by Linda Turner
Or at least, she had in the past. But this year, the ringing of the Salvation Army bell held little joy for her, and watching other shoppers scramble for a bargain when there was plenty for all didn’t so much as stir a smile. She’d never been so miserable, and it was all Mitch’s fault.
She shouldn’t have let him pressure her into staying. He was going to hurt her more than any man ever had—she knew that as surely as she knew that he had already stolen her heart—and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it. She had to have money to make sure there were presents from Santa under the tree on Christmas morning, and she only had a limited number of ways of making it. One was working for Mitch. The other was selling her manuscript to a publisher in New York. And since she had nothing but a drawer full of rejection slips to show for that creative effort, she wasn’t exactly holding out hope that that was going to happen—especially in time for Christmas.
No, she had to stay where she was for now, she decided as she headed home hours later. But it was only a temporary situation, just until after Christmas. Because her future wasn’t with Mitch. If yesterday had shown her anything, it was that. He’d kissed her, held her, made love to her with a tenderness that had nearly destroyed her, and, for a while, made her forget why she didn’t want a man. Her memory returned soon enough when he opened his mouth and stabbed her right in the heart.
But that was something she didn’t want to think about, not now. Her feet were firmly planted in the real world again, her priorities straight. She had two goals—to support the kids and get published. If the manuscript she was currently circulating in New York didn’t sell, then the one she was working on now would. She had to believe that. And in the meantime, she would keep things between her and Mitch strictly business. There would be no more kisses, no more lovemaking, no more romance. Maybe then when Alice returned and he walked out of her life for good, she wouldn’t be completely destroyed.
She thought she had her emotions under tight control by the time she let herself into the apartment, but nothing was that simple. Mitch had just finished making himself a turkey sandwich in the kitchen when she walked in. Her eyes met his, and all the feelings he stirred in her when they made love welled up in her heart. It was all she could do not to walk into his arms.
But she couldn’t. If he touched her now, all her fine resolves just might crumble, and then she’d really be in trouble. But Lord, it was hard. She’d never known that her heart could really, physically hurt until she’d met him, and just being in the same room with him made her want to cry. But that wasn’t allowed either. Not if she was going to work with him.
“Are you hungry?” he asked quietly, breaking the silence that stretched between them like a chasm. “I just made myself a sandwich. You want one?”
“No...thanks. I ate at the mall, but you go ahead.” She had, in fact, only picked at a salad that had held little appeal, but that was something he didn’t need to know. “When you’re finished, I’d like to use the kitchen table if you don’t mind. With the kids gone, this is a good time for me to work on their Christmas stories.”
“Oh... sure,” he said, surprised. “You can have it now if you like. I don’t need the whole table just for a sandwich. I’ve got to work anyway. I’ll just sit at my desk.”
“You don’t have to—”
“It’s no problem. Go ahead.”
Their conversation couldn’t have been more stilted. Phoebe hated it, but if she was going to keep things strictly business between them, this was the way it had to be. Without a word, she went to her room to collect her art supplies, and within minutes, she was bent over her work at the kitchen table and appeared to be totally engrossed. Only she knew she couldn’t even see what she was doing for the tears in her eyes.
Seated at his desk, chewing on a sandwich that tasted like cardboard, Mitch stared at her through the open kitchen door and wanted to throw something. How could she ignore him so easily? Less than a little over twenty-four hours ago, she’d been in his arms, his bed, and nothing had ever felt so right. They’d been so close that he’d have sworn that nothing could ever come between them again. Then it had all blown up in their faces, and there was no question that he was to blame.
He’d had all day to think about it, to relive again and again the conversation they’d had in his bed. He’d been so caught up in the wonder of her that all he’d been able to think about was keeping her with him and making her happy. He’d said something about transferring the kids to a school in Dallas and her staying home so she could write, and the next thing he knew, they were talking about money, and suddenly everything began to unravel. He didn’t even know how it had happened. He just knew he didn’t want to lose her or ever see that look in her eyes again. She couldn’t have looked more wounded if he’d actually stabbed her in the heart.
He’d hurt her. He certainly hadn’t intended to, but he’d hurt her badly. While he’d hung around the apartment all day waiting for her to return, he’d hoped that after some time to herself she might have cooled off enough for them to talk when she got home. Now he could see that that wasn’t going to happen, and for the first time, he began to realize the extent of her hurt and anger.
And it shook him. She wasn’t like any other woman he knew. Why had it taken him so long to see that and realize how much he liked that difference? With any other woman, he would have already gone out and bought a diamond bracelet or some other pricey piece of jewelry, and that’s all it would have taken to convince her to kiss and make up. Phoebe, though, was a whole other kettle of fish. If he tried that with her, she’d probably cram it down his throat.
He couldn’t, he thought in disgust, say he blamed her. He wasn’t normally insensitive to others’ feelings. He should have realized that with her pride, offering her any kind of settlement was a slap in the face. He’d reduced their relationship to dollars and cents, and in the process, thoughtlessly ruined things between them. She hadn’t, however, walked out. And as long as she stuck around, he had a chance of earning her forgiveness.
He didn’t fool himself that she would make it easy for him. The silence in the apartment was as thick as mud, but it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Every time he looked up from his work, she was right in the middle of his field of vision, but she never once looked his way.
And it frustrated him no end. Hours passed. Outside, the sudden strains of holiday music announced the beginning of the river parade and the lighting of the Christmas lights, an event they had planned to watch together with the kids. But although Phoebe stiffened, she didn’t look up from her work. He told himself that she wouldn’t be able to keep it up—there would come a point when she would have to glance out the window at the crowds partying on the river or at least say something—but the lady was nothing if not stubborn. She eventually took a break—she even got up and stretched and cut herself a piece of pie—but she never went near the window or acknowledged his presence in the living room in any way. For all practical purposes, she could have been completely alone.
Irritated, he finally said, “It’s getting late. I guess I’ll go to bed.”
He hadn’t forgotten that since she refused to share an apartment with him any longer, he’d agreed to sleep in the attic. He’d hoped she’d relent, especially since it was such a cold night and the only heat up there was whatever managed to float up the stairs, but when she spoke for the first time in hours, it wasn’t to tell him that she’d changed her mind.
“You can use my sleeping bag,” she told him coldly. “It’s in the hall closet.”
“She speaks,” he muttered under his breath as he retrieved the sleeping bag and a pillow from the closet.
He could feel her eyes on him and knew she was watching him as he headed for the front door. When she got up from the table and followed him, he was sure it was to tell him she’d changed her mind. She wasn’t a vengeful woman; she wouldn’t really condemn him to a cold night in the attic.
But that’s exactly what sh
e did. When he stepped out into the central hall, she not only shut the door in his face, the little witch threw the dead bolt.
He liked to think he had a sense of humor. Another time, he would have laughed at the thought of sleeping on the cold, hard floor in the attic when he had a perfectly good bed in his apartment. But as he started up the stairs, he realized that there was only one reason why he had ever agreed to such a ridiculous arrangement, and there was nothing the least bit funny about it. He was nuts about the woman. It was the only explanation.
The attic was dark as pitch and colder than the bowels of hell. Muttering curses about the lengths he would go to to make this one particular woman happy, Mitch tossed and turned and tried in vain to get comfortable. Outside, a strong wind whistled around the eaves, searching for a way to get inside. If Alice had been there, she would have said the ghosts that haunted the place were restless. Punching his pillow, he snorted at the thought. There were no spirits, nothing supernatural or unusual about the house. If it seemed to moan and groan at times, it was just because it was old, and the mansion’s foundation had a tendency to shift slightly in the rocky South Texas soil.
Deliberately closing his eyes, he accepted that he wasn’t going to get much rest. Not on a floor that was harder than granite, in a sleeping bag that had about as much padding as a tissue. But he hadn’t slept much the night before, and exhaustion hit him like a ton of bricks. Sleep dragged him under, and almost immediately, he began to dream.
Later, he couldn’t have said what he dreamed about. The images were too vague, too fleeting. He thought Phoebe was there, in his head, but he couldn’t be sure. The woman had her face, her smile, but the clothes were all wrong. She wore a beautiful, old-fashioned ball gown with a hoop skirt, and a necklace that for some reason struck a chord in a memory he didn’t even have. And in her eyes was a love that came straight from the soul.
Transfixed, he reached for her in his dream, needing to hold her almost more than he could bear, but she drifted away and he woke with a start, his heart slamming against his ribs. It was then that he heard the music. Light and airy and beautiful, the strains of a waltz floated on the night air just as it had over a hundred years before.
Stunned, Mitch lay perfectly still and tried to come up with a logical explanation for the phenomenon. There had to be one. Just about every nightspot on the river played some sort of music, he reminded himself. Even though it was well past the hour when most places closed, the music could conceivably be coming from there. Or maybe one of the tenants on the second floor had his radio tuned to an easy-listening station, and didn’t realize it was too loud. He’d have to hunt him down tomorrow and ask him to keep it down next time.
It sounded good, but even as he tried to convince himself that that was where the music was coming from, Mitch knew he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard a waltz on an easy-listening station, and the music wasn’t coming from downstairs or the river. It was softly seeping out of the walls and swirling over his head, and there was only one explanation for it. He’d been working too hard.
For the rest of the weekend, the apartment was an armed camp. Mitch was in a bear of a mood and walked around with a scowl on his face most of the time. Phoebe suspected he wasn’t sleeping well, but the current sleeping arrangements were something they didn’t talk about. They kept their. conversations limited to business and avoided each other as much as they could in the small apartment, but it wasn’t easy when they had to share a bathroom and a kitchen, not to mention work space. Phoebe had never been so miserable in her life.
On Sunday, the kids burst into the apartment like a breath of fresh air, shattering the silence that had fallen all too often over the weekend. Dressed in new clothes, their smiles wide and their eyes bright with excitement, they launched themselves first at Phoebe, then at Mitch, both of them talking at once.
“We talked to Santa at the mall!”
“And at the parade. He threw us some candy from his float!”
“He said he knew we’d been really, really good, and Christmas morning there’d be a big surprise for us under the tree!”
“Do you think he’s going to bring me a bike, Aunt Phoebe? I told him just what I wanted so he wouldn’t bring me the wrong kind. You know—one of those cool mountain bikes that I showed you in the Toys ‘R’ Us ad? It’s awesome!”
“Whoa, guys!” Louise laughed as she and Ward followed the kids into the apartment. “Give Phoebe a chance to catch her breath. She can’t hear you with both of you talking at once.”
Laughing, Phoebe hugged them again and told their grandmother, “Actually, I’m getting pretty good at carrying on two conversations at once. I guess I don’t have to ask if they had a good time.”
“It was the best!”
“Super!”
“It really was wonderful,” Ward spoke up, grinning affectionately at the kids. “They kept us hopping, but it was fun. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.”
“Then you’ll just have to come back for Christmas and stay with us,” Phoebe said. “I know the kids would love to have you and so would I.”
“Oh, we’d love to!” Louise said. “But are you sure there’ll be room? We don’t mind going to a hotel.”
“The attic apartment should be ready by then,” Mitch replied, “and Phoebe and the kids’ll be living up there. There’ll be plenty of room for all of you.”
“And it’ll be much more fun if we’re all together,” Phoebe added. “Please say you’ll come.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. Thrilled, the Mallorys graciously accepted the invitation and would have loved to stay longer to discuss what they needed to bring, but they had a cab waiting for them downstairs to take them to the airport for their flight back to New Orleans. Quickly kissing the kids, they then each hugged Phoebe and Mitch, then rushed out with a promise to be in touch.
With their leavetaking, silence threatened to once again invade the apartment. Afraid that the kids would notice she and Mitch were barely speaking to each other and start asking questions she wasn’t prepared to answer, Phoebe quickly pulled them down to the couch with her. “Okay, let’s hear more about this visit with Santa. I know you told me about the bike you wanted, but tell me again. Is it really neat?”
“It’s awesome, Aunt Phoebe! It’s black, with these really thick tires that can go over anything. Tommy Heartfield has one just like it, and he rides it all over the place.” Frowning, he looked up at Phoebe hopefully. “Do you think Santa’ll really bring me one?”
Slipping her arm around him to hug him close, Phoebe would have loved to assure him that she could pretty much guarantee Santa would make sure there was a mountain bike under the tree Christmas morning, but she just didn’t see how that was possible. Not when she’d already priced one and almost dropped her teeth in shock.
Then Becky piped up and added her two cents. “You can have your silly old bike,” she told her brother. “I want a computer. Grandpa showed me one in the mall, and you can play games on it and everything. That’s better than a bike any old day.”
“Is not!”
“Is so!”
“You’re just saying that because you can’t ride a real bike. You have to have training wheels.”
“I do not! Aunt Phoebe, tell him—”
“If I were you two, I think I’d watch what I say the next couple of weeks,” Phoebe cut in firmly. “Santa has really sharp ears, and if he hears you arguing, he just might not bring you anything.”
Startled, Becky immediately lowered her voice to a cautious whisper. “He wouldn’t really do that, would he, Aunt Phoebe? You’d tell him we’re really good kids. Sometimes we just...forget.”
“Forget what?” she teased. “That you’re good kids? I’m pretty sure Santa knows that.”
But knowing and being able to do something about it were two different things. Listening to the kids eagerly go on about the newest got-to-have toys, sh
e laughed and talked with them and encouraged them to tell her their hearts’ desire. And though her smile never faltered, deep inside, the knot of worry in her stomach tightened painfully. Her paycheck was enough for her and the kids to get by, but since living at the Social Club and storage for her things was considered part of her salary, the actual money she received each week wasn’t even close to what she’d made as a secretary at Wainwright. She’d managed to save a little, but it was a pitiful amount, and Christmas was less than a month away. What was she going to do?
Chapter 12
Watching her with the kids, Mitch couldn’t have said when he first noticed the tension in her smile as she teased the kids about the bundle of toys they were expecting Santa to bring them. She seemed all right after the Mallorys left, but as the kids talked more and more about Christmas and all the things their friends at school were getting, her smile became tight, her laughter slightly strained. And when Robby retrieved the toy-store ads from the Sunday paper and pointed out the latest highpriced, technical gadgets that most kids nowadays thought they couldn’t live without, Mitch would have sworn he caught the glint of tears in her eyes before she quickly blinked them away.
It was then it hit him. She didn’t have the money to buy the kids Christmas presents.
Swallowing a curse, he wanted to kick himself for not realizing sooner just how bad a bind she was in. He knew how much she made—he paid her salary, for God’s sake! And most of it went for her and the kids’ share of the daily living expenses and keeping the kids supplied with the things they needed. She didn’t spend so much as a nickel frivolously—and never anything on herself—but it didn’t matter how tight she was with her money, it only stretched so far. And with her savings wiped out by the rent money she’d been conned out of, she had no reserves to fall back on. Considering all that, he didn’t see how she was going to be able to give the kids anything but the most inexpensive of presents, and even then, she’d have to find some real bargains.