Читать книгу The Christmas Date - Michele Dunaway - Страница 4

Tyler Nichols was a man used to being stared at.

At six foot three, with dark brown hair and a cheeky smile that some women claimed was almost as sexy as Brad Pitt’s, Tyler attracted the ladies the way nectar drew honeybees.

But the leggy brunette giving him the once-over didn’t have a chance of holding his interest this morning. Nor did a redhead as he strode on by, his expensive, though well-worn, leather camera case slung over his shoulder.

Tyler grimaced as a burly man brushed by him and bullied his way to the front of the line, as if being first meant he would get to the baggage-claim area faster. Perhaps the guy hadn’t learned everyone waited for the people movers at Orlando International Airport.

Welcome back to America, land of the Hurry, Hurry, Hurry, It’s All About Me mentality. Tyler glanced at his watch and grinned. Maybe the man had an early meeting and his flight had landed late. Tyler was actually ahead of schedule; no one expected him until December 3.

“That guy was pushy, wasn’t he?”

Tyler turned around, letting his brown-eyed gaze rove over the striking redhead who had followed him into the train. She smiled, shooting him all the right signals, but then again, she didn’t know she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Any unmarried man would be interested, but unfortunately for her, romantic dalliances weren’t anywhere near the top of Tyler’s list today. He’d spent the past three months in Iraq, and today he had places to go and work to attend to—like the stacks of mail that had piled up during his overseas assignment. So he gave the redhead a nonchalant shrug and gripped the steel pole as she moved away, quickly masking her disappointment in his lack of interest.

Moments after announcements in both English and Spanish told passengers to stay clear of the closing doors, the train whisked passengers toward their luggage. Tyler took a moment to reflect on the work he had done in Iraq. Maybe a Pulitzer Prize awaited him for his photographs from Iraq. Perhaps this upcoming year he would receive the accolades that had so far eluded him.

In the more than eleven years he’d been a news photographer, Tyler had been through wars, natural disasters and presidential elections. He’d covered coups, uprisings and Oscar celebrations. He’d crawled on his belly through underbrush, gone without bathing for days and even once trekked into the heart of the South American rain forest, as mysterious as ever but unfortunately, rapidly disappearing.

Women were drawn by his exotic job, until they realized that he wasn’t the type to settle down. He kept no pets or plants, and rented a one-bedroom apartment.

Well, he used to rent an apartment. Now, thanks to his twin sister, Tyler was a home owner. He’d bought the place sight unseen two months ago, giving his sister power of attorney to make the purchase. She’d sent him a text message once the deed was done.

He hadn’t really wanted the responsibility of a house. To him, owning one reeked of permanence. But his accountant and his lawyer sister had insisted that Tyler needed the mortgage-interest deduction for his taxes. They’d convinced him that buying a home was a better long-term investment than buying a condominium.

His twin must have done a good job, because Tyler’s mother had e-mailed him that she’d found his new place charming. Of course she added that she hoped it was a “step in the right direction”—in other words, that he was settling down.

The train came to a smooth stop and Tyler allowed the others to exit first, including the redhead, who gave him one last glance. He readjusted his camera bag and once again ignored her, too busy contemplating the tasks ahead.

KATE MERRILL was running late. Since her boss would be in court all morning, Kate had set her alarm for an extra half hour of sleep. What she hadn’t intended was for the alarm clock to malfunction and not ring at all. She’d woken up more than an hour late, showered and thrown herself together in less than twenty minutes. The moment she’d turned the key in her car, she’d remembered her fuel gauge was on empty.

She pulled into a gas station and her compact car sputtered to a stop. She glanced at the clock on the dash before hopping out. Nine-fifteen. She was supposed to pick up those depositions at the opposing counsel’s law firm at nine-thirty. If the traffic gods were kind, she just might make it.

She swiped her credit card, cursed that even bottom-grade unleaded gas was up ten cents for the third time in two weeks, and wondered how the guy in the Hummer on the other side of the pump could afford the behemoth he was driving.

And didn’t he know how bad those vehicles were for the environment? Sighing, Kate positioned the hose in the gas tank and went to clean her windshield. Her wiper blades needed replacing and last night’s winter rain had been mostly drizzle, meaning her windshield was dusty. The temperature had been wacky lately, as well, likely due to global warming caused by whoever was driving the beast on the other side of her. He or she probably got only fifteen miles to the gallon, whereas Kate averaged at least twenty-five on a good day—which this was turning out not to be. At least she didn’t have too far to go to reach the other lawyer’s office. Of course, after that she’d have another half-hour drive back to the law firm of Murray, Evans and Jasper, where she’d been working as Marshall Evans’s paralegal since graduating from college five years ago. She hoped no one had noticed she hadn’t made it in this morning as she had been scheduled to.

Kate resisted the urge to curse as she found an empty container where the squeegee should have been. She glanced over to the next bucket. Nothing in that one, either. Great. She stepped between the pole and the pump, checking to see if the Hummer’s driver had the windshield-cleaning wand. He did, and as he turned from lowering his driver’s-side wiper blade, Kate froze.

The man in front of her was tall—at least six feet to her five foot five. His closed lips were full and perfect. His hair was dark and silky and curled at his nape. He needed a haircut, but like a rock star, he could get by without one—the shagginess added character. His chest, under a short-sleeved maroon polo shirt, was broad and toned. Light hair dusted his forearms. He was, as the girls in the office would say, to die for.

He seemed to sense she was staring, because he frowned and said, “Uh, can I help you?”

Kate cringed. She knew what he saw: pale skin lacking any natural Southern suntan, dark blond hair confined in the tight knot she always wore to work. She was nothing special at all.

Unlike him.

She gathered her composure, determined to show him how unaffected she was. After all, he probably had the ego to match his looks. Guys like him always did.

“Are you done with that?” She arched an eyebrow and pointed to the black plastic object in his hand.

“Yeah. Sure.” He gave her a bemused look and held out the handle. Kate’s fingers accidentally brushed his as she took the squeegee from him.

“Thanks.” She turned to dip the sponge in the washer fluid then began to clean her front windows.

In the meantime, the pump clicked off, signaling her tank was full. She hadn’t heard the Hummer’s pump shut off, but she assumed it had, since the man had disappeared into the gas station, presumably to pay.

She finished the front windshield and did the back, as well, figuring that late was late, as her boss would say, and he’d much rather have her safe than injured in an accident because she’d been unable to see.

Kate tossed the squeegee back in the bucket. While she loved her job as a paralegal, her goal was to be a lawyer and she’d devoted herself these past five years to earning a law degree in night school. Marshall had already offered her a position as an associate lawyer upon her graduation next spring, and while Kate was grateful he’d made her job search easier, she hadn’t yet said yes. Murray, Evans and Jasper was one of Orlando’s largest firms, and that meant dozens of people worked there, many of whom Kate had never met. She couldn’t discount her concern that she might be more comfortable starting out in a smaller firm. Although the anonymity of a large firm might help her when she showed up late—as she would today.

Her receipt printed, and she tore it off, but as she did so, the wind tugged it from her grasp and sent it flying across the station lot.

She started after it as fast as her sensible one-inch blue pumps would allow. She had almost retrieved it when a hand reached down to the pavement and scooped up the wayward slip. “Here you go.”

Him.

“Uh, thanks.” He placed the paper in her waiting hand, his touch almost ticklish against her palm. She closed her hand around the slip, crumpling the paper, and straightened. “I appreciate your help.”

“You’re probably someone who reconciles receipts with your credit-card statement,” he said.

“Is there something wrong with that?” Kate snapped, irritated at the day and this man, who’d somehow pegged her when he didn’t even know her. Worse, he was smiling!

“Of course not,” the guy said with a grin. “Have a great day and watch those receipts. They like to escape.” Then he climbed into the black Hummer.

Kate stood there a moment, fuming as she watched him drive out of the gas station. Then she shook herself. Yes, those hot guys were all the same. Arrogant. Cocky. Self-assured. Jack had been that way—No, she wouldn’t think of Jack the Jerk. And she wouldn’t think about this guy. Orlando, Florida, was a huge place. It wasn’t as though she’d see him again.

Thank goodness.

“YOU KNOW, finding Mr. Right is like riding a horse. If you fall off, you have to climb right back into the saddle.”

Kate stared at her best friend and coworker, who’d stopped by. Up until this moment, her day had gotten better. Marshall’s court appearance had been successful, and no one had said anything about her not getting to the office until ten.

“That’s not it. I have to study tonight,” Kate said, trying to explain why she didn’t want to attend Gail’s party. “I’ve got finals in a few weeks.”

Wendy exhaled, causing a strand of her wavy brown hair to dance. “Study tomorrow. That’s what Saturday afternoons are for. Tonight you need to get out and find a new man.”

Kate sighed. Three years of close friendship meant that Wendy wouldn’t give up. The two women were the classic example of opposites attract. Wendy was a vivacious brunette; Kate a blonde who’d rather study than socialize. Wendy dated three to five times weekly; Kate dated that number yearly.

“Wendy,” Kate began. “I’m tired of people thinking there’s something wrong with me just because I don’t have a man in my—”

Wendy cut Kate off with an emphatic shake of her head. “Well, I’m tired of your excuses. Just because you live on a street populated with retirees doesn’t mean you have to be old before your time. Heck, most of the seniors on your block probably have a better sex life than you do. When’s the last time you got any action? And don’t tell me it was Jack.”

“Wendy!” Kate remonstrated and glanced around her cubicle. Hopefully no one had overheard her. Kate had been embarrassed enough already.

“Seriously, Kate. The guy was a jerk. We all told you not to date him, and ever since he, well…”

Wendy paused and Kate grimaced as she thought of Jack’s public dumping of her, where, in front of no fewer than ten people, he declared her to be a cold fish.

“Don’t say it,” Kate warned. Despite the incident having taken place over half a year ago, the humiliation was still fresh.

“Fine. But you’re closeting yourself away. Men are good for something, you know.”

Yeah, catching receipts, Kate thought as she frowned. She’d learned the hard way that men, especially attractive men, simply weren’t interested in her. She was too plain, too uptight, too smart, too career-focused, too something.

Men were like roadwork zones. You had to use extreme caution. Besides, she’d never been good at dating. Maybe her inadequacy stemmed from her mother’s abandonment. Perhaps Kate was simply the ice maiden Jack had declared her to be. He’d called her the most frigid woman he’d ever been to bed with. She could still picture everyone’s shocked faces.

“Stop thinking about it,” Wendy said, reading Kate’s mind. “Your mom and Jack both did a number on you. But only you can break the victim cycle.”

“I understand that, which is why I refuse to be like her or deal with guys like Jack again. Dating can wait. My priority is graduation from law school then a career. Then maybe a husband. Unlike my mother, who had too many boyfriends to count and three marriages lasting mere months, I’m planning on doing it only once. Heck, maybe I’ll be like Oprah and not get married. Besides, I’m one step ahead. I’ve already got the house.”

“Yeah, on a street where the average age is a hundred. You’re twenty-seven.” Wendy pursed her lips. “You’re still young. Give men another chance to prove they aren’t all like Jack. At least get out there and mingle. No one’s saying you have to marry the next man you meet. Just indulge your needs a little. A woman has them. Believe me, I know.”

“You indulge yours all the time,” Kate said, cracking a smile. She’d heard all the stories, usually over morning coffee, when Wendy would regale Kate with her previous night’s adventures.

Kate’s reply threw Wendy off balance, but only for a second. Wendy grinned. “You bet I do. Who says a man should be the only one to play the field? There’s a huge double standard. I’m worried that if you don’t, you’ll forget how. Then you’ll end up an old maid with just your devil cat for company until the end of your days.”

“My cat is not a devil,” Kate rebuked. Her cat was merely temperamental, that was all. “And remember my mantra. There are worse things than being alone. Jack was perfect proof.”

“I’m sure you’re not what he said, but you won’t prove to yourself that you weren’t the cause of his erectile dysfunction until you get back out there. The cure for your tension is a night of unbridled lust.” Wendy saw the dubious expression on Kate’s face. “Okay, some harmless flirtation. Platonic. Jeez. And speaking of that house, perhaps you should move someplace more happening. My condo complex, for example, would be perfect. Not a retiree in sight.”

Wendy’s condo complex had the nickname Sin City—it was full of young singles and full of sin. Kate rolled her eyes. “My grandmother willed me the house. It’s paid for. Already the property value has gone up ten percent. It’s a good investment.”

Wendy was not to be daunted. “Exactly! She’d want you to sell and invest the money. Buy yourself some slinky clothes, get a hip condo and find a nice man to warm your bed. I’m sure your grandmother didn’t want you to live alone and celibate on a street full of geriatrics who have retired to central Florida for fun in the sun. Stop suppressing your sexuality. I mean, when was the last time you kissed someone?”

Forever. The image of the guy at the gas station jumped into Kate’s head again and she slumped. As if such a guy would ever consider her.

“Look, I’m not like you,” she said softly. Men of all types flocked to Wendy and she went through them like candy, claiming she quickly got bored. “I grew up on that street,” Kate continued, “I’m comfortable there. I’m busy with school, and most law-school grads are younger than I am. They didn’t opt for the night-school-takes-forever plan. I have to be competitive, so my grades are important.”

“You know I only want what’s best for you. As a friend of long standing, I have to tell you you’re becoming isolated. You’re losing touch.”

“Well, Nora does always drop hints for me to date her grandson, Niles,” Kate conceded.

Wendy scoffed. “Yeah, right. Any grandson of Nosy Nora is bound to be a geek.”

Perhaps, and Kate didn’t want to date Niles any more than she wanted to date someone else. Seeing Kate’s silence as indecision, Wendy overrode Kate’s last defense.

“Kate, today is November thirtieth. You can put off studying for one night, especially since it’s the weekend. Get out and live a little. Hang out with all your friends. We’ve missed you, me in particular.”

“Wendy…” Kate said.

Her friend stood firm. “Kate, you cannot base every guy on Jack the Jerk. I know he hurt you, but put it behind you. We’ll have fun.”

Kate picked up the troll doll she kept on her desk and gave him a vicious twirl. His orange hair spiked. Although the idea didn’t sit well, maybe she did need to pick up a man she didn’t care about and do the deed, just see if the lack of passion had been more Jack’s fault than hers. And she had missed hanging out with her friends. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“Super.” Wendy smiled now that the matter was settled. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Be ready. Wear something sexy.” With that, Wendy headed for the elevator. Kate stood up, peered over the cubicle walls and watched her walk away.

“Eight o’clock,” Wendy called as the elevator doors opened. “Don’t forget.”

“I won’t.” Kate slumped back in her chair, ready to put her lack of a love life behind her and get back to work.

“GIN.”

As Nora spread her winning hand on the card table, revealing the jack of clubs Frieda needed, Frieda tossed hers down in disgust. She’d been playing cards with Nora for over thirty years, but she’d never been beaten this bad by her best friend and neighbor, the self-titled Queen of Dogwood Lane. “That’s the sixth time in a row,” Frieda said, miffed about her current winless streak. This was supposed to be a fun way to relax after helping Nora put up her Christmas decorations. No one was as serious about Christmas as Nora; she had everything up by the end of November.

“I can’t help that I’m a winner. When you’re hot, you’re hot.” Nora grinned, the smile lines at her mouth deepening.

Frieda snorted and reached for her cup of spiced tea. While good, it wasn’t as cinnamon-y as hers. “You haven’t been hot in over forty-five years. Now, if you want hot, I’ve heard that a single man is moving into our neighborhood.”

“You’re so far behind. You heard right and I knew that months ago,” Nora said. She considered herself not only the mistress of Dogwood Lane’s grapevine, but the Neighborhood Watch leader, as well. She shuffled the cards. “Myra’s granddaughter told me who bought it.”

Frieda arched a gray eyebrow and waited as Nora dealt another game. “You have to admit that this is exciting news. We haven’t had a single man on this street in years. I mean, not counting Elmer. He’s eighty. I heard the new guy is thirty-three. Maybe our block will become hip again.”

“Doubtful. The only new hip around here is Sue Ellen’s artificial one.”

“So what do you think he looks like?” Frieda asked. Sue Ellen’s surgery was old news.

Nora shrugged. “Not as good as my Niles, I’m sure.”

Frieda refrained from rolling her eyes. Everyone on the block knew that Nora worshipped the ground her middle grandson walked on. Although her own children declared her more of a meddler, Nora had managed to get two of her six grandchildren hitched.

All of Nora’s children were scattered around the country, and Niles lived closest. Nora usually traveled over the Christmas holidays to visit everyone, but this year everyone, including Niles, was coming to Orlando. So he’d be in town in a little less than four weeks.

Frieda peered at her cards. “Wouldn’t it be great if the new neighbor and Kate hit it off? She’s been so lonely since Sandra died two years ago, and well, you remember how disastrous her last relationship was. Who knows? Perhaps it’ll be love at first sight with the boy next door.”

It was Nora’s turn to scoff. “Absolutely not. The last thing Kate needs is some guy who will break her heart again. She should date Niles. He’s perfect for her.”

“He lives in Jacksonville,” Frieda pointed out.

“So? They have lawyers in Jacksonville, too, I’m sure.”

Frieda managed not to shudder as she drew a card from the pile. While Nora was an avid matchmaker and Frieda often assisted in her schemes, Frieda’s gut said no way to Niles and Kate as a couple.

Nora removed the queen of spades from the discard pile and added it to her hand. “Sandra would approve of Niles. He’s a nice, hardworking boy with a very good job.”

Sandra had raised Kate ever since her mother had dropped her off when she’d been six, and Frieda was positive Sandra would turn over in her grave first before agreeing. Still, Frieda could hope that maybe the new guy would be perfect for Kate. After all, Frieda and Nora had promised Sandra when she’d first gotten ill that they’d look after Kate. Of course, Nora was starting to think that meant Kate should be married off.

Frieda glanced out the window and across the street. Both houses, Kate’s and the new neighbor’s, remained dark. “When’s he arriving, anyway?” Frieda asked.

Nora frowned. “That I don’t know. I heard he’s a photojournalist who’s always jaunting off somewhere. The moving van arrived weeks ago and unloaded, so his stuff’s there. If he doesn’t show up soon, his house will be the only one on the block without holiday decorations. That would be an eyesore.”

Frieda studied her cards. If she drew the two of clubs she’d win. “Maybe he’ll be as sexy as that Arthur Kent. Remember him from the first Gulf conflict?”

“Of course I remember that far back. I had cable long before it was fashionable. You really should move into this century. Anderson Cooper’s the star now. Gin. So, where do you think Niles should take Kate? The theater? Ballroom dancing? The Nutcracker will be in town for a limited run starting next week.”

Or none of the above, if she’s lucky—unlike me, Frieda thought as she tossed her cards down, defeated again. Nora peered over her cat-eye rims. “Well?”

“Uh…” Frieda stalled. Everyone knew how tenacious Nora was. Somehow Frieda would have to help Kate get out of this one. Behind the scenes, that is. “Why don’t you let Kate decide what she wants?”

After all, December 1 would initiate twenty-five days of pure holiday magic. With a little mistletoe and a lot of Christmas joy, who knew what could happen?

TYLER DOUBLE-CHECKED the directions his sister had text-messaged him a month ago. The quaint neighborhood he now drove through wasn’t quite what he’d expected.

Not that it was bad or that he disliked it. He’d just expected something newer and more modern, not the starter bungalows he was passing on street after street with fifty-year-old trees. This neighborhood was located in an older part of town, built long before theme parks had transformed everything in Orlando and moved the hub of the city to the southwest. Tyler crept along, searching for 233 Dogwood Lane.

There it was. Home sweet home.

He parked his Hummer under the carport. Admittedly, the SUV was a monstrous gas guzzler, but Tyler wasn’t around enough to drive the beast much. In the two years he’d owned the vehicle, he’d put less than three thousand miles on his odometer.

Except for the unkempt yard, the house itself was presentable—and just like every other rectangular abode on the street. The two-to three-bedroom homes were early 1950s and painted shades of cream or white. All the houses had Christmas decorations on the lawn, some more abundantly than others.

Tyler exited his vehicle, stood in the driveway and glanced around the neighborhood, which he’d been pleased to discover wasn’t a traffic-jammed drive from the downtown bureau office. He reminded himself it didn’t matter what his house looked like. He’d live in it, on average, maybe a total of three months a year.

He dug out the key his sister had mailed to his P.O. box and blinked. Had the blinds across the street flickered? He shook his head. Perhaps it had been a trick of the waning sun or the Christmas lights competing with the twilight. He steadied himself and reminded himself he was back in America, one of the safest countries in the world.

He took a deep breath. Aside from being tired and jetlagged, he was still jumpy from having been in a place where gunfire was routine. The key turned easily and the side door creaked open. Once inside, Tyler nudged the door shut and flipped on the overhead light. As he set down his camera case, disturbed dust particles rose into the stagnant air. Tyler’s expression soured. He knew his stuff had been delivered weeks ago, but he hadn’t expected the dust to be this bad. A thin layer covered everything, including the moving boxes. Which meant that not only did he have to unpack, he first had to clean.

That figured, especially since he hated housekeeping and had entrusted his apartment to a cleaning service. Since Tyler hadn’t been in the country for the various homeowner inspections, he’d simply assumed the previous owners had scoured the place. Used to living in apartments, where a renter had to clean to get his deposit back and then the apartment complex cleaned to prepare for the new tenant, Tyler hadn’t even thought his house might not be habitable.

He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to ease the tension he felt. From the appearance of the place, the movers had simply brought all his stuff in, set it down and then left. He’d slept in more deplorable conditions on the job, but this was his house. His home, even though he was never home much, was a haven, one he always wanted clean and presentable.

He pulled his cell phone out of the camera bag and punched speed dial. Within moments he’d connected to his twin’s voice mail. “Hey, Tara. Thanks for remembering the cleaning service. I couldn’t believe how spotless the house was when I got home. Gosh, everything in its place and not a speck of dust anywhere. Hey, on a serious note, I’m back in town and I do like the house. You did good. Love ya. Call me.”

He smiled, imagining her reaction to the first part of his message. She’d known him since the womb and would laugh at his sarcasm, aware it was only in jest. Yeah, he was annoyed by the mess in front of him, but it wasn’t her fault. She’d already gone above and beyond the call of sisterly duty.

The house was too dirty not to clean, but because he’d always had a maid service, wiping up spills with paper towels and spraying foaming shower cleaner were his limits. He didn’t even own a vacuum, since the service had brought its own.

For a moment, he thought about calling his mother, then reconsidered. While she could clean at light-speed, her help would come with a lecture on staying in the United States, finding a woman to marry and raising children, like two of his older brothers, Leo and Craig. Tonight, after traveling a long distance and then working all day at the office, Tyler wanted peace and quiet.

The sound of tires crunching on pavement caught his attention. He moved to the front window and watched as a sensible little four-door sedan pulled into the driveway next door. He strode to a side window and parted the old-fashioned Venetian blinds. Once under the carport, the vehicle sputtered to a stop. Clogged fuel injector. Easy enough to fix.

The car door opened and the driver climbed out. No. It couldn’t be. What were the odds?

He frowned. But there she was, the woman who, for some reason, he’d been unable to get out of his mind.

Maybe it had been the severe way she’d secured her blond hair in a bun, or the way she’d haughtily held her neck and shoulders, as if he carried the plague. He’d made a career of never forgetting a face, but clearly she wasn’t very observant. She’d failed to notice the Hummer parked parallel to her driveway, and seemed preoccupied with getting into the house as quickly as possible.

Curiosity piqued, Tyler decided it was time to formally meet his new neighbor.