Читать книгу Bride Under the Mistletoe: The Magic of a Family Christmas - SUSAN MEIER - Страница 13

CULLEN just barely caught his flight to Miami. Exhausted from the week of almost nonstop work, he fell asleep two minutes after takeoff, and woke when the wheels touched down at Miami International. But part of him was glad. He’d never felt as odd as when Wendy showed him the door that night. She’d kicked him out. Out. After he’d helped her! And told her the thing about his parents that he’d never told anyone. That they fought. Often. If he’d stayed awake, he would have spent the entire flight fuming about that.

Hoisting his duffel bag off the carousel in baggage claim, echoes of the odd sensations he’d felt when she pointed at her kitchen door rumbled through him again. He reminded himself that he had already been in his coat and she probably had been tired. Walking out into the balmy Miami night, he decided that she hadn’t so much kicked him out as gotten him moving.

In his Mercedes, he lowered the convertible top and exited the airport, letting the wind whip through his hair as he made his way to the house on the beach that he shared with his dad.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about Wendy, about how the emotion of the situation had caused him to hug her and her to cuddle into his embrace. What he’d felt in those few seconds was different than anything he’d ever felt with a woman.

He frowned. Maybe different wasn’t the right word. Expanded was better. He felt all the usual male/female things he felt when he held a woman, but there was more.

Over an icy weekend, they’d both helped Harry adjust to living with her. She’d told him bits and pieces of her life. He’d told her bits and pieces of his. Together they’d told Harry about his dad, then helped him get through the difficult evening with hot dogs and s’mores.

Of course he felt close to her. He typically didn’t get this involved in anybody’s personal life. When he pulled her into his arms, he wasn’t simply wooing an attractive woman, he was holding somebody he knew. Somebody he liked. The velvet of her skin was warm and familiar. The questions in her eyes echoed his own. In a few short visits, they’d become so close that he swore he could feel her heart beating.

Then she’d kicked him out.

With a growl of annoyance, he reminded himself he’d already figured out that she’d done it because she was tired, but he suddenly realized that wasn’t what bothered him. The real problem wasn’t being “kicked out.” It was being kicked out after her refusal to talk about her husband.

Driving along the coastal highway, wind in his hair, the perfect world around him glittering with lights, the ocean a peaceful rumble to his left, he wondered if she hadn’t kicked him out because he’d asked about the picture. Which was really rich since he was the one who had the right to be insulted. It had been years since her husband’s death and his question had been innocent, yet she wouldn’t answer it. He’d automatically told her things about his family. He’d answered every damned question she’d asked him. But she didn’t want to talk about her husband.

He slapped his hand on the steering wheel. Damn it! What did it matter? He’d never pursue her. She was a serious woman and he was a flirt. A guy who liked to have fun. Were it not for Harry, they’d probably never even speak outside the office.

Maneuvering his car onto the driveway that led to his rambling two-story stucco house with windows that rose to the sky, Cullen told himself to relax. Really relax or his dad would figure out something was wrong and wouldn’t let Cullen rest until Cullen spilled the whole story. And then his dad would be angry. He’d think that Barrington, Pennsylvania, was sucking Cullen in the way it had his mom. The memories that would be dredged up would ruin Christmas. So, no. He absolutely, positively would not let on that anything was bothering him.

Because nothing was bothering him. He accepted that Wendy didn’t want to talk about herself. It was just another proof that he and his family didn’t fit into the town that bore their name. He didn’t know why he’d been so foolish as to think Wendy might be different, but he’d gotten the message. From here on out he wouldn’t ask her questions about her life and he’d keep his own life off-limits, too.

The house was dark and quiet when he entered the echoing foyer. Assuming his dad was asleep, and without turning on a light, he carried his duffel bag up the curving cherrywood stairway and walked down the hall to his suite of rooms. He was determined to forget all about Wendy Winston and Harry Martin and spend Saturday and Sunday enjoying himself on his boat, soaking up the sun before he had to fly back to frosty Barrington on Monday afternoon.

Wendy let Harry sleep in on Saturday morning. When eleven o’clock came and went with Harry still asleep, she cancelled her plans with Emma and her kids. He woke about noon, sullen and cranky, and Wendy gave him a lot of leeway, letting him work out his feelings in his own way. On Sunday when he was still moody, she ordered pizza and let him watch football on television. But Monday morning when he refused to go to school, she knew he had to snap out of this.

She took a firm hand and got him dressed and fed him. After she walked him to his class, she explained his situation to his teacher, then spent another few minutes in the principal’s office, telling the story again, making sure Harry would have sufficient support.

She arrived at work over an hour late, only to discover Cullen wasn’t there. Breathing a sigh of relief, she got busy with her typical Monday-morning duties and forgot all about her temporary boss.

When Cullen hadn’t arrived at noon, she took her lunch, expecting him to be in Mr. McCoy’s office when she returned, but he wasn’t. Worried now, she called his hotel and discovered he’d checked out. Assuming he’d gone to Miami for the weekend, she relaxed, until another hour went by. If he had no intention of returning until Tuesday, he should have let her know. She was, after all, his assistant. She scoured her desk for a note, then scoured his. Nothing.

At three, she began to fear that maybe something had happened. He could have been in an accident. By the time he strolled into her office after four, every nerve ending in her body was sitting on the edge of her skin like glitter.

“Where were you?”

His eyebrows rose at her tone. “Excuse me?”

She combed her fingers through her hair. “Sorry. I had a bad weekend and when you weren’t here and there wasn’t a note—” She fisted her hair in her hands this time. “I just panicked and thought you must have been in an accident. I’m sorry.”

He shucked his overcoat. “No. I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have let you know I would be going home for weekends and not returning until late Monday.”

“It’s almost quitting time. You shouldn’t have bothered to come in at all.”

He laughed. “You are in a mood.”

She sighed. “Harry had a bad weekend.”

“I’m not surprised. He lost his mom and spent a month in foster care. When he was finally given to you—someone he knew and felt safe with—he was told his dad was dead.”

His instant understanding made her so damned glad to see him that she was sure it showed on her face. They might be different. They might even be unsuited. But he absolutely understood her and what she was going through with Harry.

She busied herself stacking the pages she’d just pulled from the printer, turning her face away so he couldn’t read anything into her expression. “It has been an awful month for Harry.”

“My offer of dinner is still open. Remember, I promised Randy that I’d look in on you.”

“And you can. But I—” She glanced over and totally lost her train of thought. He always looked positively yummy, but two days in the sun had given his skin a warm glow. He looked rested, relaxed and so damned sexy that her heart skipped a beat. Her own skin flushed with color but not from the sun, from being flustered and tongue-tied. God, she was an idiot. Not just attracted to a man who was out of her league, but also unable to hide it.

“I—”

His eyes narrowed. “You what?”

She pulled in a breath that caused her breasts to swell beneath her warm pink sweater and Cullen suddenly realized what was going on. She hadn’t kicked him out of her house on Friday because she was moody or tired or even unwilling to talk about her husband. She liked him. He’d worried all damned weekend for nothing.

He grinned. “You want to orchestrate my visits, don’t you?”

She wouldn’t look at him again. “I just want to make sure that you’re not around so much that Harry misses you when your work here is done.”

He stepped closer. “Ah.”

“Now you’re making fun of me.”

He slid his index finger under her chin and lifted her face so that she would look at him. “No, I’m just curious about why you’re afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Of course you are,” he said, holding her gaze, noting that her pretty green eyes had flecks of gold and that her skin was a smooth, perfect pink.

He gave her points for not yanking herself away from him and breaking eye contact, even as he wondered why he was forcing himself into a situation that was totally wrong. He knew as well as she did that two people who were this attracted couldn’t have a lot of contact or they’d spontaneously combust one day and do something they’d both regret. Yet here he was, pushing.

“Or I could simply be too busy with Harry to add another thing to my life.”

Her gaze flicked down for a mere second as she said that and he knew that if she wasn’t out-and-out lying, she was at least only telling him a half truth.

Before he could stop himself or once again remind himself of all the reasons he shouldn’t be insinuating himself into her life, he said, “We both know this isn’t completely about Harry, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? On Friday night you were fine and then suddenly you kicked me out. Let’s start there.”

She pulled away from him and rounded her desk so she could stand behind it, almost as if she wanted protection. “You’re a playboy. Anything between us would mean very little to you. But even if you weren’t, you’re too much like my husband.”

He’d been all ready to argue her concerns about him being a playboy until she mentioned her husband. “What?”

“You’re like my husband. Greg was a wonderful person. And he always seemed to know the right thing to say…the right thing to do. So much so that I never argued when he made all our decisions.” She finally glanced up from the papers she was stacking. “That cost me the chance to have a child of my own with him. Had I pushed for the one thing I truly wanted, a baby, I wouldn’t have been alone when he died. I would have also proven myself a capable parent. Nobody would wonder whether I could care for Harry.”

This time Cullen took the step back. “You’re saying you don’t want me around me because I’m like your husband?”

She raked her fingers through her hair. “Yes. No. Because for me this isn’t about you and me. It can’t be. It has to be about Harry.”

“Why?”

“You don’t think he’ll miss you when you return to Miami?”

And suddenly he got it. They were talking about Harry, but she was also talking about herself. She would be hurt when he left. She would miss him.

He took another step back. Away from her. The events from Friday night came back to him in a rush. He couldn’t help himself from being romantic with her, from touching her, from wanting to kiss her again. Now, she was telling him she didn’t want to be involved with him because he reminded her of her husband. Which should—and did—put the appropriate fear in him. Tighten his chest. Make his heart speed up and his stomach tighten. She was seeing him as a husband.

And he was a bachelor. She’d even gone so far as to accuse him of being a playboy. He liked Miami. He loved nightlife. He wasn’t wild about responsibility so he chose his responsibilities carefully.

But the way he was behaving around her reminded her of a husband.

He took another step back. “I’m helping Harry through a tough time in his life. He needs me because he knows I understand him because my mother also died recently. But by the time I leave, he’ll be adjusted to you, secure with you. He’ll miss me a bit, but not for long.”

“Really?”

The trust in her eyes nearly was his undoing. No one had ever looked at him like that.

He pulled in a breath. Took another step back. He’d never wanted anyone to look at him like that.

“Take it from a guy who had to get adjusted to a lot as a kid. Once Harry feels secure with you, I could fall off the face of the earth and he’d be okay in a day or two. It’s in this transition time as he’s adjusting to living with you that he needs someone he thinks understands, and that’s why I’m making myself available.”

She smiled and nodded, and Cullen turned on his heel, eager to escape to Paul McCoy’s office, but he stopped and faced her again.

“For the record, I would never deliberately hurt anyone.” It was as close as he could come to telling her that he understood her fears. She didn’t want his advances, didn’t want to get too close because she would be hurt when he left.

He got it.

Now he just had to stop himself from acting on all the impulses that raced through him whenever she was around.

Harry’s mood improved greatly on Tuesday morning. Wendy made him oatmeal, sprinkled it with cinnamon and sugar and promised him a trip to the mall after school. She didn’t downplay his sadness or his fear of being alone, but rather, tried to show him he was secure with her by feeding him and taking him to school. She promised him the trip to the mall to demonstrate that life went on by making plans for the future.

Walking into work, on time, she experienced a swell of pride until she glanced into Cullen’s office and saw him sitting behind Mr. McCoy’s big desk.

She knew she’d scared him silly the day before by telling him he reminded her of her husband. She’d done it on purpose. He liked her. She liked him. Their chemistry could go off the charts if they let it, and he didn’t seem to have a practicality switch or understand that they were opposites. He might be the if-it-feels-good-do-it type, but she wasn’t. If they got involved, he’d have a good time, maybe be sad when he returned to sunny Miami, but in twenty minutes on his boat he’d forget all about her. While she’d be left in snowy Pennsylvania with a broken heart.

No thanks.

She understood that Cullen being in Harry’s life in Harry’s time of trouble was a good thing. She also got Cullen’s point that by the time he left Pennsylvania, Harry would be adjusted. Though he’d miss Cullen, he wouldn’t pine for him because he’d be secure with Wendy by then. So it was good for Cullen to be involved with Harry. His point had been made. But she’d also made her point with him. He had to stop giving in to their attraction.

She didn’t even poke her head into his office to say good morning. Instead, she stripped off her coat, hung it in the small closet, and went straight to work. A half hour later, he strolled out of his office and stopped in surprise. “Oh, you’re here.”

She smiled her best administrative-assistant smile. Friendly, but not personal. “I’ve been here a while.”

He angled his hip on her desk and made himself comfortable. “So everything went well this morning?”

“Yes. Harry’s back to being his typical sunny self.” She pushed her chair back, rose and took some papers to the filing cabinet, putting some distance between them.

“That didn’t take long.”

Deliberately occupied with filing so she wouldn’t look at him, she said, “As you said, he’s becoming secure with me.”

“You sound like the girl giving the morning news when you talk like this.”

“Really?”

Cullen was about to say yes, but he stopped himself. This was the reason she would miss him when he left. Because of one icy night together they’d bonded enough that making conversation came naturally. Easily. And, for two people totally unsuited to each other, they really were beginning to like each other too much. He’d already decided to rein in his romantic impulses, but he now saw the reining had to include private conversations.

Without replying, he returned to Paul McCoy’s desk. He tried to read the numbers on the production reports, but he couldn’t focus, and soon they blurred on the sheet in front of him. Before he knew it, he was thinking about how nice Wendy looked in her blue sweater. With a growl of annoyance, he rose and walked to the window, shifting his thoughts in a direction they were allowed to go: Harry. But thoughts of Harry naturally segued to Wendy again.

He glanced out at her. She sat at her desk diligently typing on her computer keyboard. She’d make a terrific mom, and that made his heart swell with respect for her. He liked Harry. In fact, he saw a little bit of his own loneliness and insecurity as a child when he looked at Harry. Knowing exactly how Harry felt, if he had one wish, it would be that Harry could feel safe and secure. Always. For the rest of his life.

He turned back to the window. He didn’t trust wishes. He trusted in his own abilities. Even as a child, he’d quickly realized the only person he could count on was himself. So if he wanted to help Harry, it couldn’t be with a wish. It would have to be with something substantial he could do—

Returning to his desk, he grabbed the phone and punched the intercom numbers for the human resources director. There was something he could do. And that something might even be why fate had brought him to Barrington.

When Poppy Fornwalt answered her phone, Cullen said simply, “I want the detailed wage reports for the past six months.”

Wednesday morning, Harry dressed himself for school and had toast ready for Wendy when she ambled into the kitchen. Pleased, thinking her life was finally settling into a routine, she hugged him and he proudly served her toast with strawberry jam.

Off in her own little world, contemplating how great life would be now for both her and Harry, she drove to work and was surprised out of her reverie when Poppy Fornwalt called her down to her office.

She entered with an enthusiastic hello, and dark-haired, blue-eyed Poppy looked up with a smile. “Close the door.”

Wendy swallowed. “You don’t normally ask anybody to close the door unless it’s bad news,” she said, as she pulled the office door shut behind her.

“Or unless we’re going to talk money.”

She took the seat in front of Poppy’s desk. “Money?”

“You really must have impressed Mr. Barrington.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Impressed Mr. Barrington?”

“He’s giving you a twenty-five percent raise!” Poppy all but bounced out of her seat with joy.

Wendy’s mouth fell open. “Twenty-five percent?”

“Yes!” Poppy cried. “And isn’t it wonderful timing? He wants it backdated to last week so you’ll have extra money in time for Christmas!”

Her heart sank and the world spun, as her head filled with a truly awful conclusion. She’d brushed him off, so he was offering her money? This time her stomach turned over. Was he trying to buy her with a raise? “Oh really.”

Poppy’s happy expression faded. “You should be dancing.”

Wendy pulled in a breath, working to react naturally to what appeared to be good news, but what was, in reality, the worst possible news. “I’m dancing on the inside.”

“Wendy, everybody knows you recently got custody of your neighbor’s little boy. Maybe this is his way of helping.”

Wendy forced a smile. “I’m sure it is.”

Poppy handed some forms across the desk. “Here’s your paperwork. It has all the numbers. Your raise will be on this pay. Mr. Barrington simply asked that we keep this between us.”

Wendy rose. “I’m sure he did.”

Poppy apparently didn’t catch the note of dismay in Wendy’s voice because she rose, grabbed Wendy’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m so hoping this helps you with your little boy.”

Wendy smiled. She would look incredibly ungrateful if she didn’t show some appreciation. “It will. Thank you, Poppy.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Mr. Barrington.”

“Oh, I will.”

Wendy left Poppy’s office, not sure if she was furious or ashamed. Particularly since the Barringtons had held raises to cost-of-living raises for the past five years. Being singled out to get a raise when everybody in the plant needed and deserved one, only made Cullen’s generosity stand out all the more. If anyone heard about this she’d be a pariah.

By the time she reached her office, she was breathing heavily. She stormed through the open door, into Cullen’s office and slapped the paperwork for her raise on his desk.

“What is this?”

He glanced up, took in her angry expression and his brow furrowed. “It’s paperwork to give you a raise?”

“I know!” Tossing her arms in the air, she pivoted away from the desk.

“And yet you’re angry.”

She spun to face him. “What do you think that money is going to get you?”

“Get me?”

“Do you think I’m going to sleep with you for this?”

The expression in his eyes went from confused to fiery in the beat of her heart. “You’d better stop talking and let me explain.” Real menace dripped from his words.

Her blood ran cold at his tone. Dear God, he was the boss! He could fire her, call security and have her escorted off the property. And she had a child to think about!

“I checked into your salary to see if I could help you out since you now have a son to support.” He sat back in his chair, tossed his pencil to his desk. “I certainly wasn’t intending to pay you to sleep with me.”

Her cheeks flamed. The room spun. It was so hard to breathe she wasn’t even sure she could speak, but there was no turning back. “You’re still treating me differently, showing me favoritism. Even if I was wrong about the reason—” she swallowed “—you can’t give me and no one else a raise without making it look like I did something to get on your good side.”

“When I checked your salary I saw everybody’s. No one in this plant has gotten above a cost-of-living raise in five years. Which is why everybody will be getting a raise similar to yours in January.”

Embarrassment coursed through her. She wanted to faint or die, but knew she couldn’t do either. She fell to the seat in front of his desk. “Everybody?”

“Yes. When I saw those numbers I was actually glad I was forced to take a real look at what was going on here. My dad and I check the big-picture figures when we get our profits every quarter, but we never looked at the details. Your situation forced me to do that.”

“Oh, God.” She squeezed her eyes shut.

“You don’t trust me. I get it. Personally, man to woman, I’m not to be trusted. I’m not looking for what you want. You probably couldn’t live the way I live. But don’t ever question my business judgment again.”

She swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

He sat back on Paul McCoy’s tall-backed black leather chair. “I’m not going to tell you it’s okay because it isn’t. But I am willing to forget about it and move on.”

“Thank you.”

“And don’t tell anyone about the raises.”

She looked up, confused.

“You need yours now. Don’t tell me you don’t. But accounting and human resources need time to process everyone else’s. So, on my order, they did yours now. But I don’t want anyone to be offended or upset. So please, keep this all under your hat until everyone’s raise is announced in January.”

She frowned. “But then no one will know you’re the one who authorized the raises.”

He picked up his pencil and glanced down at the papers in front of him again. “There’s no point.”

“Sure there is. It’s Mr. McCoy who’s run such a tight ship that we only got cost-of-living raises. He claimed the plant couldn’t afford more. So when he gets back, he’ll get the credit for giving everyone their raise.”

“This isn’t about who gets credit.” He didn’t even look up. “I was only giving you what you had worked for over the past four years. You may go now.”

Dismissed, Wendy rose. She’d put the last nail in the coffin of their friendship, and felt like a complete fool.