One Special Christmas & Home for the Holidays

by Irene Hannon

  “Nick?” Laura’s voice was muffled, but he could hear the puzzled tone.

  “We’re doing great,” he assured her, smoothly completing the maneuver. Then he turned to lay the garment aside, giving her a moment to slip her arms into the pajama top. By the time he came around to the other side of the bed, she was huddled miserably, her face once again pale and drawn. He dropped to one knee and took her hands between his, caressing the backs gently with his thumbs.

  “I’m so sorry, Laura,” he said, his voice laced with anguish. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

  “You’ve done more than enough already. I’m sorry to have caused you all this trouble.”

  “It’s no trouble. Believe me.”

  Laura looked into his eyes and believed. Unquestionably. Not knowing how to respond, unable in her present state to deal with complicated emotions, her gaze skittered away.

  Sensing her discomfort, Nick rose and placed his hands on his hips. “What about the jeans?”

  “I can get them down to my knees. I have trouble after that.”

  “Okay.” He nodded, turning around. “Get them that far and I’ll take care of the rest.” He heard her stand, heard the zipper, heard the friction of the coarse denim fabric against her skin.

  “All right, Nick.”

  When he turned back she was lying on the bed, the pajama top pulled down as far as possible but still revealing a long expanse of thigh and leg. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on her pain. Any other thoughts were totally inappropriate at the moment, he told himself sternly. With an effort he drew his eyes away from the hem of the pajama top, and noted that the jeans were bunched around her knees. Silently he reached over and quickly eased them down her legs.

  “Shoes,” she said.

  “What?” he asked distractedly.

  “Shoes,” she repeated, pointing to the athletic shoes and socks she still wore. “I don’t think the jeans will go over them. And besides, I don’t usually wear shoes to bed.”

  Nick flashed her a grin and bent to remove them, quickly stripping off her socks, as well. “Well, what’s this?” he asked in surprise, cradling her foot in his hand.

  “What’s what?” she asked, puzzled. When he tapped one of her rosily polished toenails, she blushed. “Oh. You’ve discovered my one concession to vanity,” she admitted sheepishly. “I’ve always envied women with beautiful nails, but unfortunately in my line of work that’s not very practical. This is the next best thing. It’s good for my ego, if nothing else.”

  Nick smiled at this unexpected facet of her character. He would never have believed it if he hadn’t seen it for himself. With her sensible nature, Laura just didn’t seem the type who would indulge in something like polished toenails. But apparently even she had a frivolous side. Which was fine as far as he was concerned. He had begun to think she never did anything for herself. Painted toenails weren’t much, admittedly, but they were a start.

  “You think it’s silly, don’t you?” she said, her cheeks still flushed.

  “On the contrary. I think it’s charming.”

  She smiled shyly and closed her eyes as everything began to grow hazy again. “I think I’ll rest for a bit,” she mumbled sleepily.

  “Good idea. I’ll hold this ice bag on your eye for a while, okay?” She nodded, wincing when he first placed it against her skin, but then gradually drifting into welcome oblivion.

  Nick stayed with her for another half hour, and when he was satisfied that her deep, even breathing indicated sleep, he pulled the sheet up and tenderly brushed his lips across her forehead before turning the light off.

  Once in the hall, he wearily rubbed the back of his neck. Laura was docile tonight because she was hurting. But he knew when she woke up tomorrow she’d be hyper about her business, so diversionary tactics were needed. He frowned, trying to remember the name of her new foreman. Ken something. Nichols…Nolan… Nelson, that was it. With any luck, he’d be in the phone book.

  Ten minutes later, after a satisfactory conversation with Ken, he headed back upstairs to the loft sitting area that overlooked the living room and opened up the sofa bed, glad now that he’d had the foresight to buy it. Although he’d never imagined that he’d be the first to use it, he thought ruefully.

  By the time he took a quick shower downstairs and made up the bed, it was nearly two in the morning. But though he was bone tired, he still felt too keyed up emotionally to sleep. Rather than even try, he prowled around restlessly, verifying that he had breakfast food in the kitchen, going through his mail, looking over a few plans in the downstairs bedroom that he’d turned into an office, checking on Laura every few minutes. When at last his body revolted, he climbed into the sofa bed, yawned hugely and turned out the light.

  Sleep came more quickly than he expected, a deep sleep that dulled his senses. So it took a long time for him to wake up, brought back to consciousness by something he couldn’t immediately identify. Groggily he glanced at the illuminated dial of his watch and groaned. Three-thirty. His eyes flickered closed and he was beginning to drift back to sleep when Laura’s soft sobs suddenly penetrated his sleep-fogged brain. Instantly alert, he swung his feet to the floor and moved quickly down the hall, pausing briefly on the threshold of her room, which was illuminated only by a dim night-light. In the shadows, he heard Laura thrashing fretfully around on the bed, mumbling incoherently, sobbing quietly. She must be having a nightmare, he thought, moving quietly beside her, and he wasn’t surprised, not after what she’d been through. She’d probably be plagued with them for months, only the next time he wouldn’t be there to comfort her, he thought, a muscle clenching in his jaw. He bent to gently touch her shoulder when suddenly Laura flung out an arm.

  “No, Joe, don’t! Please don’t hurt me!” she cried.

  Nick yanked his hand back at her impassioned plea, and his heart actually stopped, then lunged on, hammering painfully against his chest. She wasn’t having a nightmare about tonight’s attacker. She was having a nightmare about her husband! What had that bastard done to her? he wondered in sudden fury.

  Laura’s thrashing grew more intense, and Nick became alarmed, fearing that she would injure herself even further. He crouched beside the bed, reaching over to gently stroke her hair. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he murmured soothingly, aware that her whole body was trembling.

  Her eyes flickered open, and she stared at his shadowy figure dazedly. “Nick?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  “It’s me, honey,” he said huskily. “Everything’s okay. You just had a bad dream, that’s all. Try to relax and go back to sleep.”

  “Could…could you stay with me for a little while?” she asked in a tremulous, little-girl voice that tore at his heart.

  “Sure.” He took her hand, and she grasped it with a steel grip that surprised him. “I’ll be right here.”

  He continued to stroke her hair, murmuring soothing words, and slowly she relaxed. Her breathing grew more even and gradually her grip on his hand loosened as she slipped back into sleep.

  When she seemed to be resting easily, Nick carefully extricated his hand and gingerly stood up, much to the relief of his protesting calf muscles. He frowned as he stared down at Laura, her face now at peace as she slumbered. He ought to go back to bed, he supposed. But he just couldn’t leave her. Not yet, anyway. He wanted to be at her side if she awoke again in the grip of another nightmare.

  Wearily he sank down in an overstuffed chair near the bed. It had been a very long day. And it looked like it was going to be a very long night.

  Nick let his head drop onto the cushioned back and stared at the dark ceiling, torn by conflicting emotions that he didn’t understand. He cared about Laura. Deeply. But what was he getting himself into? She was obviously troubled, clearly scarred emotionally, and he was no psychologist. He ought to get out of this relationship while he still could.

  Only it was already too late, he acknowledged with a resigned
sigh. He couldn’t walk away, not now. Not after he’d seen the vulnerable look in her eyes tonight. And maybe not ever. But they couldn’t go on as they had. He’d heard too much tonight, learned more from those few words spoken in sleep than he’d learned from all of their waking conversations. The time had come to demand some answers, to examine the reasons why she was so afraid of commitment. It wouldn’t be easy for her. But psychologist or not, he knew with absolute certainty that until they confronted the demons from her past, they had no future together.

  Laura awoke slowly, disoriented and sluggish. It was a struggle just to open her eyes. She raised her arm and stared at her watch, squinting as she tried to make out the time, but for some reason she had trouble focusing.

  One thing did come suddenly—and clearly—into focus, however: her attire. She was wearing a man’s pajama top! And just where exactly was she anyway? she wondered in sudden panic, her gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar surroundings. It jolted abruptly to a stop on Nick’s sleeping figure, slumped uncomfortably in a chair near the bed, his leg slung over one of the arms.

  Suddenly memories of the night before came rushing back—the horror, certainly, but even more prominently the care and tenderness of the wonderful man just a touch away. In sleep, his face had an endearing, boyish quality that she’d never seen before. His hair might be tousled, and he might look rumpled and unshaven, but as far as she was concerned he was the handsomest, most appealing man she’d ever seen.

  Of course, the bare chest might have something to do with that perception, she admitted, her eyes drawn to the T pattern of dark, curly hair that rose and fell in time with his even breathing. Her own breathing was suddenly none too steady, and she had a sudden, compelling urge to reach over and lay her hand close to his heart, feel the rise and fall of his broad chest beneath her fingers.

  At just that moment, as if sensing her gaze, Nick awoke—abruptly, immediately and fully. His gaze locked on hers, his stomach instinctively contracting at the purple, swollen eye and puffy nose, harshly spotlighted in the brightness of day. He rose stiffly from his uncomfortable position and then moved toward the bed in two long strides, squatting down beside her.

  “Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, his voice still husky from sleep. He reached over and stroked her hair, his eyes never leaving hers. “How do you feel?”

  She frowned and gingerly touched her face, then her side, wincing at even the slightest pressure. “I’m a little sore,” she said breathlessly, her voice unsteady.

  “I have a feeling that’s the understatement of the year,” he replied with a frown, his lips compressing into a thin line.

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “But…did you sleep in that chair all night?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  “What was left of it,” he said with a wry grin.

  “You must be exhausted! I’m so sorry to cause all this trouble,” she apologized, her eyes filling with tears.

  Nick reached over as one spilled out to trickle down her cheek, wiping it away with a gentle finger, his throat constricting painfully. “Laura, you were no trouble. Trust me,” he said, his own voice uneven. She still looked unconvinced, and his instinct was to kiss away her doubts. But given her physical—and emotional—fragility at the moment, that was probably not wise. Mustering all of his self restraint, he tenderly touched her cheek and then stood up. “I’ll run downstairs and get you a pill, okay?”

  She nodded silently, still feeling off balance and uncharacteristically weepy.

  His concerned eyes searched hers, and then he turned and rummaged in the closet for a shirt and slacks. “Just stay put till I get back,” he said over his shoulder, sliding the door shut and making a quick exit.

  When he reached the loft, he rapidly pulled on the cotton slacks and thrust his arms into the hastily retrieved shirt, distractedly rolling the sleeves to the elbows. Based on her pallor and lines of strain in her face, Laura needed a painkiller quickly. He took the steps two at a time, and returned in record time with the pill and a glass of water.

  Laura was up, gripping her side and leaning against the bedpost for support, when he entered the room. “I thought I told you to stay put,” he said with a frown.

  “Nick, do you know what time it is?” she asked, panic edging her voice.

  He glanced at his watch. “Nine o’clock.”

  “I should have been at work an hour ago… Ken won’t know what happened… He was supposed to pick me up at seven-thirty… My car’s ready today,” she said disjointedly.

  “Relax, honey,” he said, depositing the pill and water on the dresser and easing her back down to the bed. “I called Ken last night. Everything’s under control. He’ll fill in until you feel well enough to go back.”

  “But I have so much to do. I can’t take another day off. I can at least go to the office. That won’t be too taxing, and—”

  “Forget it, Laura,” he said flatly, cutting her off.

  She stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  He sighed, regretting the dictatorial approach. Maybe logic would work better. He sat down next to her and gently took her hand. “Look, Laura, you’re in no shape to get out of bed, let alone go to the office. Do you honestly feel up to doing anything today?”

  She stared at him, savoring the warm clasp of his hand on one level, thinking about his question on another. The truth was, she didn’t. But that had never stopped her before. She hadn’t been able to let it. It hadn’t mattered how she’d felt; the job had to be done. But then again, she’d never felt quite this bad. Her ribs ached, she could barely see out of her left eye and her nose was almost too tender to touch. Besides, every muscle in her body felt as if it had been pulled taut. But there was work to be done. “No, I don’t,” she admitted. “But I can’t afford to lose a day,” she said resolutely.

  “For the sake of your health, you can’t afford not to,” he told her bluntly.

  She looked at him in exasperation. “Nick, you just don’t understand. I’m it. Taylor Landscaping is a one-person show at the management level. You have someone to fall back on. I don’t. I can’t take a day off.”

  Laura took a deep breath and stood, gripping the headboard to steady herself. Tears pricked her eyes and she forced them back, but she couldn’t do anything about the trembling in her hands. And Nick wasn’t blind.

  He remained on the bed for a moment, looking up at her back, ramrod straight, and the defiant tilt of her head. She was probably going to hate him after this, he thought ruefully, but there was no way he was letting her set one foot outside this condo today. He wouldn’t be surprised if her stubborn determination carried her through a day at the office. Laura wasn’t a quitter, that was for sure. But by tonight she’d be a basket case. He steeled himself for her anger and stood, moving to face her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

  “Laura, I’m sorry. No way. I’ve already called Ken, who sounds very competent, and he’s handling everything. You’re not leaving here until tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” she stammered.

  “Tomorrow,” he declared.

  “Nick, you can’t do this!”

  “I can and I am. I’m bigger than you are. And you’re in no shape to resist. I’ll sit on you if I have to, but I hope it won’t come to that.”

  Nick saw the anger and defiance flash in her eyes and prepared to do battle. But then he watched in amazement as the flame of anger slowly flickered and went out. Her shoulders suddenly sagged and she carefully sat back on the bed, dropping her head to hide the tears that shimmered in her eyes. He squatted in front of her and took her hands in his, taken aback by her unexpected acquiescence. He’d expected a struggle; instead, she’d caved in. Had he pushed too hard, been too heavy-handed? He knew her emotions were tattered. “Laura, I’m sorry for being so obstinate about this,” he said gently. “But I’m doing it for you.”

  “I know,” she said softly, struggling to keep the tears from spilling out of her eyes, but the tenderness in his voice just
made it more difficult. It had been so long since she’d felt this cared for, this protected, this cherished. Her heart overflowed with gratitude…and something else she refused to acknowledge. Instead, she met his eyes and tried to smile, but didn’t quite succeed. “I’m very grateful. It’s been a long time since…” Her voice trailed off and she looked down at the strong, competent hands that held hers so comfortingly.

  Nick didn’t move. He just stared at her bowed head, struggling to regain his own composure. It wasn’t easy, not when his emotions were pulling at him like a rip-tide, threatening to sweep him off balance, a protective instinct emerging on the one hand, a purely sensual one on the other. The latter instinct urged him to take her in his arms, to kiss away her tears, to love her as she deserved to be loved. She seemed so desperately in need of loving.

  “Laura,” he said at last, the unevenness of his voice making him stop and clear his throat before continuing. Her head remained bowed. “Laura,” he repeated, squeezing her hands, this time forcing her to meet his eyes, which held hers with a compelling intensity. “You are very special to me. Special, and precious. When I think about what could have happened last night…” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a steadying breath, struggling for composure before fixing his intense gaze on her once again. “You’re not in great shape,” he said, reaching up to her eye with a whisper touch, “but you’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” he repeated more forcefully, as much to convince himself as to reassure her, touching her as he spoke—her arm, her cheek, her hair. “And I don’t want you to ever be alone and frightened again.”

  She stared at him, swallowing with difficulty. “Is that why you slept in the chair last night?”