A Magical Christmas

by Patricia Thayer

  “I’m glad you showed up.”

  “Me, too.”

  “If you’re still around later, I’ll meet you on the beach in…” he glanced at a waterproof watch “…say an hour or so,” he said, throwing his board over the forty-foothigh rail.

  She watched in horror as he hopped onto the wood post and dived into the ocean. Was he crazy?

  “Hey, no jumping from the pier!” a gruff voice yelled from behind. The white-haired security guard didn’t stand a chance of catching him.

  Stephanie gulped and looked over the rail just as Phil surfaced. He swam to his board, straddled it like a horse, looked up and waved. Yee haw!

  She shook her head, waiting for the surge of adrenaline to wane. “You almost gave me a heart attack,” she yelled.

  He laughed. “This is the lazy man’s way of getting past the breakers,” he shouted with a huge grin. “Enjoy your coffee. I’ll see you on the beach later.”

  He paddled off, and like an expert he caught the first wave, dipping through the curl, zigzagging, riding it until it lost its momentum.

  As she sipped her coffee, she watched Phil surf wave after wave, never faltering. He looked like Adonis in a wet suit playing among the mere humans. Today the ocean was only moderately roiled up, offering him little challenge and nothing he couldn’t handle standing on one leg. But it was still exciting to see him in action. She remembered several pictures on his office wall with his surfboard planted in the sand like a fat and oddly shaped palm tree, and him receiving a trophy from someone, or a kiss from an equally gorgeous girl. What a charmed life he must lead. Doctor by day, surfer by weekend.

  She checked her watch after an hour or so and began walking back to the mouth of the pier. After removing her shoes, she strolled along the wet, gritty sand as she watched Phil ride the curl of a strong, high wave almost all the way to the shore.

  He stepped off his board as if off a magic carpet, bent to tuck it under his arm, and waded the remaining distance to where she stood.

  “You make it look so easy,” she said, waving and smiling.

  “I’ve been surfing since I was twelve.”

  All man—hair slicked back from his face curling just below his ears, sea water dripping down his temples, broad shoulders and narrow hips—the last thing she could envision was Phil as a prepubescent boy.

  “Second nature, huh?”

  “Something like that. Hey, I know a great little stand that sells the best hot dogs in Santa Barbara. If you like chili dogs, I’ll get out of this suit and we can walk over there.”

  She nodded as he pointed to the street and the amazingly lucky parking place he’d managed to snag. They walked in friendly conversation toward his car, a classic 1950s Woodie, the signature surfer wagon, complete with side wood paneling.

  “Oh, my gosh, this is fantastic!” she said.

  “My dad gave me this for my sixteenth birthday, when he realized surfing was my passion.”

  “It’s gorgeous.” So are you.

  For the first time that day, Phil made an obvious head-to-toe assessment of Stephanie. She’d worn shorts, a tank top and zipped hoodie sweatshirt. “You’re looking pretty damn great yourself.”

  A self-conscious thought about her pale legs, compared to his golden-bronze skin, made her wish she’d worn her tried-and-trusted jeans, but seeing the pleased look on his face as he stared at her changed her mind.

  He unzipped his wet suit and peeled it off his arms and down to his waist, revealing a flat stomach, cut torso, and defined chest. Just as Stephanie began to worry about what a guy wore under a wet suit, he tugged down the garment to reveal black trunks.

  Oh, my. Seeing so much of Phil Hansen was making her mouth water.

  He threw a pair of cargo shorts over the trunks, ducked his head into a T-shirt, and in record time slid into some well-worn leather flip-flops.

  “You ready?” he said, shaking out his hair.

  “Sure,” she said, completely under his wet-and-wild spell.

  “Oh, hey, wait,” he said, closing and locking the hatch. “I forgot something.” He took a step toward her, pulled her close, and kissed her.

  His mouth was warm and soft as it covered her lips ever so gently. They were nearly strangers, and this wasn’t how she did things, but she couldn’t manage to tear herself away. Shock made her edgy…at first. The kiss, like a calming tide, swept over her head to toe, smoothing and relaxing her resistance. She wanted more and pressed into his welcoming lips.

  When his hands went to her waist, she tensed again. Their heat started a mini-implosion over her hips, sending pleasant waves throughout her body. She wasn’t ready to touch him back, except for right there on those inviting lips. She inhaled the scent of ocean on his skin, and breathed deeper, tasting sea salt as she flicked the smooth lining of his mouth with her tongue.

  Their connection seemed to stop time. Her hands dangled at her sides, more out of concern about where it might lead if she touched his broad shoulders. Though she wanted to. She wanted to explore every part of Phil Hansen, but they were in public on a busy street. This was no time or place for a first kiss of this magnitude.

  Still, she didn’t move, kept kissing him, savored the sweet, tender, first kiss. A basic, female reaction flowed through her core, warming everything in its path from the tips of her breasts down to the ends of her toes. She hadn’t felt this kind of heady response since she’d first fallen in love with her husband.

  Her ex-husband.

  Okay, that put the hex on this kiss. Aside from the fact that Phil was a good kisser—restrained, not mauling; gentle, not immediately going for the touchdown—and aside from the fact that she liked how he felt—really liked how he kissed—the thought of her condemning and unforgiving ex ruined the moment.

  She broke contact and pulled back. He studied her up close as if reading her mind. He wasn’t rude or persistent. He knew they’d had their moment and now it was over, yet his probing stare let her know he understood something was up, and that he’d respect whatever the barrier was…for now.

  What she saw in the depths of his eyes unsettled her. Besides everything his kiss had done, from heating her up inside to sending chills over her skin, she could read in his look that it was only a matter of time before they’d be doing this kissing business again.

  The unspoken promise both thrilled and scared her.

  Chapter Four

  PHIL had promised a world-class hot dog and he hadn’t let Stephanie down. They sat at a little metal table on the cement walk in front of a red-and-white striped awning on Cabrillo Boulevard. Still trying her best to recover from Phil’s kiss, she concentrated on eating the dog slathered in heart-clogging chili topped with cheese, and not the imposingly appealing man across the table…staring at her.

  “You said you started surfing at twelve?” she said.

  She could handle lunch with Phil. If she repeated it enough times maybe she’d believe it. Tell that to her pulse, which quickened every time she noticed new things about him, like how his sideburns were perfectly matched and at least three shades darker than his hair, with a tinge of red. Just before she took her first bite of hot dog, she wondered what his beard stubble might feel like first thing in the morning, and almost missed her mouth.

  “Yeah. I had a knack.” He smiled at her and her heart stepped out of rhythm. He had a “knack” for world-class kisses, too. “I was spoiled and my parents let me do just about everything. By the time I was fourteen, I got recruited for the Corona Pro surf circuit, and the rest…” he delivered another one of his knockout smiles “…as they say, is history.”

  “Growing up in the desert, surfing wasn’t exactly on my list of things to do. I’m more of a volleyball girl myself.”

  He raised one brow with interest. “Ever played beach volleyball?”

  She shook her head and reached for her soda. “Looks too grueling with all that sand.”

  “They play beach volleyball every weekend right down the street.”
He pointed behind him with his thumb.

  “Oh, yeah, I remember I saw the nets the day I drove into town.”

  “So what do you say? Want to check out the game tomorrow?”

  “What about Robbie?”

  He sat straighter. “I’ll bring him along.”

  She gave him a hesitant glance; her throat tightened, making it hard to swallow the tastiest chili she’d ever eaten.

  “You see right through me, don’t you?” he said. “Truth is, I need some help keeping the kid entertained, and I’ve already run out of ideas.”

  “Well, don’t look at me,” she said, swallowing and taking another bite.

  His playful gaze grew serious. “What’s the deal? I mean, I’ve never seen…”

  Should she tell him? By all accounts, he was still a stranger…who’d kissed her senseless. Did he deserve to know her deepest secret just because he was curious?

  “The thing is…” Two years ago she’d had her tubes tied to cement the point. “I don’t do kids.” No. Better to keep it vague. Keep the distance.

  “But you deliver babies for a living,” Phil said, arms crossed over his black T-shirt, brows furrowed, obviously confused.

  “I deliver other people’s babies.” She took another bite of her hot dog and did her best to pretend there wasn’t anything contradictory about the statement.

  Phil finished his first hot dog, washed it down with cola and wiped his mouth. Stephanie intrigued him with this inconsistency—an OB doc who didn’t do babies. And she was quickly becoming his dream date. When a woman didn’t want kids, marriage didn’t seem to be a priority. And since marriage was the last thing on his to-do list, maybe they could have a good time together, for however long this attraction lasted.

  Beneath her defiant remark “I don’t do babies” he noticed one telling sign—hurt. He could see it in her gaze. Those inviting butterscotch-with-flecks-of-gold eyes went dull at the mention of kids. Something had caused her great pain and the result made her avoid children. He flashed to the moment he’d walked into the clinic the first night, how he’d seen terror in her expression, how she hadn’t been able to get away fast enough. He needed to play this cool, or she’d bolt again.

  “No wonder you looked so uncomfortable when I left Robbie with you.” He wiped mustard from the corner of his mouth.

  She gave a wry laugh as a quick blush pinkened her cheeks. “Uncomfortable is a generous description.”

  “Yeah, okay, more like you freaked out.”

  She nodded. “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.”

  She made a half-hearted attempt at a smile, and his heart went out to her. He needed to lighten the mood. Maybe he could tease her into submission.

  “So there’s no chance I can change your mind?” He put his hand on top of hers, immediately aware of how fragile she felt.

  “Maybe some other time.”

  “Translation being—get lost, Phil?”

  “Not at all.” She met his gaze, sending a subtle message, then quickly looked away.

  So maybe she was interested in him, just not the whole Phil-and-Robbie package. Once he sent Robbie back to his stepmom and dad, he’d have time to enjoy her company up close and, hopefully, very personal. Especially after that kiss confirmed what he’d suspected since the first day he’d seen her—they had chemistry. And knowing she didn’t want to get involved with anyone any more than he did sounded like the perfect setup.

  “Okay. I get it. But when my parents get back from Hawaii, and Robbie goes home, I’d like to make an official date with you.”

  He hadn’t removed his hand, and hers turned beneath his. Now palm to palm, a stimulating image formed in his mind. He wished he could take her home and ravish her right on the spot, but she was skittish and he needed to take things slowly.

  “Fine.” She flicked her lashes and glanced quickly into his eyes, then slid her hand away.

  Still high from their kiss, new desire stirred in him. From the jolt he felt, she could have been throwing lightning bolts instead of batting her lashes. They definitely had chemistry.

  “Fine?” he said. “Well, then, let’s make that date right now, so I’ll have something to look forward to.”

  On Saturday night, Phil watched Robbie sleep. The little guy flipped and flopped and in between he coughed. His eyes popped open for the briefest of moments, fluttered, then clamped shut as if trying desperately to stay asleep, but the constant irritation of that cough gave him a good battle. The restless spectacle put a hard lump smack in the middle of Phil’s throat.

  Robbie’s world would become difficult enough as he got older and realized that other kids looked at him differently, and maybe they wouldn’t play with him because of him having Down syndrome.

  “Sweet kid,” he mumbled against an alien yet firm tugging in his chest. What was happening to him?

  He adjusted the covers for the umpteenth time beneath his little brother’s chin before taking a stroll to the kitchen for a glass of water. It had taken a few days, but they were starting to get into a routine at night. Robbie had filled him in on the rule about reading a picture book before bed. Phil had complied. Heck, he even enjoyed some of them. After a couple of nights, Phil was even able to sneak back to his own bed.

  Robbie drifted in a sweet oblivious tide of ignorance and bliss hanging out with other toddlers. How much longer would it last? And as long as it did last, Phil wanted nothing more than for him to be well rested and on his best play-pal game at preschool.

  When Robbie didn’t sleep, Phil didn’t either. How in hell had Roma and his dad managed the last four years?

  And when Phil couldn’t sleep, his mind drifted to Stephanie—the last person he needed to think about if he had any hope of getting rest. Maybe he’d taken advantage of the situation by kissing her at the beach, even though she’d done her share of participation with that kiss. It had been a whim. She’d looked so damn sweet and vulnerable, completely different from work. Well, he’d wanted to kiss her, and he had. And he was glad.

  He hadn’t given a no-strings-attached kiss like that since high school. Stephanie’s wounded and fragile air made him extra-cautious. It also drew him to her. Ironically, he only had two months, but he vowed to take things slowly, to give her plenty of leeway. Even if it killed him.

  He scratched his chest and paced back and forth across the kitchen. Stephanie was sleek, not flashy; intelligent, but not street-smart. Her hair changed colors in the sun from brown with a hint of red to full-out copper. Her eyes often looked like honey. And she was sweet, in a withdrawn sort of way.

  He scraped his jaw. Did any of the description make sense? All he knew for sure was a deep gut reaction happened each and every time he saw her. That was not normal. For him.

  What he’d give for a little affectionate nuzzling with her right about now, especially if it quickly evolved into hot and panting sex. But he was going to take it slow. Remember? He sloshed back a quick gulp of cold water.

  Robbie coughed again.

  Phil had already ruled out enlarged adenoids on the kid. He’d played the old airplane spoon of ice cream flying straight for Robbie’s mouth, but only if his brother promised to open wide. He’d flashed his penlight across the back of his throat, in the guise of making sure the runway was clear, and all had looked normal in the tonsil and adenoid department, even though Phil must have looked a fool in order to find out. To be honest, it was kind of fun. He was getting a taste of parenting, and realized some of it wasn’t so bad.

  More muffled coughing drew him back to the guest room. Robbie’s butt was up in the air and his thumb had found its way back to his mouth. Some picture. The nasal cannula delivering a small amount of oxygen he’d tried as an experiment had been removed, giving the boy’s forehead the concentrated air instead of Robbie’s lungs. Phil smiled and shook his head. The stinker really was something. He thought about taking a picture, but he didn’t want to risk waking Robbie up so instead he closed the door all but fou
r inches. Besides, taking a picture would be acting like Jon, and he definitely didn’t want to go down that path.

  Robbie coughed again. Phil ran his hand through his hair, frustrated. He needed to do a bronchoscopy on him, document his condition, and get him started on either CPAP or negative pressure ventilation. Right now the bigger question was, when in his busy clinic schedule would he have time to do one?

  An idea popped into his mind and wouldn’t let go. Weren’t people supposed to face their demons in order to move on? Maybe one small step at a time. Yeah, that might work. If things went as planned, he’d have a coerced but hopefully willing helper on Tuesday evening. How bad could a sedated kid be to be around?

  Maybe he’d finally have proof his brother had tracheobronchomalacia. And if he played his cards right, he’d finagle some extra time with the lovely doctor from the desert.

  On Tuesday afternoon, Stephanie sat in her office with a mug of coffee. Staring out the window through the gorgeous lace curtains to the bright blue sky, she contemplated her schedule for the next week—except her mind kept drifting to a certain moment at the beach on Saturday. Okay, so she was out of practice, but was she such a bad kisser that she’d completely turned Phil off?

  She’d only caught glimpses of him at the clinic since then, and even though she shouldn’t care what he thought about her or her kissing, it made her feel as insecure as if she were still in high school. As if she’d made a mistake by letting him kiss her. But she’d wanted him to.

  She took another sip of coffee, loathing the teenaged insecurity, just as Phil appeared at her door, bringing with him a sudden tingle-fest.

  “Got any plans for tonight?” he asked.

  Why did her mood brighten instantaneously? She had no intention of telling him she’d planned on a little shopping at the Paseo before she took in a movie, alone.

  “A few. Nothing major,” she said, playing it coy.

  One look at his great smile and she wanted to get angry for his turning her world sideways. She wanted to hate him for being so damn charming! But all she could muster was a mental, Wow, I’d forgotten how gorgeous you are.