by Mimi Wells
She looked at him, brown eyes clear, no aura of expectation.
Rand closed the space between them and took the bag from her hand. “Ivy.”
Her gaze softened, and he swallowed.
“There’s never been anyone but you.”
She leaned into him with a sigh, welcomed his mouth on hers. Yesterday’s kiss was a preamble for this one, which set his insides roaring with sudden fire. He could spend all day with this woman in his arms, exploring every inch of her smooth skin. Upstairs, some imp whispered. All the time and space you’d need.
He pulled her close and breathed in the scent of her hair, that fresh citrus scent that fit her energy and personality so well.
Just then, her phone chimed an alert. She huffed and checked it. “It’s four o’clock. Laurel’s closing for the day, and I have her keys. I have to go.”
“Stay.” He didn’t know what he’d do if she did. He only knew he wanted her close.
“Can’t.” She gave him a smile and moved to retrieve her coat. “Going to the service tonight?”
“Always.”
“Then I’ll see you there.” She kissed him again, a luxuriant press on the lips, and disappeared out the back door.
Chapter Twelve
Rand was coming back inside after placing the last of the luminarias along the sidewalks bordering the inn when his Subaru pulled into the back lot and Julian and Katy piled out.
“What are you doing here?” Rand shot a nervous glance at the driveway, sure he’d see Ivy’s red Jetta turning in behind them, but nothing happened.
“Julian was so thrilled after pulling off a public appearance, he couldn’t stop himself from trying again,” Katy explained as she greeted him with a hug.
Julian rounded the car bearing a cheap foam cooler under one arm and dangling a six-pack of beer from the other hand. “We brought dinner.”
“Actors.” Katy shrugged. “They have a full-of-themselves streak.”
Julian grinned and sketched a mock bow. Even though Rand’s heart rate had just gone haywire, he couldn’t help releasing a weak laugh. Julian’s irrepressible good humor was catching. “This way, then.” Rand held open the back door and hustled them all up the service stairs to the top floor.
Soon they were seated around the coffee table in the Dogwood suite, a thick hotel towel serving as their tablecloth. Katy pulled the lid off the cooler and the unmistakable smoky scent of barbecued ribs wafted to the ceiling. She began lifting containers out of the cooler and arranging them on the small table. “Eat up,” she said.
“Finally got my rib dinner,” Julian said as he stacked ribs onto a thick paper plate and began coating them with sauce from a small plastic tub.
Rand popped the caps off three of the beers and handed them around. “To friends,” he said, and they clinked bottles and drank.
Even though this was Rand’s second meal from Pete’s Rib Cage in as many days, he dug in with gusto. But hungry as he was, he was no match for Julian, who destroyed an entire rack of spareribs by the time Rand finished a quarter chicken.
Dinner was great. Not as great as kissing Ivy Macpherson, but perfectly fine. The three of them laughed over Rand and Katy’s college stories and Julian’s insider gossip from TV and movie sets.
“So,” Julian said, pausing to lick some sauce off his thumb, “you’re a great guy, Rand Cooper. This has been my best vacation in years. And I have you to thank.” He poked Rand in the chest. Hard.
“Thank Katy,” Rand said. “It was all her idea.”
“No, no, no—you’re the one who’s making it possible. So we have something we want to give you in return.” He looked over at Katy, who had finished her food and was now leaning comfortably in the corner of the love seat, her beer cradled in her hands.
Katy set down the bottle and went to fetch Julian’s army jacket from the bed where he’d tossed it earlier. She pulled a slender cardboard overnight mail envelope out of a roomy inner pocket and handed it to Rand.
Rand frowned. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” Katy and Julian chorused.
He ripped open the back and pulled out a check with enough zeroes to make his eyes pop.
“I sneaked a peek across the hall at the Azalea suite the other day,” Katy said. “I know massive water damage when I see it. That fix won’t be cheap—and I’ll bet you’ll lose out on a bunch of rentals thanks to the construction, too.” She traded a glance with Julian and then smiled at Rand. “This should pay for all of it.”
Rand held up his hand. “That’s not necessary.”
“What’s the use of having ridiculous money unless you share it with deserving folks?” Julian said.
“This is a fixable problem,” Rand protested, trying to hand it back. “Donate to charity if you feel inclined.”
“He does. We do,” Katy explained. She waved off the check, took Rand’s free hand in both of hers, and looked squarely into his eyes. “We really want to do this for you. We’re leaving in two days. If they’re as peaceful as the last few, it’s worth every penny to us.”
“No more arguing,” Julian put in. “We insist.”
Rand kept protesting as they sneaked down the back stairs to the now-dark parking lot, but they wouldn’t hear of it.
“Two days, Cooper, and we’re out of your hair,” Julian said as he slid behind the wheel of Rand’s car.
“Merry Christmas, Rand,” Katy said, with yet another huge hug and kiss. “Be happy.”
As he watched the Subaru’s taillights disappear around the corner, his heart sank. In his pocket burned the answer to all his problems. But being worthy of the gift would send all of Ivy’s dreams up in smoke.
*
Ivy stared out the window of her mother’s Explorer as they drove into town for the Christmas Eve service. After she’d reappeared on the doorstep of Joy’s, a bit dazed from her time with Rand and kicking herself for not storming up the back stairs to settle the is-Julian-Wolf-at-the-Cooper-House question once and for all, Laurel had heckled her mercilessly their whole drive back to the farm. Now they rode in relative silence, listening to the hum of the tires on the old asphalt and the soft music from the stereo.
“It’s going to snow,” her father announced.
Ivy looked up at the darkened sky. The clouds had advanced the whole long afternoon and evening, closing off the bright blue air of earlier that morning.
“Weatherman says no,” Laurel chipped in.
“Weatherman doesn’t have the mountains in his blood. Watch and see.”
The sidewalks along Main Street and leading up the hill toward Second Street glowed with luminarias. Ivy sighed. She wondered idly whether Rand or Jessica had set out all of the bags they had prepared that afternoon. Whoever had done it, she was glad her father’s predicted snow wasn’t falling, so the lights would burn until they snuffed themselves out sometime after the community service ended.
Traffic was already backing up down the street.
Laurel leaned forward and said, “Daddy, Angel said we can park behind the restaurant if you want.”
“Fine. You girls get out, and I’ll be there in a minute.” Alex dropped the three of them off in front of the Solid Rock Church and drove off to park the truck.
Ivy glanced around but didn’t see anyone familiar except for Violet, trim and solemn in her neat blue coat and cream-colored beret. Christmases were always hard for her. Ivy was glad the service was at Solid Rock this year. All of the community churches put on a lovely service, but Solid Rock’s always contained an extra helping of joy, and she thought Vi could use it.
“Merry Christmas.” Violet gave each of them a quick hug on the stoop. “Better get inside if we want a decent seat.”
The church was simply constructed, its creamy walls contrasting with the dark wooden beams arching overhead to create the steep peak of the roof. The satiny wood of the pews had been polished by many hands over the years. Candles flickered on the sills below the stained glass windows, each one depicting a diffe
rent Bible story. The figures in the panels resembled the emancipated artisans who had crafted them in the years after the Civil War.
The sanctuary filled quickly, families calling out greetings and sharing hugs and handshakes. Strains of music began as the robed choir filed into the loft behind the organ.
Ivy glanced around the church, noting all the familiar faces. Ginny Baggett and her son, Hank, at the other end of the pew where they were sitting. Reverend Hunter from the Creekside Church and his wife and daughters, no doubt enjoying a rare night off during the holy season. Althea Pendleton, program held to her nose because she insisted she could read just fine without glasses. BeBe and Daphne. Azalea Quinn sat comfortably across the aisle next to Joy Pringle, who sneaked Azalea a piece of candy.
Ivy saw Ruby Solomon, the pastor’s wife, up front, wrangling a mixed group of children dressed like tiny angels into the pews nearest the polished grand piano on the floor. Ruby was probably the only woman Ivy knew who wore a skirt suit as comfortably as she might a pair of sweats and a T-shirt.
“She’s got her hands full,” Ivy remarked to Violet.
“None of them would dare. Even the Gallagher twins.” Violet pointed toward a couple of blond cherubs who bore the unmistakable freckled features they shared with their irrepressible father, who was sitting with his wife and infant daughter, an adorable blonde butterball, just behind the children’s choir.
Her father came in and slid into his seat next to her mother. She took his hand and kissed it, and he squeezed her knee in return. Like Reverend Hunter and his wife, they also had the relaxed faces of people who had done their jobs well and were looking forward to some holiday rest.
Ivy continued to scan the seats until Laurel poked her in the arm and said, “He’s not here yet.”
“Who’s not here yet?”
“The one you’re looking for, duh,” Laurel replied. “Rand.”
“No, I wasn’t.” Ivy flushed despite herself.
“Sure you weren’t.”
Violet shushed them as an older sister-slash-librarian would be expected to. “Service is starting.”
Ivy turned front, a little disappointed, and watched the Reverend Dr. Aaron Solomon, dressed in velvet-trimmed black robes and beautifully embroidered vestments, take his seat in his carved wooden chair behind the altar.
The music ended on a glorious chord and Dr. Solomon moved to the pulpit.
“Welcome, friends,” he began in his full, round bass voice, and they were off.
The service followed the traditional story found everywhere from the Gospel of Luke to A Charlie Brown Christmas, interspersed with music and readings and a sermon of hope and goodwill that made even the most staid country club member shout “Amen.”
The choir stood and a young woman stepped forward, her smooth face placid.
“That’s the Solomons’ granddaughter, Ruth,” Laurel whispered. “Just wait.”
The organist played a single note, and Ruth began to sing in an aching, perfect soprano.
“Children, go where I send thee
How shall I send thee?”
Section by section, the voices joined in.
“One for the little bitty baby
Born of the Virgin Mary
Wrapped in swaddling clothing
Lying in a manger
He was born, born, born in Bethlehem.”
The choir kept singing about the little bitty baby, the prophets and children, saints and angels going three by three and twelve by twelve, building the spiritual in power until the whole church was clapping along and singing.
Ivy’s arms broke out in shivers as Ruth’s pure voice hovered above the choir, imploring everyone in the sanctuary to “Go!”
The director pulled in the singers, closing the final M in “Bethlehem” to a vibration that swooped up to fill the space, then went silent. It was a moment that would have resulted in a storm of applause anywhere else. Here, no one breathed.
Dr. Solomon paused in the expectant hush for one perfect theatrical beat, arms braced on the pulpit, then shouted, “Amen! Merry Christmas!”
The organ burst forth with more music and the service was over.
“Wow,” Ivy said. She wiped her face and saw that all of the Macpherson women had been brought to tears.
“Not bad for a small town, huh?” Laurel said as they made their slow way out of the sanctuary.
“Not bad for my big town,” Ivy returned. “Her voice is amazing.”
“Ruth is one of our volunteers,” Violet said as they pulled on their coats. “All of her is as gorgeous as her voice. She’s marvelous.”
When she finally emerged from the church, Ivy thanked Dr. Solomon for the service and accepted Ruby’s warm embrace. She turned to find Laurel and Rand talking at the bottom of the staircase.
Whatever misgivings she’d had earlier that day, they had been washed away by the power of the music and Dr. Solomon’s message. She felt light, as if all her worries were petty things. She smiled down at Rand, who smiled back.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, yourself,” he returned.
“I didn’t see you in there.”
“I arrived late. Had to slip in back.” He looked at her with a longing expression she’d never seen before, one that made her heart hammer and her mouth go dry. “Walk with me?” he asked.
Ivy nodded.
“I’ll make sure she gets home safe,” Rand told Laurel.
“I’ll bet.” Laurel smiled at him then winked at her sister. “Merry Christmas to you.”
Laurel bounced down the sidewalk to catch up with Violet.
“You’re lucky you escaped siblings,” Ivy said as she watched her sisters disappear across the street.
“I don’t know,” he returned. “It can get lonely.”
She hadn’t thought about it that way. Then again, he’d always had plenty of friends. Rand had the open countenance of someone who could be trusted, the kind of guy who’d change someone’s tire for them or share his lunch or listen when they needed a friend. But she’d never paid attention to that side of him. She was too busy competing. Always competing.
And where had it gotten her? Second place. To Vi, the perfect older daughter, to Rand, the valedictorian, and now, it seemed inevitable, to Paris. The thought rankled, a small gray stain on the pure joy she’d just experienced.
As if he could hear her inner monologue, he asked, “What are you thinking?”
A small, rueful smile crept across her face. “Just thinking.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Ivy. You can take a break, you know.”
“I’m not sure I know how to do that.”
“Let me help.” He stopped and turned to her. They were halfway to the inn. The street was dark and quiet save for the candles still flickering in the luminarias along the sidewalks.
Ivy stared into his blue-green eyes and thought of oceans, of peace.
“All right.” So she took his hand and let him lead her.
*
Rand walked down the cold sidewalk, Ivy’s hand tucked into his, heart tripping an irregular beat inside his chest. The silent night closed around them. He knew better than to break the spell of the charmed moment, so he steered them across the street and into the Cooper House.
The lobby was quiet save the low crackle of the fire in the hearth. Rand looked around the room, at the decades of love and care so many Coopers had invested, from the polished floorboards to the collection of antique glass ornaments on the tree. Still without speaking, he took Ivy’s coat and dropped it along with his own on the wooden bench near the door, the one with the worn places in the seat because so many people had rested there over the years.
He owed all those people so much.
But tonight, he was doing something just for himself, while he still could.
He took her hand again and met her clear gaze, the question in his eyes. He couldn’t speak around the heart in his throat.
“Yes,” she whispered. “N
o mistletoe necessary.” Her lips met his.
He pulled her into the circle of his arms, exploring her delicious mouth. The subtle scent of woodsmoke twined around them, combining with the fresh citrus scent that was all hers. He took Ivy’s face in his hands and stroked his thumbs along her strong jaw. She shivered, smiled, kissed him again.
She slipped her hands beneath his sweater and caressed his back, and it was all he could do not to throw her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs.
“I want—” she said, and stopped.
“I know. But not just yet.” He could justify a taste of what he wanted. He didn’t know if he could live with himself if he took everything.
The kissing resumed, tentative at first, cautious, then blurring into something more insistent. They broke apart, gasping, and Ivy giggled.
“This is not what I had planned for Christmas Eve,” she admitted. “I ought to burst into flames for even thinking what I’m thinking right now.”
You and me both. “I get it.” He guided her over to the love seat—ha—near the Christmas tree. “Let’s just sit here and watch the fire.”
The night, the hiss and pop of the dying flames, the peaceful bubble created by the service at Solid Rock wove an enchanted cocoon around them both. Ivy lay quiet in the circle of his arms. His guilty brain, not so much.
Looking down now at the shiny crown of Ivy’s dark head, he was happy. And troubled. He hadn’t sold his soul to a Hollywood devil exactly, but by taking Julian’s check, he was making a promise. No one would spoil Julian and Katy’s privacy. Not even Ivy. And once she found out he’d taken sides against her, she’d never speak to him again. He stroked the back of his hand against her shoulder, and she burrowed closer.
“You’re a great guy, Rand Cooper. You know that?” Ivy’s voice was sleepy.
I’m not. I wish I could tell you. She curled up beside him, trusting and lovely, and for the moment, he had everything he’d ever wanted.
So he didn’t.
Chapter Thirteen
Ivy woke in the early gray dawn and stared at the unfamiliar room around her. Cold hearth, tall windows, Christmas tree twinkling with a thousand colored lights. Beside her, Rand slept, his tousled russet hair a banked fire against the muted chintz print of the love seat. She stretched carefully, not wanting to wake him. Muscles she’d forgotten she had protested at her odd sleeping position. Merry Christmas to her, indeed.