'Tis the Season

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She sighed. “I don’t want to attack any memories, but I’d recommend donating those chairs to the next church rummage sale.”

  He rubbed his chin and gazed at her. At last he smiled. “That wasn’t easy to say, was it?”

  She shook her head.

  “What if I insisted on keeping those chairs in the room?”

  She shrugged. “We’d have them reupholstered and hope for the best, but I figure anyone who hires me deserves my honest opinion.”

  “I appreciate that,” he said, his gaze warm. “More than you know. The chairs go.”

  She sighed with relief and hurried on. “Here’s what I recommend for a replacement,” she said, opening a catalog to a page full of chairs. “In blue denim.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know. Most people aren’t used to spending that kind of money, but the chairs could last you a lifetime.”

  “Me and someone else,” he said. “I can’t very well sit in both of them at once.” He glanced up from the page. “Have you ever tried one of these? Are they comfortable?”

  “There’s a floor model in the store, and I stop to relax in it every time I go by, if I can.”

  “Then you like these chairs, too?”

  “Yes,” she said, aware of the overtones of their conversation.

  “Good. Oh, by the way, Tom from the hardware store has already picked up the sleigh bed and chest to refinish. He said about a week.”

  “You’ve been busy.” She closed the catalog and tried to think of the sleigh bed as a designer would and not the way a woman would.

  “Not busy enough, unfortunately.”

  She decided to ignore that remark. “Now, the coffee table and end tables will be fine as is with a good polishing, but I’d like to suggest we replace the lamps with some that I found.” She opened another catalog and spread it out between them.

  “Fine,” he said without looking at the page.

  “You don’t even know which ones I’m talking about,” she said, her hand trembling as she absorbed the intensity of his gaze. “I marked them. One is a floor model and the others are—”

  “Tell me about your date last night.”

  “I thought that we agreed that the design project was more—”

  “Please. Tell me if you had a wonderful time, and if you did, we’ll continue with this decorating chitchat. I have to know, that’s all.”

  “And what if I didn’t have a wonderful time?” Her heart raced.

  His smile began with his eyes. “You didn’t?”

  “Not very,” she said around the dryness in her throat.

  “But he was a real loser, right? Either skinny as a bean pole or extremely large, and his conversation was boring?”

  She shook her head. “No. Ted’s very nice looking, and we had no trouble talking to each other. But….”

  Sam closed the catalog of lamps. Then he picked up the stack of materials that separated him from her and laid them on the coffee table. “Go on,” he said, moving next to her and putting his arm along the back of the sofa.

  “We haven’t finished what we set out to do.”

  “That’s okay. I’m the client, and what you’re explaining is far more interesting to me right now than lamps. What about this Ted guy? What comes after the sentence that began with but?”

  She twisted her hands and glanced at him. “He didn’t make me feel….”

  “The way you do now?” he said softly.

  “Sam, I don’t know what this is, this craziness between you and me. I met you a week ago. I’m still not certain I trust it.”

  “I know.” His gaze was gentle as he ran his finger along the curve of her jaw. “But you’re not going to trust anything you run away from.”

  “And what if it’s the setting, the clothesline, the lovely path between our houses that makes me feel this way?”

  He continued to explore the planes of her face, tracing her cheekbones and her eyebrows. “Want me to visit you in the city so you can find out if the attraction is regional?” His gentle exploration gave her goose bumps.

  “No,” she said, gazing into his very blue eyes. “I think I want you to kiss me.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up. “But you’re not sure.”

  She let out her breath slowly. “Maybe it won’t be like last time, and then I’ll know the harmonica music had something to do with it.”

  “Maybe.” He cupped her face and leaned closer. “And last time you’d had some wine, and might have been more susceptible….” He tipped her mouth toward his and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, exerting gentle pressure to relax her jaw. “Do you think you’ve analyzed this enough, or do you have more to say on the subject?”

  “No.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear.” His mouth settled against hers.

  Ignition, she thought as her body responded and logic fell away like the platform of a launched rocket. Oh, Sam. She reached for his shoulders and held on as the seductive process began. She quivered as he guided her backward until her head rested against his outstretched arm. When he lifted his lips from hers, it was only to return with greater purpose. Gradually he probed deeper, asked for more. She gave it.

  She didn’t realize she’d arched her back and thrust her breasts forward until he touched her there. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears at the pleasure of his exquisite caress. He drew down the zipper of her sweat jacket with measured slowness, giving her all the chances she needed to signal her limits.

  She didn’t. The jacket fell open, and he unfastened the front clasp of her bra. She moaned with excitement when his callused hand stroked her hot skin. The force of their kiss had become so great that when he lifted his head, she was gasping.

  “If you don’t stop me, I’ll probably make love to you right here on this sofa,” he said, breathing hard himself. “Is that what you want?”

  She looked into his face, and the fierce desire there took her breath away once more. But sanity was returning to her lust-fogged brain. “No,” she managed to say. “Not yet.” She watched him struggle to master his emotions. “I wanted everything you were giving me. But I rushed into my relationship with Eric, and I vowed I wouldn’t do that again. I need a little more time. I don’t want any doubts or regrets.”

  He turned his head to kiss her palm. Then he glanced down at her uncovered breasts, where his hand still rested. “You’re beautiful,” he said. “Simply beautiful.” Without warning, he cupped her fullness and leaned down to kiss one dusky tip.

  She caught her breath as sensation flowed from where he’d kissed her and pooled in the heated center of her body.

  “I’m not trying to change your mind,” he said, and released her so that he could refasten her bra. “Because I won’t do that. I was just expressing my appreciation.” He zipped up her jacket and looked into her eyes. “And I’ll make you a promise. If you do decide that we’ll make love, whenever that is, we’ll have one hell of a time.”

  Seven

  Anna had to admire Sam’s self-control. He didn’t give any indication that he was the least bit distracted by her nearness as they selected lamps for the parlor and picked a pinecone pattern for the stenciling in the hall. He also accepted her recommendations for reupholstering the chair and ottoman in the master bedroom.

  “I want to use that woven blanket your grandmother made as an accent, possibly thrown over the chair as you, in fact, do,” she said. “And the other thing I’d really like for that room is a quilt. Antique would be nice, but you don’t have any of those, do you?”

  “Nope. Quilts weren’t my grandmother’s thing, but I’ll bet Tessie can steer you in the right direction on that.”

  “The quilt might be our only other big expense,” she warned. “Handmade quilts aren’t cheap.”

  “I suppose not, but I’ve always wanted one, now that you mention it. I could consider it my Christmas present to myself.”

  “Then you’d better be in on buying it.”

 
“You bet. Get Tessie to give you some names of women who sew and sell quilts, and we’ll set aside a Saturday afternoon to go looking. It’ll be fun.”

  “I think you’re right about that,” she said, enjoying the easy tone of the discussion, which had not been destroyed by the steamy scene on the sofa. “I also think we’ve made enough crucial decisions for now. Once the basics are in place, we’ll plan Christmas decorations. Considering what you sell, I’d recommend a tree in every room, for starters.”

  Sam laughed. “That I can do.”

  “I’d also like to use some of the old toys in your cubbyhole as accents. Could we do that?”

  “We’re going to really hit the nostalgia, right?”

  “I think that’s what they want, from what you—” She paused as his cell chimed from the direction of the kitchen. When he didn’t get up to answer it, she glanced at him questioningly.

  “You said two hours of uninterrupted time,” he said. “Two hours isn’t up yet.”

  “Maybe not, but ringing phones drive me crazy.”

  “I knew I should have turned it off.” He pushed himself up with a sigh. “But I know who it is, and she can wait.”

  “She?”

  “Estelle Terwiliger.” He walked without haste into the kitchen. In a few minutes he was back, his expression resigned. “Now she wants a pond. A frozen pond. With skaters. It’s not bad enough that she wants to drag the Bentson kids’ pet doe into it and make the poor animal wear a set of antlers, but—”

  “Antlers? I don’t—”

  “A reindeer,” he explained in a toneless voice, slumping onto the sofa. “She wants the TV people to get a shot of Santa in his sleigh jingling through the snowy streets of Sumersbury. She plans to tell them we have a tradition of doing that. She’s got the Bentson kids teaching their doe to pull a wagon, so it’ll get used to a harness. Lord knows where she’ll find a sleigh.”

  “Don’t let her put runners on your bed.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  He looked so dark and forbidding that Anna chuckled. “I’m sorry. I’m sure all of this isn’t funny to you. Does Estelle call often?”

  “Every day. The town choir is a reality, and I think she’s abandoned the organ for a town orchestra. That’s where the pond and skaters come in.”

  “The orchestra will be on skates?”

  Sam glanced up and began laughing with her. “Not yet. But give Estelle time and she’ll think of that, too. As it stands now, the orchestra will play ‘The Skaters’ Waltz’ beside the pond, which doesn’t even exist yet, by the way. Then, assuming that a pond exists and the weather cooperates and freezes it solid, costumed skaters will whirl around in time to the music. This also is being billed as a town tradition.”

  “Does Sumersbury have any holiday traditions, other than what Estelle is dreaming up?”

  He rubbed his chin. “Let’s see. The day after Thanksgiving we put a few scraggly decorations on the lampposts lining the main street. I usually help with that, and I’ve been meaning to suggest that we take up a collection from the merchants for new decorations. Now I’ll leave that to Estelle. She’ll probably raise money to string the whole town with colored lights.”

  “That’s it, then, a few decorations?”

  “The churches each have special services, but yeah, that’s about it, except for Edgar Madison, who starts drinking on Thanksgiving and can be seen staggering around most of December.”

  “I’m beginning to see why Estelle’s creating traditions. She wants Sumersbury to look good. Don’t forget that you started this with your suggestion of a town choir.”

  “I know,” Sam muttered, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “And I can already see that I’ll live to regret it. A frozen pond? We may not have snow, for Pete’s sake! Then what’ll she expect—a snow-making machine? I really—Oh, Lord, there’s the phone again. I’m not going to answer.”

  “Has Estelle ever called twice in one day?”

  “No, but it’s not too late for her to start. Do you realize this is only September? We have more than two months to go!”

  “Sam, please answer your phone.”

  He opened his eyes. “Don’t you ever let someone leave a message?”

  “Not often.”

  “Sometimes, in a small town, you have to,” he said, but he stood and walked back to the kitchen once more. This time, when he returned and sat beside her, his expression was impatient.

  “Estelle again?”

  “No. Worse.”

  “After the way you’ve been complaining, I can’t imagine anyone worse.”

  “That’s because you don’t know my mother.”

  Anna sat up straighter. “Your mother just called?”

  “Yep.” He looked at her. “She’s heard about my great honor and the TV special. She wants to come down from Boston and be here. What she wants,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face, “is to be on television. Lord help us.”

  She moved closer and put her hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t seem right, does it? You achieve something and everyone wants a ride on the bandwagon.”

  “Everyone but you,” he said, smiling at her. “I’ll bet you’d rather be out of town that weekend.”

  “Truthfully, yes.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay and face the music with me.”

  “You mean ‘The Skaters’ Waltz’, the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ and the ‘Ave Maria’? That music?”

  He laughed. “That music.”

  “Sure,” she agreed, unable to deny him her support. “I’ll be here.”

  “Thanks.” He gazed into her eyes. “It’s a date.”

  She felt the tug of passion begin, and she looked away. “In the meantime, I’ll see Tessie this afternoon about the quilt. I want to consult with her about the next stage of my weaving, too.”

  “How’s that coming along?”

  “Great. Once I finish the tablecloth I’m working on, I’m planning to make something for a client, a sweet lady with champagne tastes and a beer budget. She wants a hand-woven dresser scarf, and I know exactly the kind she means. I could make it for half the cost of buying it in a New York shop and charge her a little over my cost.”

  “Don’t shortchange yourself,” he warned. “Get fair value for your work.”

  “I’m not going to worry about that right now.” She ignored his frown. “It would be fun for me and provide her with exactly what she needs at a price she can afford. My enjoyment will be part of my fee.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Sam, you of all people should understand. You’re the one who lectured me about neighborliness.”

  His face relaxed. “You’re right. And my grandmother used to sell things far under their value, too. But I always thought she could have made a tidy sum with her weaving, if she’d tried.”

  “Maybe that would have taken the joy out, to weave for a living.”

  “Maybe.”

  She gathered her materials. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Want a lift?” he asked as they both stood.

  “That’s okay. I loved walking over on the path. I’ll just go back that way.”

  “I’ll be glad to walk you home.”

  “Thanks, but we both have things to do.” As they entered the kitchen, his cell chimed again. “Especially you,” she said.

  “That darn thing. I feel like digging a hole and burying it.”

  “But you can’t. You’re an accountant and a tree salesman, so it’s important to answer your calls. This hectic period will be over before you know it. See you later,” she called, and walked out the back door into the sunshine. Behind her, she heard him sigh and answer his phone.

  On the walk back home, she realized that he hadn’t arranged to see her again this weekend to discuss the design project, and they’d made no social arrangements, either. Just as well. She needed time to weave and collect her thoughts. The two activities went well together.

  After a quick tuna sa
ndwich, she drove to town and parked in front of Tessie’s yarn shop. She found Tessie with two gray-haired customers who were debating the instructions of a knitting pattern and the right size of needles.

  When the bell hanging over the door jingled, Tessie looked up and smiled. “Hello, Anna. Be with you in a minute.”

  Both of her customers made quarter turns that gave them a quick glimpse of who had come through the door. Anna nodded once and walked over to a revolv­ing rack of knitting, weaving and crocheting magazines. After a moment, the taller of the two women joined her by the rack of magazines, pulled out a few, scanned the covers and put them back.

  Anna found a weaving magazine and flipped through it.

  “You interested in weaving?” asked the woman, glancing at the magazine in Anna’s hand.

  “Yes.” She gave her a quick smile and returned to her reading.

  “Got a loom?”

  “Um, I—yes.”

  “You wouldn’t be Anna Tilford, by any chance?”

  She glanced up briefly. “Yes, I am.”

  “Heard you borrowed Hilary Schute’s loom. Estelle told me. Hilary was a wonderful weaver. I bought some of her dish towels at a craft fair put on by the guild. Have them still.”

  “That’s nice.” Anna made just enough eye contact to be polite, but she continued to scan the page in front of her.

  “I used to buy some of Hilary’s work for gifts, too. Will you be weaving anything to sell?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Anna’s only getting started,” Tessie cut in. She rang up the women’s purchases and whipped around the counter in an obvious rescue attempt. “She probably doesn’t know what she’s planning to do with her work.”

  “That’s fine,” the tall woman said, smiling, “but I’m surprised Estelle hasn’t asked you to join the guild. She must be too busy with this Christmas thing. We’d love to have you, in any case. Tessie here hardly ever makes meetings anymore, and I can’t seem to talk her into weaving projects to sell, either.”

  “I really am a beginner,” Anna said, trying to imagine herself joining the Sumersbury Craft Guild. No way.

  “All levels of craft ability are welcome,” the woman said as her shorter friend came to stand beside her. “Right, Emma?”