“But maybe you’re the one, Michael. I mean maybe this is it. Don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to find out if this attraction could be something more?”
Michael laughed, really laughed, like falling over laughter. “Oh, sweetie, oh my god, you are funny. You’re adorable but stop fooling around now and help me get Simon to the bedroom. No, you’ll have to carry him. I don’t want his feet touching that filthy floor in the hall.”
Simon whooped with laughter as his uncle shouldered him off the ground and carried him across the hall. Michael trailed behind. Another bullet dodged, she thought, watching Hudson drop his nephew to the bed. He almost had her for a moment there. That last remark about her being ‘the one’ was hilarious! She loved best that he’d said it with a straight face. At long last she had met a man who was exactly like her. And that was not a person you wanted to trust your heart with.
Chapter IV: Four Calling Birds
MICHAEL LOOKED through Simon’s drawers. “Doesn’t he have any clean clothing at all?”
“There’s stuff in his drawers. I don’t know if it’s clean.” Hudson looked uncomfortable. “He’s only three; does it matter if he’s dirty or not?”
“Yes,” Michael said shortly, and began digging through the drawers. “I have a thing about the people I have to eat with being clean.”
“He won’t wear what you give him to wear anyway.” Hudson crossed him arms over his chest. “He’s pretty stubborn.”
Michael straightened and settled her hands on her hips. “Well, so am I. Go through his drawers. I need clean underwear, a long-sleeved shirt, clean socks, fleece pants and maybe a sweater. I hope he has a pair of snow boots that fit.”
Simon jumped from the bed and scrambled to the floor, jamming his little body between the nightstand and the wall. “Simon,” Michael said, making her voice the soul of patience. “Please come out so we can get you dressed.”
Simon shook his head. Michael ground her teeth. Another battle so soon? She had barely recovered from the Battle of the Bath. It was so tempting to concede the field to the three-year-old and have a glass of wine instead. Michael looked into the little boy’s eyes. Why she felt she had to win this war, she had no idea. She’ll be gone tomorrow and the kid will be forgotten.
“Are you going to stare him down or are you going to make him get dressed?”
Michael threw back her head dramatically and drew herself up to her full height. “I’m going to do better than that. Simon is going to choose to get dressed himself.”
Hudson laughed. “This I have to see.” He settled himself on the edge of the bed.
Michael cleared her throat. “Simon, wouldn’t you be warmer with clothes on?”
Simon popped his thumb in his mouth and shook his head.
“The reasonable approach, that always works well.” Hudson nodded solemnly.
Michael glared at him. “Please keep your comments to yourself.”
Hudson’s eyes widened. “I’m trying to be supportive.”
Michael ignored him and stepped around the bed to where Simon was huddled. “Simon, come out of there this instant. You’re going to get dressed and that’s all there is to it.”
“No!” Simon pressed himself in further until he was almost behind the nightstand.
“The no-nonsense approach. Hmm.” Hudson looked skeptical. “I think it only works for Mary Poppins. Real-life kids don’t respond to it as well as the fictional ones do.”
Michael lunged for Simon to drag him out bodily. The little boy was too fast for her. As she dove down, Simon scrambled up, his little body crawling over the nightstand and landing on the bed. Hudson watched with amusement as Michael twisted after him. Simon clambered over the bed, squealing, and hopped to the floor.
“When all else fails, resort to physical force. You certainly are teaching me a thing or two about disciplining a kid.” Hudson’s voice brimmed with admiration. He reached out and caught the boy around his waist. “Hey buddy, let’s give Michael a break and put some clothes on.”
“Me don’t want to!”
Hudson slipped the towel that was on the bed over his nephew’s head. “Where’s Simon? Michael, have you seen Simon?”
“Uh, no...? No! Where is he?” Improvisation—an acting weapon she knew how to wield.
The three-year-old giggled under his tent. “I de Invisible Boy.”
“Yep, you are.” said Hudson. “The problem with being invisible, though, is if you want to be seen when you order your hot chocolate, you have to wear clothes.”
“Hot chocolate?”
“After lunch I was thinking we’d pick out our Christmas tree and buy some hot chocolate. But how can we if you’re invisible? The waitress won’t know you’re in the diner unless you have clothes on.”
Simon pulled the towel from his head, his eyes wide with this possibility. “Dat will scare her if my clothes walk in by demself.”
“That’s it—that’s right! Your clothes will walk in but where is Simon? She’ll probably scream when she sees your clothes walk in.”
“Okay!” The boy reached for his underwear.
“Do you need help, Simon?” Michael was a little in awe of Hudson’s handling of the situation, although he did resort to bribery.
“No,” he said, concentrating on getting a leg through. “Uncle Hudson taughded me dis.”
“He’s been dressing himself since he was two,” said Hudson.
Michael shook her head in deep disgust. “A two-year-old expected to dress himself.”
Hudson followed her from the room and down the hall. “I don’t get you. What does it matter if Simon dresses himself? I don’t boss him around and he’s happy. I never wanted this job. My brother was trying to force me to settle down from beyond the grave—that’s why he chose me. Not because he thought I’d do a good job of raising his son.” Hudson rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Look, you’re here to help when I ask for help. I don’t want you to get involved in mothering Simon. He’s used to living with a bachelor. I don’t want him missing something I’m never going to give him.”
Michael turned and eyed Hudson calmly. “You are absolutely right. I have my own life waiting for me back in New York. I have Gregory. What you do with your life and Simon’s has absolutely no impact on me whatsoever. And by this time tomorrow, I’ll be billeted elsewhere so the argument is moot. Now, is there anything else I can do for you, sir?”
“Yes, go change your dress. It has baby powder all over it. Then grab your coat—not that dead animal thing—wear something you won’t mind coming in close contact with spruce needles and pine sap. I promised Simon we’d get a Christmas tree this year. The kids in his daycare told him Santa puts the gifts under the tree so now he wants one too.”
“What did you do last year?”
“Nothing. He was only two—he didn’t know the difference.”
Michael held her tongue and returned to her room to change. Who was she to judge? She would have done the same thing in Hudson’s shoes. It was strange—weird—seeing another person make the same choices she would’ve made and not like any of them. It wasn’t the boy Hudson was short-changing but himself. He couldn’t see what he had to gain by embracing family life. The question was where was she short-changing herself?
Gregory.
Michael stood in the middle of her room gazing at the falling snow and finally understood the purpose of a relationship. It was to live a full life with all the bells and whistles. Like Hudson, she had only seen what she would lose if she committed her whole heart to a person—not what she would gain. Maybe Gregory knew it too and that’s why he’d been so reserved lately. She tugged a black turtleneck sweater over her head and pulled on a pair of jeans, awed by the insight and eager to call him as soon as they got back from tree shopping. Months of therapy and all she had to do was take charge of a little kid for a few hours to have this breakthrough!
She ran a brush through her hair, checked her makeup and shrugged on the parka she had
bought for the occasion. Hudson’s snide remark about the fur coat had bounced off her like the wind chill in NYC thanks to that fur. Michael was a country girl from way back. She knew more about the ethical treatment of animals than PETA would ever care to learn, but Gregory hated the fur too so she should think about giving it up. A concession. She wasn’t used to those. Michael examined her reflection in the mirror. Swathed in the shiny black parka, she looked like a member of a SWAT team. Maybe if she wore the white turtleneck instead....
Thirty minutes later, fast by Michael’s standards, they were bouncing over the back road to the main highway.
THEY WERE enveloped in the scent of pine—real pine—not the pine spray she used in her brownstone in New York to set the stage for the artificial (but stunningly decorated) tree she put up each year. This was the real deal. Michael was doing her best to avoid close contact with the actual trees. There was just so much sap and needles and living things—and sap.
“What about this one?” Hudson held a thin specimen out for her approval.
Christmas carols played over the loudspeakers on the tree lot and the snow continued to fall. Red, green and blue lights dangled overhead. The good trees had all been snapped up a week ago. “Spindly” was all the lot owner had left. “It has potential,” she lied. None of the trees had potential so what difference did it make? Buy one and let’s move on. “It’ll look good when it’s decorated.”
“Decorated? What do you mean? Isn’t it fine like this?”
“You don’t have decorations either? No turkey, no presents, no decorations, no Christmas music—you’re like Scrooge McDuck meets Mr. Grinch.” She lifted Simon up into her arms. He was getting tired. “Pay for it and let’s go. We’ll have hit the stores on the way home and see what they have left for decorations.”
Hudson groaned. It was three o’clock in the afternoon though it felt much later with the gray cloud cover and dusk closing in. They had shopped for pajamas for Simon at the Country Barn, ate lunch at the diner, paid a visit to Santa, hit the Country Barn again to buy the toys that Simon had asked Santa to bring and at last arrived at the tree lot to pick out their tree—which was their original destination. Next year, he was going into the forest with an axe. No malls, no Santa, and above all—no Christmas music.
Simon slung his small body over Michael’s neck like he was stuffed with straw. The kid wanted a nap. They’d been out for hours. But he ate all of his lunch for once and there were no temper tantrums. Even now, tired as he was, Simon was contented as long as Michael was carrying him. Hudson paid for the tree and hoisted it over his shoulder. “A string of lights is all we need. We’ll make the rest of the decorations out of popcorn and tin foil. Better for the environment and I know how you’re all about the environment.” He grinned.
“Oh, what is that—a crack, a dig at the reason for my arrest? I was trying to save a majestic tree, Mr. Grace. A living thing struggling to survive in that concrete block we call civilization and I was punished for it. The campaign was Gregory’s idea. He’s an environmentalist,” she added proudly. “Greg is a founding member of the Green Guerrillas. They fight to save green space in urban centers.”
They walked to the pickup truck, Hudson lugging the tree and Michael lugging Simon. “I’ve heard of them,” he nodded. “They fight to save diseased trees.”
Michael bristled. “I’d expect you to say that. To you a tree is a product and nothing more.”
“A diseased tree is a hazard. When an arborist says it’s got to come down, he means it has to come down before it falls down and the Green Guerrillas know it. They turn a perfectly safe tree removal into an environmental conspiracy.”
“That’s ridiculous. Give me one good reason why they would do that.”
“Conspiracy makes headlines which leads to increased membership and funding. I’m not saying every campaign is wrong but the tree you tried to save was diseased.”
“You might know about threats to trees in the wild but Gregory is fighting a very different battle in the city. Disease doesn’t take out trees in the city—developers do. Gregory has assured me of that. He believes in what he’s doing. He’s very committed and passionate.”
“Then how come you were arrested and not him?” Hudson lowered the tree to the back of the pickup. He’d tie it down later; Michael was out of breath from carrying Simon. He took the boy from her arms and she moved to the passenger side door to open it for him.
“I volunteered. My celebrity brings attention to their cause. I’m famous—to people with televisions, anyway. Celebrities are expected to lend their name to worthwhile causes. I volunteered and I don’t regret it. I still believe in what Gregory stands for.”
Hudson set Simon who was now sound asleep on the back seat of the cab and pulled a blanket over him. “Well, if you believe in him I guess that’s all that matters. It’s none of my business, right? You live your life in New York with Gregory and I’ll live mine in Mandrake Falls with Simon.”
“Hudson!” A feminine voice called from across the street and Michael glanced up to see a pretty blonde waving at them—or more specifically—Hudson. She rushed toward them, her gaze fixed on the man with singular intensity. Michael guessed the girl was one of his conquests. She seemed ... young.
“Hi Jocelyn.” Hudson greeted her coolly but Michael caught the undercurrent of interest in his voice. “How’s it going?”
By Michael’s calculations, Jocelyn was at least ten years younger than Hudson. She wore her thick, blonde hair in a band piled on her head and ear muffs. Ear muffs? What adult woman wears ear muffs? The girl asked after Simon without once removing her eyes from Hudson.
“He’s asleep in the back seat. We were just heading home to put the tree up.”
Jocelyn gave him a sweet smile that struck Michael as insincere and said: “I love decorating Christmas trees. I’ll bring the eggnog if you supply the rum.”
Hudson laughed. Michael blinked and stared at him. The fool was actually flattered by that infantile come-on! “I’d love to another time, Jocelyn. I’ve got company tonight. Michael Shannon is staying at the cabin—temporarily.”
Michael pulled her mouth to a smile and extended her hand. “Very temporarily. Hi, I’m Michael Shannon.”
Jocelyn stared down at Michael’s hand like she had no idea what to do with it. “Oh. Uh, I’m Jocelyn Tate, I guess.” She giggled, rolling her eyes at Hudson as she shook Michael’s hand. “Are you like Hudson’s aunt or something, visiting for the holidays?”
Michael’s eyes widened. “Are you like Mr. Grace’s co-ed forestry groupie or something?”
Hudson cut in quickly. “Michael is an actress on assignment. She’s giving me a hand with Simon today. There was a mix-up with the housing. She’ll be moved tomorrow when everyone is back at work. Can I take a rain check on that eggnog?”
“I feel like I’ve seen you’ve before,” Jocelyn said, squinting at Michael. “I keep tabs on what’s going on in the theater world. What would I have seen you in?”
“I play Vickie Webber on Tomorrow Never Comes. And I feel like I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Oh. A soap opera.” Jocelyn grinned widely at Hudson. “No, I never watch those. I’m sorry. I know that’s what you do for a living but soaps are such a waste of time and the acting is usually terrible. No offence.” She tilted her head. “I’m sure you are very good but I prefer live theater.”
“Thank you for your insight into the world of professional theater, Miss Tate. I’ll be sure to alert my agent that my six figure job has been a complete waste of time. Oh shoot, I’m sorry. Can hear me though those earmuffs?”
“How’s your business going these days?” Hudson jumped in. “Michael, you’ll appreciate this—Jocelyn makes candles and soap—all-natural, environmentally friendly products. Michael is dating a Green Guerrilla. She’s very committed to the environment. Quite an activist.”
Jocelyn beamed at Hudson. Michael could have been a tree for all the girl car
ed. “Business is fantastic! Christmas—right? The Country Barn is packed until closing every night. I think Ryan McIntyre is like really impressed with my business model. I can’t keep ahead of the demand.” She gazed at Michael innocently. “I could give you a free sample if you like. I make this fabulous cream for older women.”
Michael met the girl’s eyes in stony silence, a trick she had learned in repertory. If you want to shut a heckler up, stop talking. Jocelyn’s words hung, flapping in the sharp winter air. Michael turned to Hudson. “Will you be long? We have to get Simon home.”
“I’ll just be a few more minutes.”
Michael walked to the truck without a word, climbed into the cab and slammed the door.
“Sorry, was it something I said? I didn’t mean to offend her, only women her age have different regimes for skincare than girls my age and I’m very sensitive to that, what with my older customers.”
“Good God, how old do you think she is? Michael is a few years younger than I am.”
“But it’s different for a man.” Jocelyn stepped closer and stared deeply into his eyes. “A man can be with a much younger woman and it’s like he belongs with her, you know? I wish your house guest had someplace else to go tonight. I have nothing on—in my calendar that is, but I could have nothing on ... at all ... if you were available.”
Hudson scratched his forehead and grinned. “That is an extremely tempting offer. But I’m her supervisor until at least tomorrow morning. I can’t let her out of my sight unless I’ve got her working on another assignment.”
“Her supervisor?” Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed. “I thought she was an actress.”
Suddenly, Hudson remembered the rehearsal this afternoon. “She is. She’s an actress—” He glanced at his watch. “Thirty minutes to go—okay, I have an idea. Michael’s going to be busy for a couple of hours this afternoon and Simon’s gone down for his nap. Give me five minutes and then head over to the cabin. I’ll make a fire and I think I have a bottle of wine we can open.”
The Way Home: Winter (Mandrake Falls Series Romance Book 3) Page 5