Colorado Christmas (4 page)

“We’re not in court anymore, darlin’,” he drawled in a tone that was guaranteed to make any woman weak in the knees—her included. “So why don’t you call me Will?”

She pushed against his chest. “How about if I don’t? Now,
get your hands off me,”
she repeated in a low growl.

He looked pointedly at where her hands lay against his chest. “Seems like you’re the one who’s got her hands all over me. Mine are only around you because of the dogs.”

She glanced down to see that her fingers had curled into his shirtfront as though seeking greater contact.

“Oh!” She pulled them back abruptly.

“Don’t be frightened. I was enjoying myself, and judging by the flush on your pretty cheeks and that tiny pulse throbbing in your neck—” he grinned with mischievous intent and gazed into her eyes “—I do believe you were enjoying yourself, too.”

She was lost in the depths of his eyes. Chocolate-brown eyes…He was too smooth for words. Too dangerous, too damned attractive. She needed to take control.
Control
was what she thrived on. It gave meaning to her life—helped her cope in any situation.

Forcing strength back into her legs, she stood up to her full height. “Why…you arrogant…
pest!
How
dare
you assume
such a thing. Now, get the dogs unraveled and let me go. I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t be seen being manhandled in the street by a…a delinquent.”

“So quit your job and come live with me. Then I can manhandle you all you want,” he said, as if her concerns about her reputation didn’t matter one iota to him.

Her cheeks burned with anger.

“Because that’s what you really want, isn’t it, darlin’? You
want
me to hold you…and touch you…and kiss every inch of your beautiful body….”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. A moment ago, she’d wanted to throttle him. But in all honesty, what he was suggesting was
exactly
what she wanted him to do. Hadn’t she dreamed of it every night since she’d met him?

She gave herself a mental shake. What was she
thinking?
Letting him
touch
her,
kiss
her…A flutter of anticipation filled her at the notion of being seduced by Will O’Malley. He’d probably prove a very thorough—and satisfying—lover.

But he wasn’t for her. Absolutely not! As an official of the law, she had to maintain her reputation. It was part of the reason she’d become a judge. Judges were highly respected members of society, and she wanted respect more than anything in her life.

The humiliation of attending court with her father, holding him up because he was so drunk, was deeply imprinted in her psyche. Becky had been fifteen, vulnerable, angry and confused. But when she’d seen the judge sitting behind his bench and being called “Your Honor” by everyone present, Becky knew the career she wanted to pursue—a career that
commanded
respect. She’d hated being the outcast at school, the new girl wearing thrift-shop clothes because the family moved from town to town and was too destitute, because of her father’s gambling and drinking, to afford anything new. Tears sprang to her eyes at the memory.

H
ER TEARS SHOCKED
W
ILL.
Surely she didn’t feel threatened by his playful advances? He gave the dogs a sharp command and
they unwound themselves and their prisoners. The judge took a step back and glanced at the crowd gathering on the sidewalk, and then at him. Her face was almost redder than her hair.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her chin came up. “You didn’t scare me, Mr. O’Malley. I’m not frightened of anything. Least of all
you.”
She turned on her heel and stalked off down the sidewalk.

He gazed at her retreating back. She might have claimed nothing scared her, but Will was damned sure she was afraid of
something.

A
LTHOUGH SHE’D MARCHED
off after their humiliating encounter, Becky’s legs weren’t as steady as she would’ve liked. The trip down unhappy-memory lane had rattled her, and she’d let down her guard. “Damn!” she said and swiped at her cheeks, hoping no one would notice the tears that refused to stop welling in her eyes.

She turned down her street, head low as she avoided other pedestrians. She’d felt like a complete spectacle there in the middle of Main Street being held by Will O’Malley for the entire world to see!

Nicolas wasn’t home—he was still at the hydrotherapy pool doing a session with his physical therapist. For once, she was home alone and could indulge in a bit of self-pity.

After lighting the fire, she poured a glass of pinot noir and curled up in a corner of the sofa, tucking her legs underneath her. The room was pleasantly furnished. She’d brought a few decorative pieces with her, but the quaint Victorian house was fully furnished. That meant Becky was able to rent out her renovated loft apartment in Denver for the six months they’d be in Spruce Lake. She’d bought it with part of her divorce settlement. The rest she’d invested in Nicolas’s college fund, although she’d have to dip into that to pay for the exclusive school for gifted children he’d be entering next fall when they returned to Denver.

The wine’s warmth seeped through her, calming her nerves.
The sooner she got out of this town, where everyone knew everyone else—and their business!—the better. Whatever had possessed her to accept the job here?

The spectators today had brought back unwanted memories from her past. The only memories Becky cherished from that long-ago time were of spending every spare moment at Ben Solomon’s office learning about the law. The kindly lawyer had taken her under his wing and helped her apply for a scholarship to attend college and then law school on the East Coast—far away from her family. Sadly, Ben hadn’t lived to see her graduate.

Her first job was with a prestigious Atlanta law firm where she’d met Graham Marcus, one of the firm’s high-flying partners. Urbane and charming, he had a wide circle of friends. They’d worked on several cases together, dated occasionally and a few months later he’d asked her to marry him.

Flattered and desperate to have a family of her own, she’d agreed without seriously examining whether she loved him—or if, indeed, he really loved her.
Marry in haste, repent at leisure.
The proverb’s words had come back to haunt her.

Three months after their wedding, Becky was pregnant. Dreaming that at last she’d have the family life she craved—she failed to notice something amiss in their marriage. When she discovered Graham had a mistress, the betrayal was so devastating she’d nearly miscarried. Graham begged her forgiveness. He put their unborn son’s name on the waiting list for the same exclusive schools he’d attended and became the doting expectant father. But soon after Nicolas’s birth, it was apparent that all was not quite right with the baby. When they received the diagnosis that Nicolas suffered from cerebral palsy and might never walk, Graham’s interest in their son evaporated and he demanded Becky put him into permanent care.

Bewildered that he could instantly turn from loving their son to despising him, she’d packed her bags and left with Nicolas, determined her dear little boy would know only unconditional love and support.

She’d filed for divorce and custody of Nicolas—Graham
contested neither—and she’d had no contact with her ex-husband since.

Another man had let her down. She swore that would never happen again. She’d been a fool to forgive Graham his affair. She would never forgive him for rejecting their son.

And she had no intention of opening her heart to pain ever again.

Becky sipped her wine, allowing its warm glow to spread through her. But the warmth reminded her of Will O’Malley and how good his arms had felt around her. How
safe
she’d felt in his embrace.
I need to get out of this town, because he makes me yearn for things I can’t have.

She sipped more of the wine and thought,
Now, there’s a man who’d head for the hills if he knew I had a physically challenged child.

“Have you heard anything from your ladylove yet, dear?” Mrs. Carmichael asked as Will cleaned up after repainting her shop.

He dried the paintbrushes and stored them. “Nope,” he said. “But she’ll come around.”

He’d been doing odd jobs at the florist’s for the past few days in between fulfilling his community service obligations at the Twilight Years Home. In payment, Mrs. C. sent him off to the courthouse with a dozen red roses every day. But instead of being shown into the judge’s chambers, he’d had to leave them with the receptionist at the front desk. So far, he hadn’t received any acknowledgment of either the flowers or the notes requesting a date that he’d hidden among the blooms.

“Maybe the judge doesn’t like roses?” she suggested. “I could do some lovely spring bouquets.”

Will picked up a cloth and wiped down the counter in front of him. “You’re sweet, Mrs. C. One of Spruce Lake’s living treasures.”

She flapped a hand at him good-naturedly. “Get on with you, Will O’Malley. Like your dear papa, you’ve inherited the Irish blarney.”

“Nope, it’s true. Cross my heart.” He did so, then bent to kiss her goodbye. “Toodle loo, Mrs. C. I’m off to see the mayor and walk Miss P.’s boys. And don’t forget to call me if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll have to put you into the Twilight Years.” He shook his finger at her.

“You’re so insolent,” she said with a laugh. “I always thought your mama was way too lenient with you. Good luck with the mayor. And don’t forget, you’re welcome to move into my upstairs apartment anytime, dear.”

“Thanks, Mrs. C. I’m so done with Luke whining I’m underfoot at the ranch.” He’d told her about the details of his latest conflicts with his oldest brother.

She shook her head, her voice full of compassion. “Ah, Luke. Like you, he has a heart of gold. Being the oldest of you boys, he takes on a lot of responsibility.”

Luke was on the wrong side of thirty-five. Hardly a boy.

“He needs a wife to help him with the ranch and those dear little girls of his.”

Considering Luke’s unhappy marital history, Will didn’t have much faith in his brother’s taste in wives. He’d been cranky since the day he said, “I do.” Since it was a shotgun wedding, Will could understand Luke’s foul mood. Tory had set a trap for Luke that he couldn’t see through at the time. However, the doomed marriage did produce three sweet little girls.

The shop’s doorbell rang and in stepped Frank Farquar with Louella at his heels, sporting a pink tutu. Mrs. C. sucked in her breath.

“Edna.” Frank removed his best black ten-gallon hat. It was Frank’s
prosperous rancher
look. To Will’s knowledge, the only time Frank had been anywhere near a cow was when he was barbecuing beef.

Will scratched Louella behind the ear, then busied himself with restacking some shelves out of Mrs. C.’s reach, figuring he should stay for a bit longer. After all, Frank might need his moral support.

“What can I do for you,
Mr.
Farquar?” she asked.

“I’d like a bunch of your most expensive flowers for someone very special.”

Will was taken aback. Frank Farquar had a ladylove? Judging by the look on Mrs. C.’s face, that particular bit of gossip hadn’t made its way down to her part of Main Street. Yet.

Yesterday, as he’d put up new shelves for her, Mrs. C. had related their story. She’d had such hopes for her and Frank all those years ago, yet he’d been too busy making a success of his rock quarry to get around to proposing marriage. She’d wondered how different her life would have been. Would they have had the children she’d so desperately wanted and been unable to have with her husband, Jeb Carmichael?

She expelled a sigh as though she’d been thinking the same thing as Will.

“You work too hard, Edna.”

She bristled. “I do
not.
And I’ll thank you to mind your own business.” She plucked a bunch of pink-and-white Oriental lilies, ripe with perfume, from a bucket of water. “These are my most expensive blooms.”

Lilies were Mrs. C.’s favorite and she always kept them in her store, saying their exotic scent cheered her, even on the bleakest days. It surprised Will that she’d recommended them for another woman.

Frank shrugged. “I dunno. Do you like ’em, Edna?”

“What’s it matter what I think?” she snapped, then seemed to rein in her temper. “Of course I do. They’re beautiful flowers. However, if you’d prefer roses, I can order some for you. Will has cleaned me out of roses this week.”

Frank turned to Will. “I wondered where all those flowers at the courthouse came from. They from you, boy?”

“They sure are. Not that it’s doing me much good. Yet.”

“You’re positive she’ll like ’em?” Frank looked at Mrs. C. again.

“Of course she will! I’m a florist, and I know my business!”

Will detected an undercurrent of jealousy in her tone. This could be promising—if only Frank hadn’t turned his attention to another woman.

“I’ll take ’em.”

“I haven’t told you how much they are.”

“I don’t care. She’s worth it.”

Frank winked at Will. Mrs. C. saw it and fumed. In fact, Will noted, she was so mad, she doubled the price.

“That’ll be eighty dollars. Would you like a card to go with them?”

Frank slapped two fifties on the counter, saying, “Keep the change, and yes, I’ll take a card.”

He chose a pen and started writing in the card. Mrs. C. tapped her foot. Will grinned at her. She glared back at him. A strategic retreat right about now would be a good idea, but Will couldn’t drag himself away. Instead, he climbed the stepladder and pretended to wipe down a top shelf.

“There.” Frank placed the card in the bouquet and stood back as if to admire his handiwork.

“If there’s nothing else I can help you with, then you’ll be going,” Mrs. C. said in dismissal.

“Not so fast,” Frank said, handing over the flowers.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Read the card.”

Scowling, she opened it and read aloud. “‘Dearest Edna, Roses are red, violets are blue. My heart is so lonely, lonely for you.’”

Will’s heart soared. But Mrs. C. looked as though she didn’t know whether to laugh or be sick.

The sight of Louella munching on one of the buckets of brilliantly colored gerberas brought her back to the present. “Oh, you
naughty
pig!” she cried, picking up a broom to chase Louella off. Louella spotted her and squealed, charging toward the protection of Frank’s legs. Unfortunately, she knocked over several flower-filled buckets and crashed into Will’s ladder in her haste to escape.

The doorbell rang, announcing another customer, as Will tumbled off the ladder and landed on top of Louella who squealed even louder and rushed out the back of the shop. She headed into Mrs. Carmichael’s living quarters, leaving a trail of wet trotter prints in her wake and Will lying half-dazed in a flower-strewn pool of water.

“You and your blasted
pig,
Frank Farquar! You should both
be locked up,” Mrs. C. declared as Will felt himself all over for injuries. “Now look what she’s done.
Get her out of my home!”

“I can’t understand this. I told her to be on her best behavior. Maybe she’s jealous?” Frank muttered and went in pursuit of Louella.

The
jealous
comment only served to make Edna Carmichael madder. She picked up a vase and threw it at him. It hit the wall and smashed.

Will dragged his attention from the commotion at the back of the shop to the customer who’d entered through the front door.

The judge was standing there, her expression contemptuous as she stared at the scene of devastation.

Will scrambled to his feet. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a bad time.”

“I wasn’t coming to see you, Mr. O’Malley, but since you’re here, I can deliver my message in person.”

“I’m all ears.” He offered one of his deep-dimpled grins, knowing from experience that women would forgive him anything if he smiled at them. Except maybe this particular woman…

The judge was unmoved by his overture. “Thank you for the flowers. Please don’t send me any more,” she said, then turned on her heel and left the store.

Will was puzzled. Why wouldn’t a woman want flowers? His dad had wooed his mom with flowers. His mom had apparently been as difficult to date as the judge, but his dad had persisted. Three months later, they were married, and now, nearly forty years on, they were still blissfully in love. If persistence had worked for his father, Will was sure it could work for him. However, he couldn’t keep presuming on Mrs. C.’s generosity. He needed to find a real job—a paying job—one the judge would respect.

“I’ll pay for any damage,” Frank said as he walked into the front of the shop with Louella in tow, a sullen expression on her face and her tutu torn to shreds.

“Just.
Get. Out!”
Mrs. C. yelled, picking up the lilies and
hurling them at Frank. “And take these with you!” Mumbling under her breath, she went to survey the damage to her home.

Will glanced from Frank to Mrs. C.’s apartment doorway and then back again at Frank.

Frank shook his head. “I guess I left my run on Edna’s affections too late.”

Will didn’t want to point out the obvious—he was around forty years too late. Still, where there was life, there was hope. “Let me talk to her. I think your romantic gesture was a mite too overwhelming for a woman of Mrs. C.’s, ah,
independence.”
He was going to say
age,
but thought better of it. If Frank was feeling his oats, then Will didn’t want to go reminding either of them they were getting old.

“You’d do that for me, boy?” Frank pulled a cigar from his pocket, stuck it in his mouth and chewed on it.

“Where true love’s concerned, I’d walk to the ends of the earth. On hot coals.”

Frank nodded. “That you would, boy. That you would.” He shot another forlorn glance toward the rear of the shop. “You let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

Will slapped his shoulder. “No problem, Mr. F.” He hunkered down to talk to Louella. “Now, Lou, you’ve got to promise me you’ll behave yourself. You’ve gone and upset Mrs. C. and spoiled your daddy’s chances of a hot date tonight. Understand?”

The pig snorted and pushed her snout in Will’s face.

Will wiped his face with his sleeve and stood. “Can I suggest next time you come visiting, you leave Lou in the car?”

Frank frowned, as though that hadn’t occurred to him. “Excellent idea, boy. She was only jealous. Usually she’s a good girl.”

“Maybe she needs a four-legged companion,” he said, thinking a certain dog of Miss P.’s would be perfect.

“I ain’t gettin’ another pig. Lou doesn’t like other pigs. She gets real jealous and tears the place up. Much worse than this.” He started to tidy up.

“I’ll take care of that,” Will said. “Your best strategy right
now is to get out of here. I’ll sweet-talk Mrs. C., sing your praises, and I’ll tell you when the coast is clear for another visit. Okay?”

Frank slowly contemplated his suggestion. No wonder a live wire like Edna Carmichael had slipped through the older man’s fingers all those years ago.

“If that’s what you figure, Lou and I’ll be gettin’ along.” He peeled off another two fifties and put them on the counter. “To pay for damages,” he explained, then shoved a wad of cash into the donation tin. “For the buildings. Maybe it’d be better if Edna opened that bank account herself.”

“To be fair and honest, it’ll need two signatories, and considering you’re our major donor so far, you should be one of them,” Will assured him, determined to get Frank and Mrs. C. back on friendlier terms. When he looked doubtful about agreeing to be a signatory, Will laid a comforting hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Let me talk to her. When she sees what a philanthropist you are, she’ll change her opinion of you.”

“A filla-what?”

“Philanthropist,” Will explained patiently. “It means an immensely generous person. Someone who’s public-spirited and charitable.”

Frank’s chest expanded with pride and he peeled off another wad of cash and stuck it in the tin. Large-denomination notes bulged out the top. Who knew owning a rock quarry was so profitable? Will decided the current trend of cladding new homes in local stone probably accounted for much of Frank’s fortune.

“I’m organizing a fundraising barbecue at the ranch for the weekend after next,” he said.

“It’s winter.”

“Exactly. Perfect time for a barbecue.” Will rubbed his stomach. “Man, I can taste that brisket right now.”

Frank was almost salivating. “Hey, great! D’you think your folks’ll mind?”

“Nah. You know how Mom loves entertaining. We can hold it in the machinery barn and have a dance afterward.” Will leaned
toward Frank and whispered, “Maybe some slow dancing, Frank. I’m sure Mrs. C. would love to slow dance with you.”

The older man’s face lit up. “Anything you need, you call me.”

Will saw Frank and Louella out, picked up the donation tin and went through to Mrs. C.’s home at the rear of her shop to ask if he could move into her upstairs apartment that evening.

Meanwhile, he was late for walking Miss P.’s boys. He’d have to leave sweet-talking Mrs. C. on Frank’s behalf till later. Much later, because he needed to see the mayor before the close of business, then go out to the ranch and run his fundraising idea past his folks. He’d take his mom flowers.

W
ILL
O’M
ALLEY!
Becky fumed as she strode back to the courthouse. She’d popped out to see the florist to ask her to stop sending the flowers, but instead had found the man who’d been haunting her dreams sprawled on the floor covered in gerberas and with that blasted pig licking his grinning face! She was so furious she wanted to scream.

Why was it that everywhere she went in this town that man was there? And if she wasn’t running into him unexpectedly, she was being assailed by dozens of roses with handwritten cards signed “Your secret admirer.” As if she didn’t know who
that
was! She was tempted to throw them away, but that would be too wasteful. She simply couldn’t throw perfectly good flowers in the trash. No matter who’d sent them. So she’d filled the courthouse with them instead.