At that point, the driver gunned the engine, which only spun the wheels and dug them in deeper. Next he rocked the car from forward to reverse, in an attempt to climb out of the ruts under the wheels. The sporty model finally broke free and started backing up, in a straight fine at first, but then sliding sideways...directly toward a blue pickup parked outside the barber shop.
The crash wasn't too violent, and did more damage to
the sports car than the sturdy old truck. By the time Ben arrived at the scene, the driver was out of his red Miata, staring at the collision and swearing. Loudly.
"How the hell is anybody supposed to drive in this godforsaken place? Whose stupid idea was it to put a town on top of a mountain, so you can't even get up the damn street in the damn snow?"
Just listening to the voice, Ben decided he didn't like the guy. Then he got a good look at him. Camel-hair overcoat, double-breasted, worn belted, matching felt fedora. Gold-rimmed, dark black shades that cost at least five hundred bucks and a watch worth five times as much. Beige boots of some exotic animal skin, with toes as sharp as ice picks. And a walnut tan. In November.
Ben swallowed his antagonism. "Something I can do to help?"
Mr. Shades turned toward him. "Where the hell do I find a tow truck in this place?"
"A gas station would be your best bet."
"Duh. Does this burg have one?"
"Jack Mabry runs the station you passed about a half mile back, coming into town."
"Thank God." He dived into the open door of the car and came out with a cell phone. "What's the number?"
After a restless night, Ben didn't have complete control of his temper. "Do I look like Directory Assistance?"
The guy stared at him for a second, then reached up and pulled off the sunglasses. His eyes were dark, narrowed and unfriendly. "You playing games, country boy?"
"Just trying to help." Ben shrugged. "But I guess you've got things covered." He stepped off the curb, heading for the coffee shop across the street.
"Hey, wait a minute. I'm trying to find somebody in this stupid little place. She's at..."
As Ben glanced back over his shoulder, the guy bent into the car again, but more information really wasn't necessary. The man's attitude screamed "show business." He was looking for Cait.
Mr. Shades came out again with a piece of paper. "She's at 300 Ridley Place. Cait Gregory. Know her?"
"We've met."
"Well, how do I get there?"
Ben looked at the Miata. "First, you get your car unstuck and see if the drivetrain still works."
"Smart-ass."
' 'Then you try to get up the hill. Snow tires and chains help. Go to the end of the street, take a right and then two lefts. You'll see a stone church with a green door. The house you're looking for is on the corner just past the churchyard."
Without waiting for the other guy to acknowledge the directions, Ben turned again and started across the street. This time, he didn't look back.
Which was a good operating principle for last night's scene with Cait, as well. Don't look back. Forget how she tasted, how her mouth softened, how her body strained against his. Forget the sudden surge of need. Need had no place in a responsible father's life.
No matter how good it felt.
Cait opened the door and let her jaw drop. "Russell?" The man outside stamped caked snow off his boots.
"Hi, babe. Lousy weather. Hope you've got something to
warm me up."
She stepped back as he came into the house. "What
are you doing here? I thought you were in Las Vegas. Or Palm Springs."
"I damn well should be." He flung his coat over the same chair Ben had occupied last night, took off his hat and smoothed back his hair. "But I obviously wasn't getting through to you over the phone. So I decided to exert my considerable personal charm face-to-face." His wide grin showed perfect white teeth. "Got something to drink?"
"Milk? Water?"
"I was thinking about Long Island Iced Tea. We are on the East Coast. Or how about a mint julep?" He dropped into Ben's chair.
"How about coffee?" She brought him a mug. "What do we have to talk about, Russ? I told you—I'll be ready to work the day after Christmas."
"That's well and good, but I got a couple of gigs you'd be perfect for before then. I checked with the band— they're all cooling their heels, growing beer bellies. No problem getting them back on the road."
"I can't leave until Christmas. My sister's in bed trying to keep her baby, and I'm helping her out. What don't you understand?"
"Hick place like this probably has a grandmother on every corner. Let them take care of her."
Cait stared at him. "How come I never realized you were such an insensitive bastard?"
He shrugged. "Makes me a good agent, doesn't it?"
"Maybe. Look—I want to take care of Anna. I've made commitments here I can't get out of. No gigs until December 26. Clear enough?"
"The money's great." He named a figure that made Cait blink. "And this is Vegas. The exposure would be
fantastic. Do you know how many people come to Vegas in the winter?"
Cait walked to the window and looked out into the snowy afternoon. The trees wore white frosting on their branches, all the way to the tips of the smallest twigs. A white blanket softened the hills and the blue mountains beyond. This world was quiet and still, with a kind of peace she hadn't realized she needed.
Vegas would be loud and crowded and bright. The mountains there were bare gray rock, the desert a vast emptiness around a neon oasis. Anna would be here, and Maddie and Brenna and Shep.
She refused to let her mind go further than that. But she shook her head. "You made a long trip for nothing, Russ. I've been touring for a solid year, including five gigs in Vegas. I need a real break. I'm not working until after Christmas."
Russell put his head back against the chair and groaned. "Why do you always make me get tough with you?" Leaning forward, he braced his elbows on his knees. "I can charge you with breach of contract, you know. Our deal says you'll play the dates I get you except in case of illness or injury. My reputation depends on providing acts to the venues. I can't provide, I lose my contacts. Got it?"
Her breath caught on a hitch of fear. Russell had been her agent for the past five—increasingly successful— years. She owed a good deal of her current status to his savvy and his contacts in the business. Losing him as an agent would slow her career down just when she was poised to take off.
Cait sighed. "What are the dates of these gigs?"
She let him run through the details, explain exactly how great an opportunity he was offering her when he had
other clients—big names—who would take the jobs with no hesitation.
'Til have to think about it," she said, when he finished. "If Anna has her baby by the middle of December, I might make the date on the 20. But Thanksgiving weekend... I just don't know."
On his feet, Russ stretched to his full height, nearly six-four. ' 'You want to be in the business, you take the work, Cait. Maybe you need to decide what you're willing to do to get to the top. I thought you had the real stuff. Could be I'm wrong."
"Russell—"
Shaking his head, he pulled on his coat and left the house, striding out to the silly-looking red sports car parked on the street. As he fishtailed away, she saw the dented rear end.
"Cait?" Anna called from the bedroom.
"Hey, girl." Schooling her face to calmness, Cait joined her sister. "Good nap?"
"Was somebody here?"
"Um, yeah. My agent came into town to talk about a couple of jobs. Nothing big."
Anna's dark eyes widened. "Soon?"
"Nope. End of November, December."
"But—" She shook her head. "I'm being incredibly selfish. You took time out from your career to be here, and I'm trying to make you stay even longer. If you need to go—"
"I told him I'd think about it. I'll see how you're doing, how th
e pageant's pulling together, figure out if I can take a couple of days to fly out to Vegas. If not, he'll find somebody else."
Las Vegas? That's a real opportunity."
So's this." She bent to give Anna a hug. "We've
"]
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hardly seen each other in the last few years. And I've got a nephew coming. I'd love to be here when he's born. We'll see how it all works out, okay?"
The tension eased out of Anna's shoulders. "Okay."
"What sounds good for dinner?"
She shook her head. "When you're not doing anything, you don't get very hungry. Whatever you and David would like."
A door closed in the kitchen. "That's him now." Cait straightened away from the bed. "I'll go ask him about the menu and then he can come in to talk with you while I cook."
Anna's smile was sweet...but not very glad.
And David's face, when Cait got to the kitchen, was somber, though his expression lightened as he turned to face her directly. "Hey, Cait. How's your day been?"
There was no way to explain the combination of despair—about Ben—and uncertainty she'd experienced today. "Fine. Anna's feeling pretty good. Tell me what you'd like to eat before you go in to see her."
He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I...ah...I don't care. Whatever sounds good to you." Grabbing up an armload of books, he left the kitchen and went straight across the hall to his library. With her back to the door, Cait waited to hear him head for the bedroom, but the footsteps didn't materialize.
What is wrong with that man? She didn't have an answer, didn't have a clue.
She didn't know what to make for dinner, either.
Or what to make of those kisses from Ben Tremaine.
Sitting in the late-night dark on Saturday night, Harry aimed the remote at the television screen framed by his slippered feet and clicked through the channels. He was
tired of stale, cynical jokes and wisecracking hosts. Tired of infomercials and documentaries about the plight of the misunderstood shark, the persecuted rhino.
"Harry?" Peggy leaned around the door frame into the den. "Harry, are you awake?"
He was tempted to pretend. But he'd been behaving badly enough this past couple of weeks. No need to add lying to his list of sins.
"No, Peg. I'm awake."
"Oh." She stepped into the room, a slender, feminine figure in her soft flannel robe. Peg was always clean and pretty at bedtime, no matter how hard she'd worked during the day. And the sight of her had never failed to excite him, in more than thirty years of marriage.
Until recently. Until he retired.
Harry kept his thumb on the channel button, hoping for a distraction.
Peggy sat down on the arm of the recliner and put her hand on his chest. "Are you watching something special?"
"No." This wasn't going to work. He couldn't avoid her yet another night. Clicking off the television, he looked up at his wife in the dark. "Ready for bed?"
She bent to touch his lips with her own. "Something like that." Harry tasted the honey she put in her nighttime cup of tea, and the sweetness that had always been Peggy's alone. Lightly, she slipped into his lap, into his arms, deepening the kiss. He waited for his body's automatic response to kick in.
Nothing.
Consciously, he followed the well-loved script, stroking her back, tracing the litheness of her spine, the gentle curve of her hip. Peggy sighed and slipped her hand inside
his robe, her palm warm against his bare skin. That flesh to flesh contact was usually enough to set him on fire.
But not tonight.
Tightening his hold, he drew her against him, sat up, then got to his feet. She laughed a little and pressed her mouth against the side of his neck, under his ear where a touch could drive him crazy.
Nothing.
"You okay?" she murmured against his temple. "Too tired?"
Without answering, he carried her down the hall to their room, knowing there must be millions of men his age who would give a fortune to have a wife as responsive, as loving as Peggy. All of their marriage, Harry had known how special she was, how lucky he was.
She put her arms around his neck as he lowered her to the bed and drew him down with her, over her. He took her kisses, stroked her skin, did all the wonderful things he knew drove her to the edge, and over. Just doing them usually drove him to the edge, too. Tonight...
Nothing. He couldn't perform. Not...as a lover.
With his hands and his mouth, he gave her every ounce of satisfaction he could draw forth. And then he cradled her, gentled her, smoothed her hair and pulled the blankets up to cover her lovely body.
"Harry?" She turned in his arms, leaned up on an elbow. "What's wrong?"
Stroking her shoulder, he eased her back to his side, pressed her head onto his chest.
"Nothing," he said. "Might be coming down with that flu the kids had. I'm a little achy, tired. I love you."
"Mmm. Me, too." She kissed his chest, settled against him.
She wasn't convinced, he knew. But Peggy didn't nag
and she didn't pry. They had always been open with each other, frank about their feelings. Harry had never before kept a secret more important than a birthday present from his wife.
And he wouldn't be able to keep this one for long.
Easing to sit on the edge of the bed, David laughed, a little shakily, and pulled her hand from his shirt. "I'm not avoiding you. I just...have to go to work."
"And in the evenings?"
1 'I have a hard time writing at the church office during the day. The phone rings and people come by...."
"You're spending enough time on your sermons to have a book full by now. You're even sleeping in your library." Tears clogged her throat. "Instead of with me."
"Well..." He played with her hand as he had when they were dating, running his fingertips lightly along her palm and over her knuckles and wrist. The touch of his skin on hers was sweet. "I—I think you'll rest better if you don't have to share the bed, that's all. I want to give you and—and the baby—every chance in the world to be safe."
"I don't need better rest. I need you to be with me." She heard herself whining and winced. But the words were true.
David shook his head. "You know I'm here for you. Whatever you need, I'll make sure you and the baby have it. And I'm never more than a phone call away. I have my cell phone on all the time. Every minute." He grinned, as if to reassure her. Or was it simply to pacify her?
"You don't understand." Now she was being childish. No wonder David didn't want to be with her. "Never mind. You need to go."
"Anna—" His tone sounded as if he wanted to say more, but he got to his feet, clearly relieved to be dismissed. "I'll see you tonight, okay? I'll be home pretty early."
She mustered the strength to be gracious. "That's— that's fine. Have a good day. I—I love you."
"Me, too." He stood for a second in the doorway, look-
ing at her, and she hoped he would relent, come back and talk. But then he was gone, his footsteps retreating toward the kitchen and the door to the driveway.
By the time Cait looked in, Anna had cried her tears dry.
1 'Morning, Annabelle. What can I make you for breakfast?"
The baby needed nourishment, even if Anna didn't care if she never ate again. "Urn...oatmeal with raisins, and juice?"
"Coming right up."
Cait brought a tray in a little while later and joined her at breakfast. ' 'I need to get parts assigned on the pageant before rehearsal this week. Do you feel like helping me with that? You know the kids better than I do."
"Of course." Anna put down her bowl, still half-full of cereal. Thinking about the pageant would be better than lying here.
Her sister handed her the bowl again. ' 'First, you finish this." Cait-
' t/^^-4. » »
"]
Finish." 'Yes, ma'am."
When the bowl was empty, Cait took the dishes away and came back
with a pad and pencil. "Now, how do we do this? Everybody wants the most important part—whatever that is."
"You have to assure them that every part is important. And it's true—the different players in the nativity were all there for a reason. It wasn't just an accident that there were shepherds and animals and an innkeeper."
Cait's lively face softened. "I haven't thought about it like that in a long time. In my business, it seems like there's always a star, and then everybody else."
"Well, there's a star in this story, too. But let's start with the shepherds."
They went through the list of children who'd signed up to participate and gave each one a role to play, based on age and ability. At the end, they came to the angels.
"Maddie Tremaine is dying to be the announcing angel," Cait commented, her eyes on the list she was making.
"Is that a problem? She's got a good voice and she's not shy—sort of like someone else I remember at that age.
"Poor Ben." She didn't elaborate. "Has she ever done a solo in front of the congregation?"
' 'No, though I suppose she could, with enough practice. But the announcing angel is a speaking part."
"Well, see, that's the problem. I have this song—"
"Oh, Cait. You wrote a song for our pageant?" You might not like it."
And the roof might fall in. Go get your guitar. I want to hear what you've done."
For the first time in days, Anna felt hopeful, even cheerful. If Cait was involved enough with the pageant to write a song... what other kinds of miracles might happen this Christmas?
Monday evening, Cait rang the Tremaines' doorbell and stepped back. She'd tried to time her visit so she'd arrive after dinner, but not so late that Maddie and Shep would have started getting ready for bed. She didn't want to see Ben alone.
Not a problem. Maddie opened the door. "Miss Cait-lyn! Hi!"
"Hi, Maddie? Are you busy?"
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