A Magical Christmas (17 page)

She shook off the thought.

The night could be incredibly dark way out here.

The light from the house beckoned with a warm glow and she hurried for it, moving faster with every step. When she reached the porch, she ran up
the stairs, feeling just a little bit like a fool for spooking herself.

She opened the front door and stepped into the foyer, stamping her feet on the rug and slipping from her jacket and gloves, stuffing her gloves into the jacket pocket. “Hello?” she called, coming into the house.

There was no response, but when she moved into the parlor, a fire was burning away in bright, cheerful yellows, gold, and oranges. A pleasant smell pervaded the room, and Julie smiled. In a pot cast over the fire by an iron arm and hook, wine was mulling. The scent of cinnamon in the air was incredibly inviting. Stoneware mugs were set upon a little covered stool right by the fireplace, along with a dipper and tray.

It appeared she was welcome to help herself to the wine. She did so, thinking it would be delightful to sip the brew while sinking into a hot tub.

Mug in hand, she called out another Hello, but no one seemed to be about, so she took her wine upstairs, laid out some clean clothes, and fixed the hot bath she’d been contemplating. She set the mug of wine next to her, sank into the water, and luxuriated.

Hands in his pockets, Jon ambled back along the path to the house. He looked up at the sky,
observing the various constellations. It was a very pretty night sky, the heavens like a backdrop of black satin, the stars twinkling against it like so many diamonds. The snow, too, remained crystalline and beautiful, having piled and drifted in various areas and cleared completely in others, without becoming muddy or dirty as it did in the cities.

He passed by an old oak at the front of the property and was surprised to see two men standing beneath it. They were in heavy winter coats and their hats were pulled low. One was lighting a worn-looking clay pipe.

“Evening,” the gray-bearded elder of the two greeted him.

“Good evening,” Jon replied. The two looked at him somewhat expectantly, so he paused. “Nice night.”

“Fine night, yessir,” the younger said. “Getting closer to Christmas. Closer and closer. It’s going to be a perfect one.”

“I agree,” Jon said. “A little powder-white snow on the ground, crisp and cool without being killer-cold.”

“Yep,” the older man said.

“You men from hereabouts?” Jon asked.

The older man arched a brow to the younger. “Well,” he said to Jon, “not originally, but then, it feels as if I’ve been here quite some time now.”

“Where are you from, friend?” the younger man asked.

“Miami area,” Jon said. To his surprise, they both stared at him blankly.

Surely with its recent reputation for things both bad and good, everyone had heard of Miami.

“South Florida,” Jon said.

“Southern boy,” the older man said to the younger.

The younger nodded.

“Well, if you can consider South Florida
Southern
,” Jon said dryly. The men just stared at him, not seeming to comprehend his comment in the least. “Well, you know, we’ve a great percentage of Latin Americans in the area, and so many snowbirds you wouldn’t believe it.”

“Snowbirds?” the older man queried.

Jon had to smile. Okay, so they were out in the sticks. “Snowbirds—northerners transplanted to the South,” he explained.

“Oh.” The men looked at one another with sudden understanding.

They were definitely a little weird, but he found them entertaining after his solitary day.

He hadn’t imagined he’d be quite so alone. He’d assumed that Clarissa Wainscott would eventually appear. Or a housemaid.

A gardener.

Anyone.

But the early afternoon had come and gone, and finally, he’d started out walking. He’d walked a very long way, and it had been great; it had felt wonderful just to walk outside and keep on going and going. He thought once about encountering a car or a mugger—which he didn’t have to worry about in the gym, but then, there was no fresh air in the gym, either. And it wasn’t that he didn’t love his home; he did. Except that, of course, it seemed they never had time for the things they loved. He wanted a boat in the worst way, his own. And if he didn’t get his own, he’d like to at least get out on the water more often. Play in the sun. Sun, of course, being among the millions of things that were bad for you these days. But that was all right; he didn’t mind bathing in lotion first. It just seemed that he never did the things he wanted to do at home, never took the time.

Yes, walking was great. Seeing his breath before his face.

But walking hadn’t been everything that he’d hoped. Plenty of time to think, but the same thoughts just kept revolving around and around. It seemed that he was a fool, just trying to hold on, when he and Julie were at an impasse. Still, he’d been right about Christmas, right about this time for the kids. They hadn’t even been here twenty-four
hours, but this morning, just this morning, had been special. Making a snowman with his kids. Such a simple thing.

Lots of guys living in the North would have that opportunity all the time. And they wouldn’t take it, he reflected. They’d be like him at home. Caught up in the rat race, a rat like all the others. So it was good to be here. Even if, walking in the snow, as glad as he was of the air and the trees and just moving and being alive, he realized it didn’t always mean so much to have quiet, and peace. Talking would be nice. Having someone to listen to him.

And since he hadn’t seen another living soul all damned day, meeting the two somewhat strange fellows by the oak tree was at least contact with other human beings.

But maybe somebody was back at the house by now. He had a sudden craving to see someone he knew a little better.

His kids.

Julie.

Maybe Julie’d had a great time with the kids as well. And maybe she’d be even colder to him, more convinced than ever that it was over.

It wouldn’t be so bad, he told himself. If they both took a big step backward, maybe all the anger and bitterness could fade away.

“Well, it was nice meeting you—” Jon began, even if they hadn’t actually met.

“You staying at Oak River Plantation?” the older man asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then we’ll see you again. Christmas Eve.”

“Really?”

“The Wainscotts throw a great party. Every Christmas Eve. We all get together,” the younger man said.

“And let bygones be bygones,” the older agreed.

“Well… great,” Jon said. “See you then.”

He dug his hands into his pockets and started on down the last of the trail toward the house.

Her bath was great.

The water was very hot.

The tub was a huge, old, deep thing.

No one was yelling.

No music blared.

She was very tired and sore, but in a wonderful way. The hot water worked over weary muscles. The wine seemed to ease into her blood. It was heaven. It was peace.

Yet as the water cooled at last, it was suddenly a bit too lonely.

How strange. She craved time alone so often. Now she had it. In complete comfort. And she wanted people. Her family.

She emerged from the tub, dressed, brushed her hair, and still heard no activity upstairs. Freshly clad in a denim jumper, she came down the stairs, knowing she’d feel just a bit spooked if the house was still empty.

But it wasn’t empty. She could hear Jon’s voice.

Along with Clarissa Wainscott’s soft tones.

“You do enjoy the law?” Clarissa inquired.

“I love the law,” Jon said.

“But you’re not happy with what you’re doing now?” Clarissa asked.

Jon’s laugh brought Julie up short. It had a rueful and more than slight note of bitterness to it.

“I hate what I’m doing now.”

“But every man is entitled to the best defense—”

“That money can buy,” Jon finished for her, and Julie found herself standing very still on the stairway, listening.

Eavesdropping, not really meaning to do so, yet somehow thinking it was important to hear what Jon had to say.

“The law is beautiful when the law works,” Jon said. “It’s even beautiful when you’re fighting to make it work. But it’s true, I don’t like what I’m doing now at all.”

Halfway down the stairs, Julie could just see her husband, leaning forward slightly, hands prayer-fashion as he tapped his chin with his fingers and
watched the fire. “I loved the D.A.’s office. It wasn’t perfect. It was far, far from perfect, actually. My desk was always a mess, piled high. But…” He shrugged, smiling a little. “I was good. I was really good at what I did. Cops are always taking a bad rap, but I worked with some good cops. And every once in a while, everything fell into place. The cops were right on the money, the evidence was sound and we managed to present it in the clearest way possible, and the law was good. God, I just hate it when I’m racking my brain to get a sleazebag off!” Jon shook his head, lifting his hands, letting them fall back again. “Every man is entitled to a defense, and God knows, innocent men and women do wind up in court, but hell, I never seem to be asked to defend the innocent ones. I get Bobo Vinzetti and his attempted pizza murder.”

“Why did you change jobs?” Clarissa asked him.

Julie wished she couldn’t see her husband’s face quite so clearly. In the firelight, the planes and angles were clearly defined; there was a look both somehow hard and somehow a little hopeless about his features.

“Money,” he said softly after a moment. He shrugged. “Money. Three kids to get through college. Clothes. Food. House payments, you know.”

“But you and your wife both work, don’t you?” Clarissa asked. “Surely your incomes…” Her voice
trailed away. “I’m sorry, it’s truly none of my business.”

“No, no, I started this conversation. I suppose we could get along. Julie’s a realtor. She loves houses, and I don’t think she even knows how good she is at her job. People don’t have to ask many questions about her properties twice; she investigates it all to the hilt. We’d probably be all right, but no matter how good Julie is, real estate is chancy. Of course, one good sale can put us pretty far ahead. It just seems that everything has gotten so expensive lately. I don’t remember it being so bad when I was a kid.”

“Times do change,” Clarissa murmured. “Maybe you and Julie need to change a little, too.”

“It’s sad sometimes, frustrating. I mean, life on paper looks just about perfect for us, and it should be. We’ve got three healthy kids, and God knows, with all the terrible diseases and accidents that can hurt children, I think sometimes that I should be a happy, grateful man just for the kids alone. And I am. I do know enough to be grateful for what I have, which makes it more frustrating—” He broke off, then laughed ruefully. “It makes it all the more frustrating to be miserable when I have a job, a roof over my head, food, great kids, and a paid electric bill. It’s just that… well, you know, sometimes you
get caught up in the rat race and then just lost within it.”

“That’s true,” Clarissa agreed. “It’s quite easy to get caught up in the events around you. But then again, maybe if you took some time… a step back, a step away, you’d see your way through. Naturally, you and your wife both need to take a good look at things.”

“Naturally,” Jon said.

Julie wondered if Clarissa Wainscott heard the way in which Jon said the single word.

Naturally.

He didn’t say a word against her; only she could possibly hear and understand the edge to his voice.

He didn’t say that life was expensive because his wife liked her house and car and intended to send all three of their children to the best colleges.

Oh, God, was she that selfish?

No, no, she had never wanted things; she had never craved or desired objects just for the sake of having them. What he had said had been the truth; they had both gotten caught up in a lifestyle. It had never seemed so bad.

Well, not to her.

Because she was happy in real estate

She liked what she did. She liked the people she worked with; they were wonderful. And in all
honesty, especially lately, she’d been so bitter toward Jon that it would never have occurred to her to wonder if he was happy with what he did or not.

He never talked to her about his work.

He was talking to Clarissa Wainscott. Spilling his heart to a stranger who ran a guest house. A woman he’d met only yesterday.

Right. Well, wasn’t she so bitter because he’d done more than talk with another woman before? Because she’d lost something that she’d taken completely for granted? Trust.

Yes.

But…

She should have asked him about work. Now and then. She had wanted so desperately to make a major sale. Not because she had to make a sale. Because she wanted to make a sale. To show him that she could, to show him what she was worth. Well, she had made her big sale and nothing had changed. Besides, it had been the security offered by his job that had given her the luxury to develop her real estate career.

And now she was finally seeing what he was really thinking and feeling.

Because he was talking to another woman.

What did you expect when you’ve been all but throwing the man away? she asked herself.

Because, because, because… what was left when trust was gone?

Did she really have the right to be so furious? Maybe his logic made some sense.

Maybe her pride was just so wounded she couldn’t stand it.

And he wasn’t paying for his sins.

He was paying for her pride.

No, she had a right to be angry, she told herself. Yet standing there on the stairway, she was suddenly so miserable that she wanted to crawl beneath something.

She didn’t have to crawl beneath anything. All she had to do was slink on back upstairs. She could pretend to fall asleep, and they’d all leave her alone. And the kids would come in, and dinner would be served. And the night would be pleasant, filled with delicious things to eat and the tantalizing, sweet smell of the mulled wine in the air.

Clarissa Wainscott’s soft, pleasant laughter…