Christmas In the Snow: Taming Natasha / Considering Kate

by Nora Roberts

  Too sensible to get starry-eyed.

  The hand that dropped on his shoulder had him jerking and nearly dropping the electric drill on his foot.

  “Jeez, O’Connell, got the willies?”

  Hissing out a breath, Brody got to his feet and turned to Jerry Skully. Rod’s father had been a childhood pal. Even though he was over thirty Jerry maintained his cheerfully youthful looks and goofy smile. It was spread over his face now.

  “I didn’t hear you.”

  “No kidding. I called you a couple of times. You were in the zone, man.”

  Jerry put his hands on his hips and strutted around the room. Put a suit and tie guy in a construction area, Brody thought, and they looked like strutters. “Need a job? I got an extra hammer.”

  “Ha ha.” It was an old joke. Jerry was a whiz with math, great in social situations and couldn’t unscrew a light bulb without step-by-step written instructions.

  “You ever get those shelves up in the laundry room?” Brody asked with his tongue in his cheek.

  “They’re up. Beth said elves put them in.” He cocked his head. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “I don’t hire elves. Their union’s a killer.”

  “Right. Too bad, because I’m really grateful to those elves for getting Beth off my back.”

  It was all the acknowledgment and thanks either of them required. “Downstairs is looking real good,” Jerry went on. “Carrie’s driving Beth and me crazy about starting up with this ballet stuff. I guess it’s going to get going next month after all.”

  “No reason it can’t. We’ll be up here awhile longer, and there’s some outside work yet, but she’ll have the main level ready.” Brody started to set the next cabinet. “What’re you doing hanging out in the middle of the afternoon? Banker’s hours?”

  “Banker’s work a lot harder than you think, pal.”

  “Soft hands,” Brody said, then sniffed. “Is that cologne I’m smelling?”

  “Aftershave, you barbarian. Anyway, I had an outside meeting. Got done a little early, so I thought I’d come by to see what you’re doing with this old place. My bank’s money’s getting hammered and nailed in here.”

  Brody tossed a grin over his shoulder. “That’s why the client hired the best.”

  Jerry said something short and rude that symbolized the affection between two men. “So, I hear you and the ballerina are doing some pretty regular dancing.”

  “Small towns,” Brody said. “Big noses.”

  “She’s a looker.” Jerry wandered closer, watched Brody finesse the angle of the cabinet. “You ever seen a real ballet?”

  “Nope.”

  “I did. My little sister—you remember Tiffany? She took ballet for a few years when we were kids. Did the Nutcracker. My parents dragged me along. It had some moments,” Jerry remembered. “Giant mice, sword fights, big-ass Christmas tree. The rest was just people jumping and twirling, if you ask me. Takes all kinds.”

  “Guess so.”

  “Anyway, Tiffany just came back home. She’s been down in Kentucky the last couple of years. Finally divorced the jerk she married. Going to stay with the folks until she gets her feet back under her.”

  “Uh-huh.” Brody laid his level across the top of the two cabinets, nodded.

  “So, I was thinking maybe, since you’re back in the dating swing, you could take her out sometime. Cheer her up a little. A movie, maybe dinner.”

  “Mmm.” Brody moved the next cabinet to his mark where it would sit under the breakfast bar.

  “That’d be great. She’s had a tough time of it, you know? Be nice if she could spend some time with a guy who’d treat her decent.”

  “Yeah.”

  “She had a little crush on you when we were kids. So, you’ll give her a call in the next couple of days?”

  “Sure. What?” Surfacing, Brody glanced back. “Give who a call?”

  “Jeez, Brody, Tiff. My sister. You’re going to give her a call and ask her out.”

  “I am?”

  “O’Connell, you just said—”

  “Wait a minute. Just a minute.” Brody set down the drill and tried to catch up. “Look, I don’t think I can do that. I’m sort of seeing Kate.”

  “You’re not married to her or living with her or anything. What’s the big deal?”

  He was pretty sure there was one. Being out of the stream for a few years didn’t mean he didn’t remember how it was supposed to work. Moreover, he didn’t want to ask Tiffany, or anyone else out.

  But he didn’t think Jerry would appreciate him saying that. “The thing is, Jerry, I’m not into the dating scene.”

  “You’re dating the ballerina.”

  “No, I’m not. That is… We’re just—”

  Perhaps it was best all around that while he was fumbling for an excuse, he looked away from Jerry. And saw Kate in the doorway.

  “Ah. Kate. Hi.”

  “Hello.” Her voice was cool; her eyes hot. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Recognizing a potentially sticky situation, Jerry flashed his smile and prepared to desert his old friend on the battlefield. “Hey there, Kate. Good to see you again. Gosh, look at the time. I have to run. I’ll get back to you on that, Brody. See you later.”

  He made tracks.

  Brody picked up his drill again, passed it from hand to hand. “That was Jerry.”

  “Yes, I’m aware that was Jerry.”

  “Setting your cabinets today. I think you made the right choice with the natural cherry. We should have the bedroom closet framed in, and the drywall set with the first coat of mud by the end of the day.”

  “That’s just dandy.”

  Her temper was a live thing, a nest of vipers curling and hissing in her gut. She had no intention of beating them back to keep them from sinking their fangs into Brody.

  “So, we’re not dating. We’re just…” She came into the room on the pause. “Would that have been sleeping together? We’re just sleeping together. Or do you have a simpler term for it?”

  “Jerry put me on the spot.”

  “Really? Is that why you told him—so decisively—that you and I are ‘sort of seeing each other’? I didn’t realize that defining our relationship was such a dilemma for you, or that whatever that relationship might be causes you such embarrassment with your friends.”

  “Just hold on.” He set the drill down again with an impatient snap of metal on wood. “If you were going to eavesdrop on a conversation, you should have listened to the whole thing. Jerry wanted me to take his sister out, and I was explaining why that wasn’t a good idea.”

  “I see.” She imagined she could chew every nail in his pouch, then spit them into his eye. “First, I wasn’t eavesdropping. This is my place and I have every right to come into any room in it. Whenever I like. Second, in your explanation of why going out with Jerry’s sister isn’t a good idea, did the word no ever enter your head?”

  “Yes. No,” he corrected. “Because I wasn’t paying—”

  “Ah, there. You are capable of saying no. Let me tell you something, O’Connell.” She punctuated the words by stabbing a finger into his chest. “I don’t sleep around.”

  “Well, who the hell said you did?”

  “When I’m with a man, I’m with that man. Period. If he is unable or unwilling to agree to do the same, I expect him to be honest enough to say so.”

  “I haven’t—”

  “And, I am not an excuse to be pulled out of the bag when you’re scrambling to avoid a favor for a friend. So don’t think you can ever use me that way, and with your pitiful, fumbling ‘sort ofs.’ And since it appears we aren’t dating, you’re perfectly free to call Jerry’s sister or anyone else.”

  “Damn it, which is it? Are you going to be pissed off because I brush Jerry off, or pissed off because I don’t?”

  Her hands curled into fists. Punching him, she decided, would only give him delusions of grandeur. “Jerk.” She bit the s
ingle word off, turned on her heel and, tossing something in Ukrainian over her shoulder, strode out of the room.

  “Females,” Brody muttered. He kicked his toolbox, and was only moderately satisfied by the clang.

  An hour later, the cabinets were in place and Brody was at work on the pantry. He’d already run through the scene with Kate a half a dozen times, but with each play, he’d remembered things he should have said. Short, pithy statements that would have turned the tide in his favor. And the first chance he got, he was going to burn her ears with them.

  He was not going to grovel, he told himself as he nailed in the brackets for a shelf. He had nothing to apologize for. Women, he decided, were just one of the many reasons a man was better off going through his life solo.

  If he was such a jerk, why’d she bother to spend any time with him in the first place?

  He backed out of the closet, turned and nearly ran right into Spencer Kimball.

  “What is it with people?” Brody demanded.

  “Sorry. I didn’t think you could hear me with all the noise.”

  “I’m going to post signs.” Brody stalked over to select one of the shelves he’d precut and sealed. “No suits, no ties, no females.”

  Spencer’s eyebrows lifted. In all the months he’d known Brody, this was the first time he’d heard him anything but calm. “I take it I’m not the first interruption of the day.”

  “Not by a long shot.” Brody tested the shelf. It slid smoothly into its slot. At least something was going right today, he thought. “If this is about the kitchen design for your place, once you approve it, I’ll order materials. We’ll be able to start in a couple of weeks.”

  “Actually, I’m staying out of that one. Tash has gotten very territorial over this kitchen deal. I just came by to see the progress here. The considerable progress.”

  “Yeah, moving right the hell along.” Brody snatched up another shelf, then stopped, let out a breath. “Sorry. Bad day.”

  “Must be going around.” And explained, Spencer decided, why his daughter was in a prickly mood. “Kate’s downstairs setting up her office.”

  “Oh.” Brody carted his shelves into the pantry, began to set them. Very deliberately. “I didn’t realize she was still here.”

  “Furniture she ordered just came in. I didn’t get much of a welcome from her, either. So, putting the evidence together, I conclude the two of you had an argument.”

  “It’s not an argument when somebody jumps down somebody else’s throat for no good reason. It’s an attack.”

  “Mmm-hmm. At the risk of poking my nose in, I can tell you the women in my family always have what they consider a good reason for jumping down a man’s throat. Of course, whether or not it actually is a good reason is debatable.”

  “Which is why women are just too much damn trouble.”

  “Tough doing without them, though, isn’t it?”

  “I was getting along. Jack and I were doing just fine.” Frustration pumped off him as he turned back to Spencer. “What is it with women anyway, that they have to complicate things, then make you feel like an idiot?”

  “Son, generations of men have pondered that question. There’s only one answer. Because.”

  With a half laugh, Brody stepped back again, automatically eyeballing the shelves for level and fit. “I guess that’s as good as it gets. Doesn’t matter much at this point anyway. She dumped me.”

  “You don’t strike me as a man who typically walks away from a problem.”

  “Nothing typical about your daughter.” As soon as it was out, Brody winced. “Sorry.”

  “I took that as a compliment. My impression is the two of you bruised each other’s feelings, maybe each other’s pride. An insider tip? Kate’s usual response to bruised feelings or pride is temper, followed by ice.”

  Brody dug out the hooks to be used in the pantry. He should leave that job for a laborer, he thought. But he needed to do something simple with his hands. “She made herself pretty clear. She called me a jerk—then something in Russian. Ukrainian. Whatever.”

  “She spit at you in Ukrainian?” Spence struggled to conceal his amusement. “She’d have to have been pretty worked up for that.”

  Brody’s eyes narrowed as he hefted his screwdriver. “I don’t know what it meant, but I didn’t like the sound of it.”

  “It might have been something about you roasting on a spit over Hell fire. Her mother likes to use that one. Brody, do you have feelings for my daughter?”

  Brody’s palms went instantly damp. “Mr. Kimball—”

  “Spence. I know it’s not a simple question, or an easy one. But I’d like an answer.”

  “Would you mind stepping away from the toolbox first? There are a lot of sharp implements in there.”

  Spencer slid his hands into his pockets. “You have my word I won’t challenge you to a duel with screwdrivers.”

  “Okay. I have feelings for Kate. They’re kind of murky and unsettled, but I have them. I didn’t intend to get involved with her. I’m not in a position to.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “That’s pretty obvious—I’m a single father. I’m putting together a decent life for my son, but it’s nothing like what Kate’s used to, or what she can have.”

  Spencer rocked back on his heels. “They gave you a bad time, didn’t they?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Unlike some families, ours can be nosy, interfering, protective and irritating. But you’ll also find we respect and support each other’s choices and feelings. Brody, it’s a mistake to judge one situation by the dynamics of another.” Spencer paused for a moment, then continued, “But putting that aside for the moment, since you care about Kate, let me give you some unsolicited advice. Whether you want to take it or not is up to you. Deal with the problem. Deal with her. If you didn’t matter to her, she’d have ended things gently, or worse, politely.”

  Deciding he’d given Brody enough to think about, Spencer turned to take a survey of the total construction chaos of the kitchen. “So this is what I’ve got to look forward to.” He shot Brody a miserable look. “And you think you have problems.”

  When Spencer left him alone, Brody stood, tapping the screwdriver on his palm. The man was advising him to fight with his daughter. What kind of a screwy family was that?

  His own parents never fought. Of course, that was because his father set the rules, and those rules were followed. Or at least it seemed that way.

  He’d never fought with Connie. Not really. They’d had some disagreements, sure, but they’d just worked through them, or talked them out. Or ignored them, Brody admitted. Ignored them, he thought, because they’d both been cut off, isolated, and they only had each other to rely on.

  Temper had never gotten him anywhere but in trouble. With his father, in school, in the early days on the job. He’d learned to rein it in, to use his head instead of his gut. Most of the time, he admitted, thinking about his last altercation with his father.

  Still, maybe it was a mistake to compare what had been with what was. One thing was certain, he wasn’t going to get rid of this nasty sensation in his gut until he spoke his mind.

  He checked his men first, ran over some minor adjustments and the basic plan for the following day. It was nearly time to knock off, so he cut them loose. He didn’t want an audience.

  Kate hit the nail squarely on the head and bared her teeth in satisfaction. Brody O’Connell, the pig, wasn’t the only one who could use a hammer.

  She’d spent the last two hours meticulously setting up her office. Everything would be perfect when she was finished. She wouldn’t settle for anything less.

  Her desk was precisely where she wanted it, and its drawers already organized with the brochures she’d designed and ordered, her letterhead, the application forms for students.

  Her filing cabinet was the same golden oak. In time, she expected the folders inside to be full.

  She’d found the rug at an antique
sale, and its faded pattern of cabbage roses set off the pale green walls, picked up the tone in the fabric of the accent chairs that now faced her desk.

  Just because it was an office didn’t mean it couldn’t have style.

  She hung yet another of the framed black-and-white photos she’d chosen. Stood back and nodded with approval. Dancers at the barre, in rehearsal, onstage, backstage. Young students at recitals, lacing on toe shoes.

  Sweating, sparkling, limp from exertion or flying. All the aspects of a dancer’s world. They would remind her, on a daily basis, what she had done. And what she was doing.

  She picked up another nail, set it neatly on her mark, slammed it. And what she wasn’t doing, she thought, rapping it a second time, was wasting her time on Brody O’Connell.

  The bastard.

  Let him cozy up to Tiffany. Oh, she remembered Tiffany Skully. The busty bleached blonde had been a year ahead of her in high school. Lots of giggling. Lots of lipstick. Well, let the jerk take her out. What did she care?

  She was done with him.

  “If you’d told me you were going to cover the entire space with pictures,” Brody commented, “I wouldn’t have worked so hard on finishing the drywall. Nobody’d know the difference.”

  She jammed the photograph in place, picked up another nail. “One assumes you have a certain pride in your work, whether or not it can be admired. And since I paid for the wall, I’ll do whatever the hell I like with it.”

  “Yeah, you want to riddle them with nail holes, it’s your choice.” The pictures looked great—not that he was going to say so. Not just the arrangement of them, which was cohesive without being rigid, but the theme.

  He could see her in several of them, as a child, a young girl, a woman. One of her sitting cross-legged on the floor, pounding shoes with a hammer, made him want to grin.

  Instead he waved a finger toward it, casually. “I thought you were supposed to dance with those.”

  “For your information toe shoes need to be broken in. That’s one method of doing so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get my office finished. I have appointments here tomorrow afternoon.”