Once Upon a Christmas (6 page)

She faced him. “Oh, come on. I saw how you worked on
the waitress this morning at the Downtown Grill, doing that…that
smile
thing you do, all oozing charm. I’ve got to say, it worked like a dream. I’ll
bet you get great service, don’t you?”

“
Oozing charm?
Yuck.” He shuddered. “I
get jobs because I’m good at what I do. Period.”

“Of course, it doesn’t hurt when your father’s the
biggest contractor in Saguaro Vista, does it? Half the town must work for him.”

Wham, direct hit.
Sam scowled. “You don’t know
what the hell you’re talking about. I do not get hired just because of who my
father is. Besides, that’s just a temporary job. Most of the year I have a
perfectly respectable job in Tucson, remember?”

“Whatever,” she said infuriatingly. Then,
undaunted, she waggled three fingers at him. “Number three, I happen to
have a boyfriend whom—”

“Whom you’re separated from?”

“Whom I care about very much,” she said staunchly,
heading back to the kitchen. Sam followed, stopping beside the refrigerator to
massage his injured toe.

Holly picked up a towel, polishing the porcelain sink and
backsplash with far more attention than the already-spotless surfaces deserved.
She poured more wine, set the bottle down, then picked it up and poured a
little more. Carrying the bottle and her glass, she paced back to the living
room.

Sam followed, having visions of tying Holly to a chair so he
could stop hobbling after her on his one good leg. “What’s the matter?
Having trouble thinking up a fourth objection?”

He regretted the words the minute he saw the wistful
expression on her face. He’d rather have her drop ten books on his toe than
look like that, he realized.

“I guess Clarissa told you about me and Brad, too?”

He nodded. “Unless there’s more than one ‘Brad the Bad’?”

“Nope.” She dropped into a big, flowery
upholstered chair and took a hefty swig of her wine. She sighed. “Just the
one.”

He settled opposite her on the sofa. “Why does Clarissa
call him Brad the Bad, anyway?”

“You really can’t guess?” Holly eyed him
curiously. “Then I’m not volunteering. Let’s just say Clarissa never liked
Brad much, and leave it at that, shall we?”

“Sure.” Sam wasn’t in any hurry to repeat what
Clarissa had told him, anyway—that Holly took in wrong men like other people
took in stray dogs, and had about as much success domesticating them. Despite
her crack about nepotism, he just wasn’t feeling that mean. Besides, it wasn’t
any of his business.

“On a completely different subject,” he said
instead, “how much are you asking for rent? I’m assuming you’re still in
the market for a roommate, unless you found somebody since this morning?”

Holly choked on a mouthful of wine, bringing on an
impressive coughing attack. Once her breathing had returned to normal, she
asked, “You’re still interested?”

Sam grinned. “I don’t scare easily.”

“Hmmm?”

“Nothing. How much?”

She told him the rent. “But don’t feel put on the spot
just because Clarissa asked you to meet me. I know she must have put you up to
this, but it’s really not necessary.” Holly narrowed her eyes and gave him
a speculative look. “Besides, I’m not so sure you’re the right roommate
for me. I can’t go around dropping things on you every day, you know.”

“I didn’t make the offer because of my cousin,”
Sam assured her. Gingerly, he propped his injured right foot on the coffee
table. “And I promise I’ll behave. From now on, I’ll ask first before I
kiss you.”

She scrunched her nose at him. “And I’ll say no every
time, guaranteed,” she promised.

He laughed. If her participation in their last kiss had been
so reluctant, he couldn’t wait to find out what Holly was like when she felt
enthusiastic.

“You know,” she mused, “maybe I could do
without a roommate altogether. Brad and I will probably be back together again
by Christmas anyway. I’ve got enough saved to tide me over between now and
then.”

Speculatively, she glanced around the living room. Her gaze
settled on the fireplace, the centerpiece of a cozy inglenook formed by the
built-in benches and pair of tall bookshelves that flanked it on both sides. It
was a typical Craftsman construction, spoiled only by the hunk of nailed-on
plywood that sealed the fireplace shut.

“The money you’ve saved—it’s your renovation money, isn’t
it?” Sam asked.

She looked at him, surprise evident in her expression. “How
did you know?”

“A wild guess.” He readjusted the angle of his
foot on the coffee table, grimacing at the pain the movement brought him. He
didn’t want to be a baby, but his toe hurt like hell. It would be a bitch
driving back home.

“If I move in for the next couple of months—say, until
the new year—it’ll be good for both of us,” he said. “You’ll be able
to put your renovation money to its intended use—restoring your house. And I’ll
already be here, so working on your renovation will be a snap. As a bonus, I
won’t have my mother hovering over me while I’m in town, trying to make me eat
my vegetables as if I were still six years old.”

She smiled. “With my mom, it’s milk. ‘Does a body good!’
I think I’ll need to be completely gray-haired before she believes I’m a
grown-up.”

They laughed. Sam leaned forward. “Do we have a deal?”

Holly still looked hesitant. “What about my design
plan? We didn’t exactly agree on renovation ideas, you know.”

“Tell you what. All I ask is you let me make my case
for an alternate design. If you don’t like it, okay. We’ll go with your idea
instead. The decision’s all yours to make.”

“Very gracious of you…considering it’s
my
house under discussion here.” Holly smiled. “Just kidding. That
sounds like a workable compromise to me. When do you want to start?”

“Let’s hammer out the details tomorrow over breakfast.”

At her nod, he had another suggestion. “Shall we seal
the deal properly?”

“Properly?”

“With a kiss.” He felt his grin widen. “Shall
we seal the deal with a kiss?”

She stared at him for a second. Then, laughing, Holly put
out her hand. “Are you a slow learner, or what?”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He accepted the
handshake she offered, then reached for his boot. “Now that that’s done, I
need to ask you a favor.”

“Umm, sure. What is it?”

“Would you drive me to the doctor? I think my toe is
broken.”

Chapter Three

“Oh, my God!” Holly bent over and peered at Sam’s
foot more closely. Now that he mentioned it, his toe
did
look a
little…unusual.

“Umm, you know the cartoon where the coyote has an
anvil dropped on his foot and it blows up like a big furry balloon?” she
asked, poking tentatively at his stockinged toe.

“Ouch! Yeah?”

“That was actually pretty good, compared with this.”

“You’re making jokes now?”

Holly glanced at him. His eyebrows drew together, making him
look surprisingly fierce. Clearly, he was not amused.

“You are! You’re making jokes at an injured man’s
expense,” Sam said. “I can’t believe it.”

Okay, so her jokes never did go over very well. That didn’t
mean she couldn’t try to cheer him up, she reasoned.

“I’m sorry. I really am.” She actually did feel
fairly awful about smashing his foot with the design book. It had seemed like a
good strategy at the time. She could hardly just let him maul her right in her
own kitchen, could she? Great kisser or not, she barely knew him.

“Wait here,” she told him, heading to the kitchen
to get the phone. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’m a cripple, where am I going to go?” Sam
grumbled as she passed him.

Men acted like such babies when they were hurt. Holly felt
bad about it, but it had been an accident, after all. She hadn’t meant to
really
hurt him.

“I do
not
have furry coyote toes, either,”
he called from the living room.

Hiding a grin, she dialed Brad’s pager number. There were
some advantages to having a boyfriend who was a doctor, even if the two of them
were temporarily separated. She was sure he’d agree to come over and have a
look at Sam’s injured toe. Brad liked to feel he was rescuing people. It was
one of the things that made him a good doctor.

Plus, a house call would save her and Sam a drive to the
emergency room and probably a three-hour wait for a doctor there. And if Brad
just
happened
to get a look at her hunky new roommate when he dropped
by, well…what was wrong with that?

When Holly returned to the living room with a bottle of pain
reliever, the rest of the wine, and Sam’s wineglass, he eyed her warily.

“Here.” She tapped some of the medicine in her
palm and handed it to him. “This ought to help a little.”

He squinted at the label, then up at her. “How do I
know you’re not trying to poison me?”

“Fine.” She dropped the medicine back in the vial
and snapped the lid on. It wasn’t until Holly glanced up again that she
realized Sam had been joking. He was smiling at her, giving her the same
charm-oozing smile she’d accused him of using on the waitress. Suddenly the
room felt too warm, their position too intimate, his appeal too dangerously
real.

Too bad that smile worked so well on her, too.

The phone buzzed in her hand. Grateful for the opportunity
to think about something else besides Sam, Holly answered it.

“Holly! I told you not to page me unless it was an
emergency,” Brad squawked in her ear. She’d forgotten how loudly he spoke
on the phone, how overwhelming his presence could be, even from a distance.

“It is an emergency.” She covered the phone with
her hand and mouthed, “It’s Brad” to Sam. He looked interested, if a
little confused.

“The Bad Boy himself?”

Holly frowned and waved her hand at him to be quiet.

“Can you come over here, please?” she asked Brad. “I
think my new roommate has a broken toe. I was hoping you’d take a look at it.”

“I’m a G.P., not a podiatrist. Can’t you just take her
to the emergency room? It’s getting late, and I’ve got appointments in the
morning.”

She couldn’t believe he was arguing with her over this. “He’s
really in a lot of pain,” Holly said, doing her best to ignore the way Sam
was scowling at her and waving his hands. She might have known not to make the
awful admission he was in pain, especially to another man.

The phone line was silent. “Brad? Just come on over,
okay? For Pete’s sake, I’m sure Sam will pay you, if that’s what’s worrying
you.”

She could practically hear Brad’s interest sharpen. “Sam?”

“My roommate. I told you someone was moving in,
remember? Don’t tell me you forgot…”

He hadn’t forgotten. He hadn’t believed her in the first
place. Holly could hear it in his voice as Brad went through some lame
explanation about how rushed he’d been the last time they talked. She smiled,
feeling less and less
un
spontaneous by the second.

“Elevate the foot,” Brad said. “I’ll be there
shortly.”

The line went dead. Holly blinked, then replaced the phone
in its stand. She turned to Sam. “He’s on his way.”

“It’s broken, all right.” Brad pinched Sam’s bare
big toe between his fingertips and waggled it a little.

Sam turned gray, but remained silent. Good thing, too. He
appeared to be biting back several choice words. Holly doubted whatever came
out of his mouth would be polite.

“Try to stay off of it as much as you can,” Brad
said. “Call my office if the swelling doesn’t go down or if it feels more
uncomfortable, rather than less.”

He straightened, pulling his car keys from his pants pocket.
As he turned to leave, Holly grabbed his arm to stop him.

“Let you know if it gets uncomfortable? That’s it?”
she exclaimed. “You’re just going to pack up and leave now? What about
medicine, what about a cast?”

She looked from Sam to Brad and back again. She’d arranged
poor Sam on the sofa as comfortably as she could, with his bare foot propped on
both pink-fringed throw pillows. It might have been a mistake to use two
pillows—she’d somehow elevated his toe to roughly nose-height. Holly made a
mental note to try a single bed pillow instead and turned to face down Brad.

Horribly enough, he looked about to laugh. “I can’t put
a cast on a toe, Holly. A broken foot, sure, but not a broken big toe.”

“Must be tough to maneuver around all those other toes,
eh Doc?” Sam quipped from the sofa.

Holly didn’t find Sam’s pain funny in the least. “I
want you to do something right now, Brad. There must be something you can do.”

Sighing, Brad took off his glasses, holding them in one hand
while he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Brad!”

“I’ve done all I can.” He handed one of his
business cards to Sam, shaking his head sympathetically. “What did you do
to him, anyway, Holly?”

“Me?”

Sam looked at her with renewed curiosity.

“Yes, you.” To Sam, Brad added, “Watch out.
This woman’s a walking recruiter for personal injury lawyers. One time she
knocked a ladder out from under me when I was changing a light bulb, up near
this ridiculously high ceiling. I took the whole light fixture down with me.”

They all glanced upward. “I just bumped into the
ladder,” Holly protested.

“Another time she threw a cast iron skillet at me.”
Brad spread his thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. “Missed me
by that much.”

“I did not! The handle was hot, and I let go of it too
quickly, that’s all.” As an aside to Sam, she explained, “I was
concentrating on a new recipe. I told him to stay out of the kitchen.” She
glowered at Brad.

“Naturally, it’s not limited to other people. Did Holly
tell you about the time she bashed herself with a garlic press? Gave herself a
really bad bruise on the collarbone,” he went on blithely. “I wouldn’t
have thought kitchen utensils were so dangerous.”