We Need a Little Christmas (11 page)

They helped Mom out of her chair and helped her find a prominent spot for it. Scotty slipped toward the kitchen. “More eggnog, anyone?”

It wasn't a man's world tonight, and he seemed to recognize the fact.

Half an hour later, the second tin of ornaments was still half full, but they were definitely running out of space on the little tree. Liv and Rachel stood back to view the results of their work, while Mom reclaimed her armchair, her foot dutifully propped up in front of her.

Scott, once again, stood to the side. “What do you think?” he asked.

“It needs the color wheel,” Rachel said.

Liv nodded in agreement. It was wonderful to see Nammy's old decorations, but without the colored light to reflect off its branches, the silver tree itself wasn't quite as she remembered it. Of course, the last time she saw it was nearly twenty years ago. Maybe, through the eyes of an adult, its dime-store origins were simply more apparent.

“We'll find the color wheel,” Liv said.

They contemplated the tree in silence. With all the memories on the branches in front of them, it was a bittersweet moment. That had been the point, after all—to celebrate Nammy's memory.

Then, suddenly, Rachel was circling the room, gathering empty plates and eggnog mugs. She whisked them off to the kitchen before Liv had a chance to help. Her sister's sudden flurry of activity kept the mood from getting too somber, if nothing else.

Rachel returned from the kitchen, extending her arms over her head in an elaborate stretch. “Well, that was fun,” she said. “But I'm beat. How about you, Mom?”

“It has been a long day,” Faye agreed, and Rachel was by her side in an instant, helping her up out of the chair.

Before Liv could recover from her mental whiplash, her mother and sister had excused themselves and gone to get ready for bed. It was barely past nine o'clock. Scott stared down the hall after them, looking as startled as Liv felt. Unless he was a talented actor, he didn't appear to be part of the conspiracy. Because that was definitely the description that came to mind.

I should have seen this coming
, Liv thought. Rachel's intentions to throw her together with Scott had been pretty obvious from the start. What wasn't clear to Liv was
why.
What was even more baffling was, what was she supposed to do now that they'd been so abruptly abandoned?

She could get Scotty's coat and hand it to him with a cheery smile, but that seemed pretty rude. Michael Bublé was still playing on the stereo, for heaven's sake.

All evening long, Rachel had made sure the carols on the CD player never ran out. Right up until her quick exit, her sister had worked overtime to infuse the evening with Christmas spirit. Liv knew her heart was in the right place. Rachel always tried to keep everyone around her happy. It was an endearing trait, Liv told herself, one she could use more of herself.

This agenda to leave her alone with Scotty, both at the start and the end of the evening, was just a little . . . blatant.

Scott regarded her patiently, not quite smiling, with a bemused look in the blue eyes that contrasted with his bright red sweater. Looking at him didn't help her think objectively.

Offer him his coat? Or offer him more eggnog? Between the four of them, they'd already gone through enough eggnog to sink a battleship. She couldn't think of anything she could say or do that wouldn't point up the inherent awkwardness of the scene.

Did
she want him to leave?

Of course she did. Anything else wouldn't make sense. She wouldn't even be in Tall Pine a few weeks from now.

Rachel had spirited away the plates, so Liv busied herself gathering stray tissue wrappings off the floor and off the couch. Maybe that was a nicer cue that the evening was, in fact, over. But Scotty, being Scotty, stepped in to help her.

“It's okay,” she said. “You don't need to do that.”

“Neither do you.” He eased a bundle of tissue paper from her hand and deposited it into the empty tin. “This could probably wait until tomorrow. You've been going nonstop since you got here.”

“No more than Mom and Rachel. And they're pregnant and wounded.”

“And they just went to bed,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” she said. “Funny, that.”

Leave it to her to bring up the elephant in the room. As if this situation needed to get more embarrassing.

“Okay,” Scotty said. “They weren't very subtle. But they meant well.”

“I guess.” Liv rubbed her arms as they stood facing each other. The flames in the fireplace were growing dimmer—one touch Rachel had overlooked in her hasty departure—and the room was getting cooler. “It's just sort of... borderline creepy, that's all.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“No offense. But doesn't it weird you out a little? Being pushed together like this?”

She made the mistake of meeting his eyes again and saw crinkles of amusement forming faintly at the corners.

“Liv, all they did was give us a little time alone together. I don't think they expect to come in here tomorrow morning and find our clothes all over the floor.”

Now,
that
would serve Rachel right. “So what do we do?” she heard herself say.

“Whatever you want.” Those eye crinkles edged upward into genuine smile lines, but this time it wasn't his trademark broad grin. “We could go out for a walk. Play gin rummy. Whatever.”

That smile was almost enough to thaw away the awkwardness. Almost. Liv tried to steel herself. She was getting way too comfortable with him, and that didn't make sense either.
Three weeks. You're here for three more weeks. There's no point. Who ever heard of a winter fling?

The silence stretched long enough for Scotty's half smile to dim. “Or I could go home. No biggy.”

She could just let him go. But it didn't feel right. “Scotty—”

“Scott.”

“Scott,” she amended. “I'm sorry. It's just a lousy time.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “Like I said, no big deal. I've gotten the ‘just-friends' speech quite a few times. Maybe I can even help you with the script.”

Just friends. She should grab at that. Scotty certainly had turned into a friend, and a good one, in a very short time. But
just friends
was such a standard-issue brush-off.

“It's not that,” she said lamely. “But—we keep getting thrown together. All this stuff with the heater, and now Rachel. And I keep jumping in your truck.”

“Maybe because we enjoy each other's company? It's not exactly a crime, Liv.”

“But there's no point. I'm leaving in less than a month.”

“So what are you afraid of?”

“Who said I was afraid?”

“You act like it.”

“I'm not. I'm just trying to save us both some trouble.”

But maybe he wasn't so far off.

She couldn't think when he was looking at her. As if he was hearing more than she was saying. Maybe it wasn't so hard to see why he was such a hit with heartbroken women. But she didn't
want
him to hear what she wasn't saying. So she turned away and contemplated the tree.

It was . . . incomplete. Without the color wheel, and under normal lighting, it looked sad and spindly, even with the long-forgotten ornaments. Because nothing could bring Nammy back.

“Hey.” There was that multipurpose word again. She felt his hand on her arm, felt tears threaten, and stepped away. If he touched her again, she was sure she'd cry. And she didn't want that. Behind her, she felt Scott move away, too, as if she'd singed him.

“I'm sorry,” she said quickly. “Really. I know you're trying to help. I just don't want to start bawling again the way I did the other day.”

“You don't have to be strong all the time, you know.”

“I like being strong.”

Scott looked at Liv in the soft living room light—the determined lift of her chin, the waver of vulnerability in her eyes—and felt a tug somewhere inside. He started to reach a hand toward her face, then stopped himself. He needed to quit reaching out when she kept pulling away. So he lowered his hand. But he stood his ground.

Finally she met his eyes. “It's not you. And it's not just Nammy. It's—everything.”

“I know.”

She looked at him questioningly.

“With women, it's never just one thing. It's like you're walking down the street and a big truckload of
everything
falls on you.”

Usually, though, there was a guy at the heart of it. In his experience,
It's everything
always seemed to come after
It's not just Joe. Or Mac. Or Todd.

This time, Nammy was at the heart of it, and that made Liv a different story. One he could relate to, because he felt that loss, too.

She was avoiding his eyes again, rubbing that area just below her temples.

“You know, you do that a lot,” he said.

She looked puzzled a moment. “Oh.” She lowered her fingers. “I carry tension in my jaw.”

He couldn't help it. He reached up slowly with both hands and used his thumbs to rub that same area, from her jaw line to her temple, his fingers sliding into her hair. She didn't try to pull away this time.

The stereo had stopped, he realized, and the room was virtually silent except for the sound of the half-hearted fire on the other side of the room. Liv's eyes dropped shut, and the world seemed to pause. Scott tried for a cooler head.
She said she didn't want this
, he reminded himself. But she stood motionless, eyes closed, as if a spell had fallen over them both.

He smoothed his thumbs through the hair at her temples, more slowly. His eyes wandered down to her parted lips. He wanted to kiss her. But not unless she wanted him to.

“Is this how it starts?” she said, almost languidly.

“No,” he admitted wryly. “Usually it starts with a girl venting to me about some so-and-so.”

Her eyes stayed closed, and he let his thumbs come to a rest at her temples, holding her face cupped in his hands.

“At least in your case there's no so-and-so,” he said.

That brought her eyes open. Her hazel gaze fixed on his, as if uncertain whether or not to speak. And he knew.

Oh, crap.
He'd fallen right into his demographic again. Scott let his hands drop.

Liv blinked, as if coming out of their mutual trance.

“See?” she said. “I told you. It's a bad idea.”

Scott made himself step back, but it wasn't easy. An invisible magnetic pull seemed to draw him toward her. Even though everything she said made sense. A little
too
much sense.

“Do you ever hate being right?” he asked.

And he left, before that invisible magnet made him reach for her again.

Chapter 12

By the time Rachel came down the hall the next morning, Liv's clothes were strewn over the living room floor.

Liv waited, listening, at the far end of the kitchen table, where the partial wall between the kitchen and living room kept her blocked from view. She heard Rachel's slippers shuffle down the hall—definitely Rachel, not Mom, because the crutches made distinctive sounds with the shifting of Mom's weight.

Liv sipped her coffee, savoring the flavor, drinking in Rachel's shocked silence.

Then came a tentative, “Liv?”

Liv lowered her mug, grinned, and waited a few more seconds.

“
Liv?
Where are you?”

“In here.”

Rachel entered the kitchen, her round gray eyes at their roundest. Liv let her sister take in the sight of her in her robe, slippers, and pajamas.

“The coffee's warm.” Liv took another placid sip.

Rachel sidled toward the coffeepot, still staring at Liv. “What happened last night?”

Liv was tempted to let the game go on a little longer, but decided it was better not to let wild images implant themselves too firmly in Rachel's imagination. “Nothing. Scotty left about fifteen minutes after you went to bed.”

“Where'd you sleep?”

“In bed next to you, snore-meister. I got up half an hour ago.”

“What about—” Rachel's head swiveled toward the living room, scattered with yesterday's clothes.

Liv shrugged. “Just an idea I got from Scotty. Didn't you wonder what happened to
his
clothes?”

“I was too busy freaking out.” Rachel swatted Liv's arm and glared at her.

Liv took another sip of coffee, hiding a smile of triumph. Rachel heaved an exasperated sigh, then went to the cabinet and pulled out a blue coffee mug. Rachel had always liked blue.

“My turn,” Liv said. “What was up with you last night? You and Mom took off like the room was on fire.”

“We were tired.” Rachel poured her cup of coffee, trying for those wide, innocent eyes again.

Liv tapped the tabletop with her fingernail.

“Okay.” Rachel settled into her chair, across the table from Liv. “I was trying to do something nice. Scotty makes you smile. And we're all going through a lot of stuff right now. Literally and figuratively.”

“Scotty Leroux, emotional first aid kit? You told me he was a big Romeo.”

“I was kidding around. He's dated a lot of girls, but I've never heard any of them say anything bad about him. And he's
nice.
Maybe that doesn't sound like much, but it can be awfully hard to come by these days. I never told you about the guy I went out with before Brian and I got engaged.”

Kevin had seemed nice, too. Until, all of a sudden, he dumped her, and she'd felt like a fool.

Liv backtracked. “I missed something. You and Brian dated all through high school.”

“Until we broke up the summer after graduation. Everybody expected us to end up together, but I wanted to see what else was out there, I guess.”

“So you found out you were right the first time?”

“Basically.”

Liv had always wondered how Rachel could be sure she was ready to get married when she was barely twenty years old. If Rachel's visible contentment was any indication, it was working out well. Well enough, apparently, that Rachel was worried about
her
now.

Her little sister wasn't supposed to be more together than she was.

“Brian's coming up tomorrow night, isn't he?” Liv asked.

Rachel nodded with a Mona Lisa smile that Liv tried not to read as smug. After all, it had been at least a week since Rachel had seen her husband. “You miss him a lot, don't you?”

Her sister nodded. “His schedule's really been awful. Ten days on, ten days off. I hated that he couldn't even get away for the memorial. I think they would have let him off if it hadn't been for that big fire.”

“He's a good guy.”

“They're hard to find,” Rachel reiterated. “I guess that's why I thought you and Scotty—”

“Nice idea, but don't forget, I live in Texas.”

“Okay. I won't try to push it anymore. I guess I was a little obvious.”

“You think?”

“Plus, it's kind of nice just to have a guy around. This week has been pretty . . . hormone heavy.”

Liv had to admit, Scott had played the part of emotional buffer more than once. “Poor guy. He probably feels like he walked into a Bette Davis movie.”

The creaking and clumping of Mom's crutches heralded her approach. Rachel said, “Don't give her a hard time about last night. It was my idea. She just went along with it.”

The sound of crutches came closer. Sudden realization seized Liv.

“My clothes!” She flew to her feet to snatch her staged evidence off the living room floor.

* * *

The last thing Scott expected to see when he pulled up to The Snowed Inn was Rachel's blue sedan. He didn't think he would have recognized Rachel's car until earlier this week, when he loaded the silver Christmas tree into the trunk.

That tree. With the color wheel he'd volunteered to help Liv hunt through the attic for. He'd forgotten about that when he left last night. He hadn't been thinking straight at all. No, last night he'd been too busy trying to make something happen when Liv obviously had too much else on her mind. When he just needed to grow up and take no for an answer.

He gave the steering wheel a brief, tight squeeze and got out of the truck. He had work to do, and he'd get it done. He just hadn't counted on running into a Tomblyn this morning.

It could be Rachel. It wouldn't be Faye. But his gut, and Murphy's Law, told him it was Liv in there.

He went inside and found Jake, who led the way to the problem: a leaky kitchen sink. Scott refrained from mentioning that the sink was one of the things he hadn't installed at the hotel. Something about Jake's wanting to give The Snowed Inn's business to more than one local repairman. Scott didn't buy it. He knew he wasn't one of Jake Wyndham's favorite people. Friendly and diplomatic as Jake was, most people would never notice. But Wyndham always maintained an extra layer of polite professionalism when he dealt with Scott.

As fate would have it, the kitchen wasn't empty. They walked in on Mandy and Liv, who appeared to be in the midst of some sort of cabinet reorganization project. The counter across the room from the sink was scattered with mugs, canisters, cinnamon sticks, and mysterious-looking bottles of what might be flavored syrups.

“Hey, ladies,” Scott said.

Liv turned, looking startled, and banged the top of her head on the open cabinet door above her. “Ouch!”

Scott started toward her, but Mandy was already right next to Liv. She put a hand on Liv's arm. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Liv said in the irritated tone of someone who'd just banged her head. She shut her eyes and rubbed her scalp.

“Sorry,” Scott said. “I was trying
not
to startle you.”

Liv opened her eyes, their expression still carrying a glimmer of annoyance. And Scott remembered the last time they'd locked eyes.

Apparently, Liv did, too. Her annoyed look dissipated into something like confusion. “Hi, Scott.”

“Hi.” He tried to will away the awkwardness. “Sorry about your head.”

She made a face. “I'm okay. No real damage done.” Rubbing her head again, she turned back toward the cabinet and picked up where she and Mandy had left off.

“Think left to right,” she said. “That's how we read, so that's how our brains tend to work. So if you set up your
first
ingredients on the left, and just work your way down the line, you spend less time scrambling back and forth.”

“So, coffee and cocoa on the left, sprinkles and cinnamon sticks on the right,” Mandy said.

“Exactly. You'll get a system down in no time.”

Jake showed him the problem and vanished back toward the lobby. Scott slid under the sink and moved the drip-catching bucket aside after making sure the water was shut off. He examined the pipes, working to the tune of the murmured conversation between the two women. Once he found the problem, he lingered under the sink, because he knew he couldn't get any further without a trip to Coffman's Hardware.

“Thanks,” Mandy said. “I'm used to making one or two drinks at a time, so whenever we get more than that, it's a rush.”

“Business is good, then?”

“Picking up.”

“Everyone loves Mandy's hot chocolate.” Jake came back in from the lobby. As Scott emerged from under the kitchen sink, Jake walked up behind Mandy and leaned over to kiss her cheek.

“Do you see this?” Mandy stepped backward, leaning easily into Jake as she gestured at the tidy cabinet shelves. “I owe you a cup, Liv.”

“Thanks so much, but I'll have to take a rain check,” Liv said. “I need to book that room and get back to my mom and sister.”

Scott clambered to his feet, wishing he knew a less clumsy way to get up off a kitchen floor. He kept his eyes off Liv, wondering if she was watching him, or if he was imagining it again. “I found the problem,” he told Jake. “But I'll need to pick up some parts. You've got a couple of options.”

Jake wore the disconcerted look of a man who didn't relish making mechanical decisions. Scott knew the look well; he saw it on customers a lot. Jake shifted his glance to Mandy, who was still occupied with refining her cabinet shelves into a model of order. “Tell you what,” Jake said. “Let me get Liv squared away first.”

Curious about what was going on with Liv and a hotel room, Scott followed Jake and Liv out to the lobby.

“You're booking a room why?” he asked as Jake settled in behind the check-in counter and Liv took her place on the customers' side.

“Rachel's husband is coming for the weekend.” Liv leaned her elbows on the varnished wood. “We've been sharing a double bed in our old room. But she thrashes around a lot, and I found out the other night my mom's couch is an instrument of torture.”

Scott frowned. “So you're booking yourself a room to keep from sleeping on the torture-couch?”

She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. “No, the hotel room is for Brian and Rachel. This way I can stay in the double bed without breaking my back. And I thought a couple of romantic nights might make kind of a nice early Christmas present.” She frowned. “Unless that seems selfish, with everything that's going on.”

Selfish? “No. I think it's nice of you.”

“We have five rooms open for Friday and Saturday,” Jake said from behind the check-in computer monitor. “Not counting the bridal suite. It's a little pricier, and—oh, hey, it's actually booked,” he noted with a smile. “Let's narrow it down a little. I've got three with a fireplace, two with a wood-burning stove. Which sounds better?”

Liv frowned and turned to Scott. “What do you think? Fireplace or wood-burning stove?” She blinked self-consciously, as if she suddenly remembered who she was talking to.

She'd be more self-conscious if she could read his thoughts. Unbidden, his mind conjured a picture of a room with Liv in it, and the way firelight would play on her already-fiery chestnut hair. He didn't dare think any further, because he felt his face reddening.

He forced his mind back to practical matters. After all, that was why she'd asked. Wasn't it?

“Probably the fireplace,” he said. “The wood-burning stove is pretty, too, but once those get going, it can get
really
hot.”

Did that sound suggestive to anyone besides him, or was his mind in the gutter?

And Jake stood by, hands on keyboard, hearing every word.

“Fireplace,” Liv said to Jake, delivering Scott from his brief stint in purgatory.

“Okay, that leaves us with . . .” Jake turned the computer monitor toward Liv. Over her shoulder Scott saw listings for the remaining rooms, each with a photo insert showing its decorating scheme.

“That's really impressive,” Liv said.

“Thanks. It's the same screen we use on our website, so out-of-towners can see what we have.”

Scott knew they were talking businessperson to businessperson, but he still felt a stupid sort of envy as Liv admired Jake's professional handiwork.

After a few moments' contemplation, Liv said, “I think . . . ‘White Christmas.'”

It was the room with the snowflake decorating scheme. Jake nodded, turned the monitor back his way, and started typing. “That's one of Mandy's favorites. Heck, they're
all
Mandy's favorites. She really enjoyed putting them together.”

Liv's face settled into a smile as they finished making the arrangements. And once again, Scott felt Jake's watchful presence. Then, thankfully, the phone rang, and Jake picked it up.

As Liv turned from the counter, Scott asked, “So, are we still on for Tuesday?”

She may have stiffened. “Sure.” She paused. “Unless that doesn't work for you.”

She stood back slightly, and at first Scott thought she was trying to physically distance herself. Then he realized she was trying to avoid tipping her head back to look up at him. He leaned against the counter of the front desk, the relaxed posture lowering his height by a couple of inches.

“No,” he said, “I want to be there when the heater guy shows up. But if you'd rather go along to your mom's appointment, I could borrow a key. I mean, if you'd feel comfortable doing that.”