by Nora Roberts
"Oh, go to hell, and keep your realignments for your houses." She sprinted out of the kitchen.
"Nell, don't go like this." But by the time he reached the living room, she was grabbing her coat, and his boys were racing down the stairs.
"Where are you going, Miss Davis? You haven't—" Both boys stopped, shocked by the tears streaming down her face.
"I'm sorry." It was too late to hide them, so she kept heading for the door. "I have to do something. I'm sorry."
And she was gone, with Mac standing impotently in the living room and both boys staring at him. A dozen excuses spun around in his head. Even as he tried to grab one, Zack burst into tears.
"She went away. You made her cry, and she went away."
"I didn't mean to. She—" He moved to gather his sons up and was met with a solid wall of resistance.
"You ruined everything." A tear spilled out of Zeke's eyes, heated by temper. "We did everything we were supposed to, and you ruined it."
"She'll never come back." Zack sat on the bottom step and sobbed. "She'll never be the mom now."
"What?" At his wits' end, Mac dragged his hand through his hair. "What are you two talking about?"
"You ruined it," Zeke said again.
"Look, Miss Davis and I had a... disagreement. People have disagreements. It's not the end of the world." He wished it didn't feel like the end of his world.
"Santa sent her." Zack rubbed his eyes with his fists. "He sent her, just like we asked him. And now she's gone."
"What do you mean, Santa sent her?" Determined, Mac sat on the steps. He pulled a reluctant Zack into his lap and tugged Zeke down to join them. "Miss Davis came from New York to teach music, not from the North Pole."
"We know that." Temper set aside, Zeke sought comfort, turning his face into his father's chest. "She came because we sent Santa a letter, months and months ago, so we'd be early and he'd have time."
"Have time for what?"
"To pick out the mom." On a shuddering sigh, Zack sniffed and looked up at his father. "We wanted someone nice, who smelled good and liked dogs and had yellow hair. And we asked, and she came. And you were supposed to marry her and make her the mom."
Mac let out a long breath and prayed for wisdom. "Why didn't you tell me you were thinking about having a mother?"
"Not a mom," Zeke told him. "The mom. Miss Davis is the mom, but she's gone now. We love her, and she won't like us anymore because you made her cry."
"Of course she'll still like you." She'd hate him, but she wouldn't take it out on the boys. "But you two are old enough to know you don't get moms from Santa."
"He sent her, just like we asked him. We didn't ask for anything else but the bikes." Zack burrowed into his lap. "We didn't ask for any toys or any games. Just the mom. Make her come back, Dad. Fix it. You always fix it."
"It doesn't work like that, pal. People aren't broken toys or old houses. Santa didn't send her, she moved here for a job."
"He did too send her." With surprising dignity, Zack pushed off his father's lap. "Maybe you don't want her, but we do."
His sons walked up the stairs, a united front that closed him out. Mac was left with emptiness in the pit of his stomach and the smell of burned cocoa.
Chapter 10
She should get out of town for a few days, Nell thought. Go somewhere. Go anywhere. There was nothing more pathetic than sitting alone on Christmas Eve and watching other people bustle along the street outside your window.
She'd turned down every holiday party invitation, made excuses that sounded hollow even to her. She was brooding, she admitted, and it was entirely unlike her. But then again, she'd never had a broken heart to nurse before.
With Bob it had been wounded pride. And that had healed itself with embarrassing speed.
Now she was left with bleeding emotions at the time of year when love was most important.
She missed him. Oh, she hated to know that she missed him. That slow, hesitant smile, the quiet voice, the gentleness of him. In New York, at least, she could have lost herself in the crowds, in the rush. But here, everywhere she looked was another reminder.
Go somewhere, Nell. Just get in the car and drive.
She ached to see the children. Wondered if they'd taken their sleds out in the fresh snow that had fallen yesterday. Were they counting the hours until Christmas, plotting to stay awake until they heard reindeer on the roof?
She had presents for them, wrapped and under her tree. She'd send them via Kim or Mira, she thought, and was miserable all over again because she wouldn't see their faces as they tore off the wrappings.
They're not your children, she reminded herself. On that point Mac had always been clear. Sharing himself had been difficult enough. Sharing his children had stopped him dead.
She would go away, she decided, and forced herself to move. She would pack a bag, toss it in the car and drive until she felt like stopping. She'd take a couple of days. Hell, she'd take a week. She couldn't bear to stay here alone through the holidays.
For the next ten minutes, she tossed things into a suitcase without any plan or sense of order. Now that the decision was made, she only wanted to move quickly. She closed the lid on the suitcase, carried it into the living room and started for her coat.
The knock on her door had her clenching her teeth. If one more well-meaning neighbor stopped by to wish her Merry Christmas and invite her to dinner, she was going to scream.
She opened the door and felt the fresh wound stab through her. "Well, Macauley... Out wishing your tenants happy holidays?"
"Can I come in?"
"Why?"
"Nell." There was a wealth of patience in the word. "Please, let me come in."
"Fine, you own the place." She turned her back on him. "Sorry, I haven't any wassail, and I'm very low on good cheer."
"I need to talk to you." He'd been trying to find the right way and the right words for days.
"Really? Excuse me if I don't welcome it. The last time you needed to talk to me is still firmly etched in my mind."
"I didn't mean to make you cry."
"I cry easily. You should see me after a greeting-card commercial on TV." She couldn't keep up the snide comments, and she gave in, asking the question that was uppermost in her mind. "How are the kids?"
"Barely speaking to me." At her blank look, he gestured toward the couch. "Will you sit down? This is kind of a complicated story."
"I'll stand. I don't have a lot of time, actually. I was just leaving."
His gaze followed hers and landed on the suitcase. His mouth tightened. "Well, it didn't take long."
"What didn't?"
"I guess you took them up on that offer to teach back in New York."
"Word does travel. No, I didn't take them up. I like my job here, I like the people here, and I intend to stay. I'm just going on a holiday."
"You're going on a holiday at five o'clock on Christmas Eve?"
"I can come and go as I please. No, don't take off your coat," she snapped. Tears were threatening. "Just say your piece and get out. I still pay the rent here. On second thought, just leave now. Damn it, you're not going to make me cry again."
"The boys think Santa sent you."
"Excuse me?"
As the first tear spilled over, he moved to her, brushed it away with his thumb. "Don't cry, Nell. I hate knowing I made you cry."
"Don't touch me." She whirled away and fumbled a tissue out of the box.
He was discovering exactly how it felt to be sliced in two. "I'm sorry." Slowly he lowered his hand to his side. "I know how you must feel about me now."
"You don't know the half of it." She blew her nose, struggled for control. "What's this about the boys and Santa?"
"They wrote a letter back in the fall, not long before they met you. They decided they wanted a mom for Christmas. Not a mom," Mac explained as she turned back to stare at him. "The mom. They keep correcting me on that one. They had pretty spec
ific ideas about what they wanted. She was supposed to have yellow hair and smile a lot, like kids and dogs and bake cookies. They wanted bikes, too, but that was sort of an afterthought. All they really wanted was the mom."
"Oh." She did sit now, lowering herself onto the arm of the sofa. "That explains a couple of things." Steadying herself, she looked back at him. "Put you in quite a spot, didn't it? I know you love them, Mac, but starting a relationship with me to try to please your children takes things beyond parental devotion."
"I didn't know. Damn it, do you think I'd play with their feelings, or yours, that way?"
"Not theirs," she said hollowly. "Certainly not theirs."
He remembered how delicate she had seemed when they made love. There was more fragility now. No roses in her cheeks, he saw with a pang of distress. No light in her eyes. "I know what it's like to be hurt, Nell. I never would have hurt you deliberately. They didn't tell me about the letter until the night... You weren't the only one I made cry that night. I tried to explain that Santa doesn't work that way, but they've got it fixed in their heads that he sent you."
"I'll talk to them if you want me to."
"I don't deserve—"
"Not for you," she said. "For them."
He nodded, accepting. "I wondered how it would make you feel to know they wished for you."
"Don't push me, Mac."
He couldn't help it, and he kept his eyes on hers as he moved closer. "They wished for you for me, too. That's why they didn't tell me. You were our Christmas present." He reached down, touched her hair. "How does that make you feel?"
"How do you think I feel?" She batted his hand away and rose to face the window. "It hurts. I fell in love with the three of you almost from the first glance, and it hurts. Go away, leave me alone."
Somehow a fist had crept into his chest and was squeezing at his heart. "I thought you'd go away. I thought you'd leave us alone. I wouldn't let myself believe you cared enough to stay."