for understanding.”

He wanted to tell her he didn’t understand, really. But the weight of sleep blocked out his reply. He didn’t understand how one minute he could be so sure, so secure in his firm, smug convictions, then the next, begin to doubt everything he stood for.

He wasn’t as fearful as he should be. He wasn’t so much afraid of reaching out for love now. Myla had done that for him. She’d opened up her heart and told him a story of faith that left him humbled and ashamed. For so long now, he’d been afraid of the power of love. He’d believed loving someone could make a person weak, just as his grieving, dying father had become. But he’d been so very wrong. Nick needed to hold Myla again, just to be held himself.

Instead, he reached for his pillow and buried his dreams and his doubts in a deep, troubled sleep.

Nick woke hours later to find his room dark, except for the flickering light from the fire someone had lit in the sitting area fireplace. The room was cozy, but a flash of thunder and lightning told of the wintry chill settling over the city. He shuddered to think Myla and her children could have been out there, alone, in that cold night. And he wondered how many people were cold and shivering and afraid this night.

Groaning, Nick rolled over, acutely aware of his own discomfort. This was a mean flu bug, that was for sure.

His throat felt like he’d swallowed a jalapeño pepper and his head throbbed with each beat of his pulse. Craving a long, hot shower, he rose to calculate the distance to the bathroom. A bold knock hit the bedroom door before he could attempt the trip, causing a ricocheting rumble in his head.

“Come in,” he called in a raspy voice.

Lydia popped her head in the door. “Well, big brother, sleeping the day away won’t get your Christmas shopping done.”

He moaned, rolling over to face the fire. “Go away.”

“Glad you’re feeling better,” she replied as she tossed him a bag of prescription medicines. “Dr. Loeffler sent you these—antibiotics and a decongestant. He said to take all of it.”

“He’s just trying to poison me so I won’t beat him at racquetball again.” Giving her a false smile, he added, “I don’t like being sick.”

Lydia handed him two drawings. “Maybe these will cheer you up.”

Nick grinned. Jesse had reproduced the kitchen disaster, complete with Shredder sitting on the ceiling fan and Pooky lapping away amidst a pile of food. Patrick had drawn a Christmas tree loaded with colorful gifts.

“Your two biggest fans send their regards. Aren’t those two adorable?”

Nick laid the pictures on the nightstand. “Yeah, and very well-behaved, as far as children go. Lydia, has Myla told you anything about their past?”

“A little. Why?”

“We had a long talk today. She’s had a rough time, but she won’t tell me exactly what happened in her marriage.”

Lydia sat down to stare at her brother. “Well, don’t press her. I introduced her to Reverend Hillard. I’m sure he can give her some spiritual guidance.”

“Maybe,” Nick said, remembering the story Myla had told him. “But I think her faith’s intact. It’s her self-esteem I’m worried about.”

Lydia sat up, her eyes squinting toward him. “You’re worse off than I thought. Did I hear you say something good about someone’s faith? And that you’re actually aware of another person’s mental stability?”

He nodded, then shot her a wry smile. “Yes, you did. I want to help her, Lydia. She’s a good woman.”

“Well, praise the Lord.” Lydia hopped up to give her brother a breath-stopping hug. “Oh, Nicky, I knew you’d come around. You really want to help, really, really?”

“Yes, really, really,” he said, laughing. “I’d be a real Scrooge if I didn’t see how much Myla and her children have been through. But don’t make more out of this than it is. I think this flu’s gone to my head.”

“Or maybe Myla’s gone to your heart,” Lydia said softly. “After all, it is Christmas. A time for miracles.”

He patted her on the back. “I’d forgotten what a joyous time it can be. And I’m sorry, really sorry, for being so hard to live with since Father’s death.”

She kissed him on the temple. “No need to apologize. Welcome back, Nick.”

When Nick came out of the bathroom, his food was sitting on a tray in front of the leather armchair by the fireplace. Glancing around, he was disappointed that Myla wasn’t there to make sure he ate everything on his plate. He still had a lot of questions to ask her.

Lydia was right. He did have a soft spot in his heart for Myla and her two children. And the spot was opening to include other possibilities such as attending church and opening the Bible he’d tossed aside years ago.

He should be scared, yet when he searched for the old fear, he only found a new, growing strength. Now, he was beginning to dread the time when Myla would have to leave.

Two weeks until Christmas. Usually, this old house was hushed and quiet around this time of year, haunted by the memory of his parents. Not this year. This year, things were going to be different.

A soft knock at the door caused him to put down the spoonful of beef stew he’d been about to eat. Two reddish blond heads bobbed just above the ornate door handle. Patrick and Jesse eyed him curiously.

“You two going to stand out in the hall all night, or are you going to get in here before your mother catches you?”

“We ain’t supposed to be here,” Patrick said in a small whisper. “But we wanted to say hi.”

“It’s aren’t—we aren’t supposed to be here,” Jesse corrected as she pushed Patrick into the room.

Patrick made a face at his sister’s redundancy. “I know that. That’s what I just said.”

“Where’s your mother?” Nick asked, smiling at them.

Jesse tossed her ponytail. “Talking to Miss Lydia. Mama’s gonna go to school at night and she’s looking for another job, for when Miss Henny comes home. We’ll just have to live in the shelter for a while, that’s all.”

Nick didn’t want to think about that, so he changed the subject to more pleasant things. “Well, Santa’ll be coming soon,” he said, hoping to find two worthy allies in the children. “What do you want him to bring you?”

Both children rushed to his side, talking at once. Nick heard it all, registered each request and vowed to travel to the North Pole if he had to, just to get them all the loot they wanted.

“And what about your mom?”

“Oh, that’s kinda hard,” Jesse said, giggling. “Mama wants stuff you can’t find in the mall.”

“Yeah, like what?”

Jesse settled down on the floor, wiping her nose with her hand. “She wants a house, of course. She talks about having a home of her own again. And she wants a job. She doesn’t like not having any money. Oh, and once, she told us she’d like a long soak in a tub of hot water, then get dressed up in a pretty green dress for a special Christmas dinner. She loves to cook, you know.”

Nick once again marveled at the simple things he’d taken for granted. Clearing his suddenly clogged throat, he said, “Are you sure that’s all she wants?”

Thinking for a minute, her nose scrunched, Jesse held her hands wide. “Oh, and roses. She loves yellow roses.”

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, and one day, Daddy got real mad and mowed all of hers down.”

Nick went still inside. Trying to keep his tone light and casual, he asked, “Why would he do a thing like that?”

“’Cause she didn’t have dinner ready on time,” Jesse said in a matter-of-fact voice. “She cried when he wasn’t looking.”

Dinner. No wonder she’d tried so hard to make his dinner party a success. No wonder she’d been so shaken when it had gone bad. She was used to fixing things up, hiding her fear behind a false bravado.

Patrick pulled on Nick’s sleeve, bringing him out of his numbed state. “I don’t want much, Mr. Nick. I just wish we didn’t have to leave here, ever.”

Nick was beginning to wish that very same thing.

Before Nick could reply, however, the door swung open and Myla stomped into the room, a mother’s wrath apparent in her expression. “What in the world! You two are supposed to be in bed! How’d you get up here?”

“We snuck by you,” Patrick blurted out in spite of his sister’s glaring look.

“That’s obvious enough.” Myla pointed a finger toward the door. “Get back downstairs with Miss Lydia. Do you both want to catch the flu?”

“I didn’t breathe on them,” Nick said, glad to find a light moment in the children’s misdeeds. “And I’m glad they came by for a visit. I was getting downright lonely.”

“Want us to stay awhile?” Patrick offered hopefully.

“No, he doesn’t,” his mother interjected. “Go on down. I’ll come and read to you and help you with your prayers in a little while.”

Nick managed a chuckle as he watched the children scoot out of the room. “Well, you certainly got rid of those two varmints.”

She looked at his half-eaten food. “Why didn’t you eat your supper?”

“I wasn’t very hungry.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“A little. I heard you and Lydia were plotting down there.”

“Planning,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“I’ve never looked at it that way.”

She started to take the tray, but his hand shot out to stop her. “Myla, could we talk some more?”

“No,” she said, not daring to look at him. “I’d rather not.”

“I won’t press you about your life before,” he said. “I just have some questions, about…this unconditional love about which you speak so highly.”

She glanced up then, her eyes wide. “You want to discuss…religion?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling slightly. “I think I’d like that.”

And so they talked. She told him the stories of the Bible that he’d forgotten. As she talked, memories washed over him; memories of his mother, telling him these very same stories, her faith as strong and as shining as Myla’s. How could he have forgotten the beauty in that? How could he have let it slip so far away?

After Myla said a gentle prayer for him to feel better, both physically and spiritually, he sat in the darkness alone, watching the fire. And realized he was tired of being alone in the dark.

Then it hit him—Myla had said something earlier about being afraid of the darkness. They were so alike, he and his Myla. They’d both been out in the cold for too long. Together, maybe they could find the warmth of that unconditional love she’d told him about. Together, with the help of a higher being watching over them.

Outside, the rain fell in cold, indiscriminate sheets and Nick shuddered, thinking again that she might have been out there tonight, all alone and frightened.

But she wasn’t out there. For some strange reason, God had sent her to him instead. He wouldn’t take that obligation lightly.

“Not again, Myla,” he whispered to the fire. “Not ever again, if I can help it.”

Then he did something he hadn’t done in a very long time. He folded his hands and he prayed.