My Kind of Christmas (13 page)

“Even though it’s hard…”

“Even though,” she said. “The thing is, I’ve always been okay with showing off my gray matter. I didn’t mind if people thought it made me look dorky or dull—that only meant they’d leave me alone. But when I have to try to showcase my looks or personality, it’s tough. I can’t help but feel like I don’t measure up. You know?”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Ange. You measure up and then some.”

“You’re being very sweet. Is it because you think you’re getting sex tonight?”

He laughed at her. “I assume I’m getting nothing more than the sound of your snoring unless you feel like sex....”

“I don’t snore.”

“Oh, yes, you do. It’s very cute.”

“I doubt I’ll be able to sleep while I’m with you now,” she said. But a big yawn followed that statement, making them both laugh.

“I was very proud of you today,” he said. “You knew what you wanted, what you needed, and although it wasn’t easy for you, you got the job done. Very proud.”

She turned her head to look back at him. “I don’t know if you’ll understand this, but since meeting you I feel like my best self is coming out. Maybe it’s because of your confidence in me. It kind of trumps my own lack of confidence.”

They talked for a little while, snuggled together in the chair in front of the fire. Angie hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until she felt herself being lifted into his arms and carried to bed.

“Let me help you get comfortable,” he said, pulling off her clothes. “Want a T-shirt?”

“Yes, please,” she said, holding her arms out for him.

He stripped down to his boxers and crept under the covers where he curved himself around her back.

“Did you know I’ve never slept with a man before?”

“Sure you have. You had that ex-boyfriend.”

“Mmm-hmm. But I didn’t sleep with him. He couldn’t get out of bed fast enough.” She burrowed into his arms. “He didn’t know what he was missing. Snoring or not, I’ve never rested better in my life.”

It was quiet for a long moment before Patrick kissed the back of her neck and said, “Me, too.”

* * *

After Angie had left in the morning, Patrick dialed Marie’s cell phone.

“What great timing,” she said. “I’m sitting in the parking lot outside the day care at my mom’s church. It’s my old church, but from a long time ago. My mom convinced me to let Daniel go to day care a couple of mornings a week. She didn’t want me to get too clingy right now and then get a job and suddenly shift him into full-time or almost full-time. She’s right. He doesn’t realize he lost a father. And he needs other children.”

“Probably wise. How are you doing?”

“Up and down,” she said. “You know—I have periods of thinking I’m doing better, then I have a couple of days I don’t want to get out of bed. This is when having a two-year-old probably saves my life—my mom would let me lie in the bed, I think. But Daniel won’t. How are you doing?”

“Okay,” he said, feeling so guilty that his life had never felt better. “I got involved in a special project. There’s a young woman here, a visiting relative of someone in town, actually. She’s on break from med school and she helps out at the clinic and she became aware of a problem that needed fixing. A little girl with a bad facial scar and no money to repair it. So this woman took it upon herself to find funding through donations and I offered to help. It’s kind of taking the focus off me and my self-pity.”

“Really, Paddy? That sounds wonderful. Where did you meet her?”

“In the bar—the town bar. She’s the niece of the owner. She’s pretty young, but she makes up for it with a lot of courage.”

“Aw, you sound so tender when you talk about her....”

He wanted to tell her more—about Angie’s accident, her struggle to recover, the issues with her family and her efforts to make her own way in the world. To pay back or pay forward. And he wished there was someone he could tell that his life had never felt this kind of peace, not even before his losses. But he said, “It’s easy to admire her efforts. I would have seen that little girl’s scar and just felt bad about it. Not Angie. She saw it and said, ‘What can we do?’ and got after it. She’s trying to get financing for corrective surgery. I found out that rather than going back to medical school right away, she’s going to give a couple of years to the peace corps.”

“Do you think she’ll get the funding?” Marie asked.

“She’s making the rounds right now, going from business to business, from organization to club. She even put up a Facebook page that gives instructions for donating. Her aunt helped her set up an account for donations at a local bank. And what people don’t realize about her is that it’s actually pretty hard for her to put herself out there like that. She’s studious, an introvert.”

“What’s the Facebook page called?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t even looked. I think it’s probably Megan’s Reconstructive Surgery or something. Now tell me what you’re doing, besides sitting in your car outside day care?”

“People try to keep me busy,” she said. “It verges on annoying, to tell the truth. From family and extended family to old friends from high school, I get invitations and visits and offers of things to do. I still need some time alone, though. I need time to grieve. According to my grief group, there’s no bypassing it by staying active, even though some activity helps.”

“You did go back to grief group,” he said. “Did you confess about the Christmas presents for Jake?”

She gave a little laugh. “You’ll never believe it—I confessed and three people in my group had done the same thing. Some people admit that years after losing a loved one like a sister or parent they still reach for the phone to call them, to tell them something, before they’re reminded that, oh, yeah, they’re gone. Right now I’m the baby, the newbie, but they talk about being changed and seeing their growth when someone with fresh pain comes to the group. There’s only one thing wrong with this—I desperately want to graduate.”

“I can imagine,” he said. “And you will. We both will. There’s a new, hopeful life out there for both of us.”

Eleven

T
he rest of Angie’s week verged on idyllic. After making sure her aunt Mel didn’t need her help in the clinic, she drove into the coastal towns every morning. She went from business to business, large and small, showing a couple of pictures, explaining about Megan’s situation. She was in restaurants, print shops and even tattoo parlors. Sometimes she collected cash—a few dollars here and there. Sometimes she gave account deposit information for Farmers Trust Bank. She found special support at the fire department—they offered to continue to collect for her. Then she went on to the police and sheriff’s departments in Fortuna and Eureka.

The one thing she wouldn’t do was post Megan’s picture in a business window or on a bulletin board. Merchants could verify the legitimacy of the cause through the bank and Brie Valenzuela, attorney.

At the end of each day she went to the bank to make a deposit and get a balance. The first couple of days it was modest—a couple hundred here, couple hundred there. And the end of the day before meeting up with Paddy, she drove to the Thicksons’ house to update them on her progress. Then on the fourth day, Friday, there was a huge surge in donations. Up to this point Angie had collected six hundred and change, when someone suddenly made a thousand-dollar deposit. It was an anonymous donation.

“How does something like this happen?” she asked the teller.

“Word of mouth, I’m sure,” she said.

“Maybe firefighters or police—they said they’d continue collecting. But I’d planned to go back next week and see what kind of results they had.”

“No matter who’s responsible, the result is very nice,” the teller said with a smile.

“I wasn’t complaining,” Angie said. “I’m stunned.”

Angie was excited to tell Megan and her parents about the fund—which was nearing two thousand dollars—but she was even more eager to tell Patrick. They were spending the evening at his place tonight, and when she arrived, he was already cooking their dinner. She told him the news about the growing fund, and he was so proud of her, so happy for her, that he picked her up and spun her around.

As he served her dinner, she said, “A girl could really get used to this.”

“So could a guy, but unfortunately there’s that boat…”

“You ready to go back to the Navy, to the plane?” she asked him.

“Not sure yet. I’ve always wanted that life,” he said.

“Even when it’s dangerous?”

“Especially when it’s dangerous,” he answered. “The thing about a jet like that…you want the challenge it demands, and the rush is just unparalleled. The job it does can’t be compared to anything else in my mind. But when there’s a tragedy, like what happened with Jake, it shakes things up. I’ve had my doubts lately, wondered if I should move on to something with less rush and more stability.” He looked into her eyes and said, “You know what I learned while sitting out some leave here?”

“I can’t wait to hear.”

“It’s not something I’m real proud of, but it’s a fact—I’ve always wanted Jake’s life,” he said.

Marie,
she thought.

“You said you had a girlfriend. A serious girlfriend,” she reminded him.

“Sure, I was serious about her, but it wasn’t mutual. And I wasn’t like Jake—I wasn’t insanely in love with her. Why’d I think that was okay?” he asked her. He just shook his head. “From the time I realized what Jake and Marie had going on, that was what I wanted. But I only admitted that to myself recently. Since he died, really. Most of my friends are married, most of them have ordinary relationships. They run hot and cold. A lot of them get bored or take their women for granted. But from the minute Jake and Marie got together, they were madly in love. Totally committed. I don’t think that happens to too many people.”

“It happens almost all the time in my family. There have been a couple of exceptions. My aunt Brie was divorced—her ex-husband was
…is
a real screwup. He left his second wife, too. But Brie’s so solid with Mike, it’s wonderful. Uncle Jack didn’t get married till he was forty, never even had a close call. But as soon as he found Mel, there was no one else in the world for him.”

“My brothers weren’t exactly fast burners in that department. Well, Luke—he was married before. Briefly. And Aiden even more briefly. That would inspire caution in any man, I guess.”

She put down her fork and tilted her head. “Every man and woman wants what your friend Jake had. Every single one. That’s the dream, right? The kind of powerful love that lasts a lifetime? And no matter what you say about all the married guys you know who are bored or discontent or just too plain dumb to appreciate their good luck, I bet there are a lot of couples who appreciate their good fortune and treat their marriages very carefully.” When he didn’t say anything, she added, “I bet there are.”

“My father was a blusterer,” Patrick said.

“And mine is the studious and silent type, all too happy to let my mother dominate the conversation. But they hold hands. They love to travel together. They surprise me all the time. Once I saw him give her a pat on the ass in the kitchen and I thought, wow, they’ve still got it.”

“I have to say, I never saw that at my house. My mother thought about being a nun. And my father was—”

“A blusterer,” she said with a laugh.

Patrick held her hand across the table. “What do you want, Angie?”

“I never saw Jake and Marie together,” she said with a shrug. “And I’m the last person to ask how to guarantee the future. I mean, didn’t I get an up close and personal lesson in how unpredictable life can be? So, after falling in love, what I really want is a man who believes marriage can work. A man willing to try for that. A man who won’t give up. Because I already know that if I make a commitment it would take a terrible string of crises to get me to give up.”

“How will you know when you’re in love?”

“I’ll know,” she said. “I’ll absolutely know.”

He smiled at her. “I want you to do something for me. I want you to take the weekend off. Come with me to Colin’s tomorrow night—Luke, Shelby and their little boy will be there. Jillian’s sister and her family are coming over. They’ve been baking and freezing rolls and breads for Jack to put in the town’s Christmas baskets. The house is amazing, decorated for the holidays. You’ll like them—they’re nice people.”

“I can swing through the coast towns for a few hours and then—”

Patrick shook his head. “There won’t be time. I rented us a snowmobile. For Sunday.”

“You did?” she asked, coming out of her chair. “You did!”

“We’re wearing helmets,” he informed her. “And we’re going on an approved trail so we don’t run into any wire fences.”

“Oh, Paddy, you are so cool. But I can still make a run through—”

He was shaking his head again. “Tomorrow we’re going to sleep in, then lie around in front of the fire, have a big breakfast—not early. I know you don’t like an early breakfast. Then we’re going over to Colin and Jillian’s. I’ll give you a tour of the property on their little snowplow. You can see the greenhouses, the big Victorian they live in, the farm.” He grinned at her.

“But, Patrick, I’m getting closer to the amount I need—”

He squeezed her hands. “We’re going to play. Then on Monday you should call Catherine. Book the surgery for Megan because if you can drum up almost two thousand dollars in four days, you’re going to get there, no sweat. And whatever else you need in the end to get it up to five thousand, I’m going to chuck in.”

“Patrick…”

“The whole time I was dating Leigh, she dragged me to fundraiser after fundraiser, a slew of silent auctions, raffled prizes and fancy events that required big tickets for charitable contributions. I’m scared to even think what I shelled out and nothing I can remember felt as right as this does. Go with it, Ange. I won’t get in your business and steal all your thunder in this campaign—you’re doing great and I’m proud of you. But I want to have some fun this weekend and I also want to dump some money in the Megan fund.”

“Wow,” she said. “Do you realize how wonderful you sound?”

“Yes, I do,” he said with a firm nod. “And I think I’m underappreciated.”

“Well, we can’t have that!” She stood up and lifted her plate and his. “I’ll do the dishes.”

Elbows braced on the table, fingers laced together, chin on his hands, he watched her clear away the dishes. But the minute she had them rinsed and in the sink, he stood up. He scraped the chair back loudly and when she turned to look at him, he was smiling that half smile and his eyes were smoldering. He approached her slowly, but then grabbed her up in his arms, lifting her off the floor. She laughed and looped her arms around his neck.

“Listen, mister. Don’t think you can buy my love.”

“I don’t intend to. I’m going to seduce your love. Then I’m going to help buy you an operation.”

* * *

Patrick felt the soaring, heard the powerful engines, the g’s pulling on him. The sky above him was the kind of clean blue you can only experience from a jet. The water below barely moved. Then he reached land that was brown and gray, mountainous and stark.

Nothing in the world felt so potent to him, yet even in his deep sleep he was afraid to feel it, to let it consume him. He felt he had complete control of a mighty machine, and yet…

Viper One, target in range. Descending to ten thousand feet.

He held his breath. Even in his sleep, he stiffened and couldn’t breathe. And then it happened—just as the three Hornets passed over the mountain range with a large fortress in his sights, he felt his ship rock from an explosion, a blast of white light, flying debris, and he screamed. He banked away and brought the jet level, looking for a chute.
Jake! Goddammit, Jake! Where’s the goddamn chute?

He screamed his friend’s name, sat up in bed, covered with sweat and freezing. Panting. Gasping.

And there was Angie, kneeling beside him, running her small hand over his back and whispering his name. “Shhh, Paddy, it’s all right now. Shhh, just a bad dream…”

Just?
he thought. Just seeing his best friend go down over and over again, his F-18 exploding, showering the other jets with debris, then dropping from the sky in a flat spin, another explosion on impact with the side of a big, brown mountain.

Patrick groaned and fell back against the pillows. He was shaking. He pinched his eyes closed and felt Angie pull the quilt over him, but she didn’t lie down beside him. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, waiting for his breathing to even, to slow. When he finally opened his eyes she asked, “The crash? Jake?”

“Did I yell?”

“No. You said his name. You made a sound. You stiffened and clenched your fists and started panting. And you wouldn’t wake up.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “I was busy,” he said.

“Does that happen a lot?”

He let his lids close gently. “Not since you,” he said softly, opening his eyes again. “It’s been a couple of weeks, I guess. That’s why I won’t stay with my brothers. I thought I screamed. In the dream I scream. It’s like the real thing.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t scream. I might not have known about the nightmare if I’d been in the next room.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Can you talk about it? About what happened that day?”

He gave a shrug. “There’s not too much to tell. We were locating a terrorist cell on the Libya border, flying in low, making our presence felt. There were reports of a terrorist training post. There had been heavy fire from that place—we’d had casualties and fatalities. There had been reports of a lot of grenades, IEDs, gunfire, ground missiles. A couple of sorties to the area reported surface to air Russian-made air heat seekers, which were evaded by jets. There were some close calls, near-misses, and then a NATO helicopter was taken down. We saw the flash, evaded, but the bastard got Jake’s engine. And his plane just came apart—as if it were made of nothing more than plastic
.
I looked for a chute. I prayed for a chute. We thought we were clear but… We weren’t clear.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Went around, came back in and bombed the shit out of that place.”

She was quiet for a second.

“It’s what we’re paid to do, Angela,” he said.

“I know, it’s just that I can’t imagine seeing a friend crash and then getting right back to the mission....”

“It was the only satisfying thing that happened that day,” he said. But he turned his head away.

She put her fingers on his chin and turned him back. “Have I said how sorry I am for your loss?”

He gave her a small smile and pulled her down beside him. “You’re a sweet girl.”

“You don’t treat me like a girl,” she said. “If I were really a girl, you’d be arrested.”

“But your uncle Jack was right, you know—I have issues.”

“We all do, Paddy. Including Uncle Jack. My aunts, Mel and Brie, have had some issues of their own—really tough stuff to get over. You’re not so different from the rest of us.” She gave his neck a kiss. “Can you fall back to sleep?”

Sometimes he was afraid to sleep, which left him tired and angry. But when Angie was around, things didn’t seem so cold and empty. “Snuggle up here, angel. Rock me to sleep.”

“My pleasure.”

But sleep was not what she thought would comfort him the most. She caressed him—his shoulders, his chest, his belly. She kissed his neck until he rolled toward her and took her mouth with a vengeance. His hands started to move and when she groaned her pleasure, he laughed deep in his throat. Any lingering trace of his nightmare was now gone.

They’d been together such a short time, yet it felt as if he’d known her a lifetime. They certainly got to know each other in a wonderfully intimate way. He grabbed her butt and turned her, fondled her, slipped his fingers into her and over her and got her wriggling toward a climax. She stroked him until he was moaning and reaching toward her.

“I’ll be careful,” he whispered, reaching to the nightstand for his condom.

“Please don’t be too careful,” she whispered back.

Again that sexy laugh. “Feel like a wild ride, do you?”