Yule Be Mine

by Charlene Teglia

  He didn't miss her look of dismay.

  "We might be able to duck out sooner, both ways,” he placated.

  "We should have a signal. A code word, to tell each other we're drowning and need to be rescued,” Jordan mused out loud. She tapped one fingertip on the tabletop for a moment. Then she beamed. “I have it. Dickens. What do you think?"

  He wondered where the dickens he'd lost control of this entire crazy situation. However, it was oddly fitting. “Perfect."

  Jordan unwound herself from the booth and stood. “Until Thursday, then.” Gray eyes twinkled at him. The black scarf swathed her head again, making her look like a movie star incognito, only without the sunglasses. With a final conspiratorial wink, the black fairy vanished into the gathering twilight.

  Luke stood, staring numbly after her for seconds—or possibly hours. When he looked back down at the check, he saw that she'd had the effrontery to pay the tab.

  It didn't bode well, as the starting point of their unconventional relationship. For a man who relied on solid facts and carefully kept records, it was particularly disturbing. He didn't think she'd translate to any kind of graph or chart. None of his reliable methods could predict what she might do next.

  For a man who was always solidly in control and securely entrenched, it definitely carried disquieting implications.

  Still, Luke was actually looking forward to Thanksgiving. With quiet satisfaction he decided that his family deserved everything Jordan would give them.

  Chapter Three

  Bright and early Monday morning, Jordan tapped out the number from the card Luke had given her. It was only when the phone started to ring that she realized she should know his secretary's name, and didn't.

  Oops. One small detail overlooked. She could only hope that the woman would follow standard business phone etiquette and identify herself when she answered.

  "Good morning. Solid Solutions. This is Abby. May I help you?"

  Yes! Jordan did a little victory dance that her smooth speaking voice didn't betray. “Yes, Abby, I hope so. This is Jordan. I need to speak with Luke; is he in?"

  A slight pause followed, as the unknown Abby no doubt tried to figure out who “Jordan” was and if she was supposed to recognize the name. Luke probably hadn't informed his secretary yet. They were going to drop the bomb on Thursday.

  "Oh, yes,” Abby replied with a distinctly warmer tone to her voice. “I love your perfume. Luke's on another line, but I'll buzz him for you."

  "Okay, thanks.” Jordan waited, slowly stretching her arms over her head and leaning to the far side both ways, with the phone cradled between her shoulder and cheek.

  "Jordan?"

  Was it her active imagination, or did he sound pleased to hear from her? She couldn't resist vamping a little. “Hello, handsome. Are we alone?"

  He made a faint sound, as if he'd started to choke on something. “No. We're not."

  "Darling, tell me we aren't on a speaker phone. I hate them."

  "We aren't,” he assured her in a strangled voice.

  "Oh. Party line?"

  "No."

  Jordan thought. “Then your secretary's in the room?"

  "No."

  Hmm, a tough one. “Someone's in your office...” Inspiration struck once, then twice. “Some family member who just happened to drop in to grill you."

  "I admire your intuitiveness.” Humor sounded dryly through the line.

  "Never fear, your fiancée will ride to your rescue at the drop of a hat. Only it occurred to me that you wouldn't know where to drop your hat because I neglected to leave the information with you.” Jordan figured circumstances being what they were, he'd be too relieved at the present time to hold a grudge.

  "There is that."

  Whew. He even sounded like John Wayne in “The Quiet Man."

  "I can't fax it to you right now, can I? It would look suspicious."

  "No.” Luke hesitated only a second. “But I have a better idea. Can you meet me for lunch?"

  "For the man who's saving me from Seymour the undertaker, no price is too high, no sacrifice too great,” Jordan swore fervently. “Where do you want to meet?"

  Then he actually topped her for bold moves. Not easy to do.

  "No, darling. Meet me at my office. We'll go shopping for the ring together. After you left last night, I realized you were right about that, and I was being a bit high-handed."

  "I don't believe for a minute that you actually mean that.” Jordan sniffed in mock derision. “You were being high-handed. But considering my options, I'm willing to overlook it. Nice touch, though—she's probably bought it hook, line and sinker, whoever she is."

  "Darling, of course I mean it."

  Oh, sure. Jordan rolled her eyes, but unfortunately he couldn't personally appreciate the effect.

  "At twelve-thirty?” he continued smoothly—somewhat like a steamroller moving steadily ahead. “I look forward to it.” Then he added the clincher. “I'm glad you called. I didn't like the way we left things last night. I sent you flowers. Did you get them?"

  "Never tease a woman about something really important like flowers,” Jordan huffed. “Of course I didn't get them, because you didn't send them. You were too busy being high-handed. And even if you weren't, you wouldn't know where to send them to, remember?"

  Luke laughed. A very enjoyable sound. Jordan didn't think she'd heard him laugh before. “I have my ways, darling. I'll see you at twelve-thirty."

  Then he hung up.

  Jordan stared in disbelief at the receiver in her hand. How dare he hang up on her? Was that any way to treat a fiancée?

  The doorbell interrupted her fit of pique and she banged the phone down to answer it. Moments later, she was smiling again. He hadn't been teasing about the flowers. And he did have his “ways."

  Jordan eyed the bouquet of calla lilies and wondered where he'd gotten them from. The graceful white flowers were her favorite, a fact she was certain she hadn't mentioned. Maybe he had a healthy dash of intuitiveness himself.

  Her fiancé was a man of many talents. It took an unusual man to surprise Jordan.

  The thought was unsettling. The man who could out-do her for unpredictability was a man to be reckoned with. It occurred to Jordan that she might have simply traded one problem for another.

  No, she was being ridiculous. He was far preferable to Seymour, Mitchell, Gaston, Winston, Norton and company. If for no other reason than his name. Her brothers seemed to share a bizarre penchant for choosing ludicrously inappropriate men with names no loving mother would choose.

  She hoped it wouldn't put them off Luke. Maybe he had a really dreadful middle name he could use, or “Luke” was short for something else.

  That distracted her from her flash of trepidation and Jordan started paging through a book of names. That led to an idea for a series of cards, and she was soon scribbling away, Luke and the origins of his name forgotten entirely.

  When she put down her pen to stretch her aching shoulders, Jordan caught sight of the clock and let out a shriek of horror.

  Fortunately, she was a pro at the art of the quick change. As she hurled her sweats to the floor, her sweater was already sliding down over her head. Knit leggings barely preceded baggy socks and half-boots. She wet her hands and fluffed up her hair, grabbed pink lipstick to touch up with on the way and collected cape, pocketbook with notes still inside, and car keys in a miniature whirlwind.

  She'd make it. Just barely ... but she'd make it.

  She flew out the door and her faithful little car came alive on command. Ten minutes later a composed, serene Jordan stood outside the impressive office door. A surreptitious glance revealed no forgotten items of clothing, no seams declaring an item donned inside-out, although she'd done it before and pretended it was a fashion statement.

  Getting away with almost anything depended on a shameless ability to lie on command and, better still, believe it. Also it helped that she seemed to lack the ability to blush. But she
did owe it to Luke to at least appear normal.

  Her stylish boots were laced and on the proper feet. Her white leggings and matching long sweater in a slightly flared tunic style made a nice contrast to the black cape that hung open on her shoulders. Deciding a dramatic cape might be a bit much for business types, she removed it and slung it over one arm. There. All in white now, she looked as innocent and pure as the driven snow.

  Jordan took a breath, donned a smile and swept inside the quietly plush office as if she had always belonged there. She would do what she always did when in a tight spot—charm the socks off of everybody.

  Starting with the woman behind the front desk who must be Abby. Unless it was a much larger office than she'd realized.

  "Hello,” Jordan said and turned up the wattage on her smile. A friendly smile in return from the perfectly made-up face beneath the sleek chestnut bob at the front desk convinced her she was off to a good start.

  Following her instincts, Jordan continued brightly, “You must be Abby. You know, Luke made you sound like such a paragon, I've been half afraid to meet you."

  The sweet confession was just the right touch. Abby was looking more like a person and less like a polished executive assistant with every word.

  "Luke is very impressed by things like color-coded files,” Abby responded cheekily, dismissing the label of paragon even as she warmed to the compliment. “You must be Jordan. It's nice to meet you."

  "Thank you.” Jordan dimpled charmingly. “Is Luke with someone right now?"

  "Yes,” a masculine voice replied from somewhere off to her left.

  Jordan turned to see her newly acquired fake fiancé moving towards her in a straight-arrow fashion that she thought was probably typical of him. His blue eyes focused solidly on her and as he reached her and took her hands in his, his eyes steadily continued to penetrate into hers as if he was trying to telegraph some silent message to her.

  Whatever it was, Jordan wasn't getting it. He wasn't using the right mental wave-length, evidently. Or, possibly, he simply wanted her to stand and gaze longingly into his eyes for the benefit of whoever might be present.

  Simple enough. Jordan gave it her all, a performance worthy of an Oscar at the very least as she looked up adoringly at Luke. All it took was the shuddering thought of spending the holidays with Seymour the mortician to focus her energies on adoring Luke. This was her rescuer from truly deadly conversational gambits. Thanks to him, she wouldn't spend the holidays composing her own epitaph under the dreary, morbid tutelage of a mortician suitor.

  Luke wondered how she managed to look so fascinating in black and equally captivating in white. She was a vision in soft angora that nearly matched her white-blond hair. She'd gone from the black fairy to the Snow Queen overnight.

  He wondered how many other looks she had. He wondered if he'd ever see all the sides of her mercurial personality. He wondered, eventually, what she must be thinking when he just kept looking at her. He should say something.

  "You look beautiful in white."

  At his compliment, Jordan did her best to look demurely bridal. “I hope I will,” she teased, referring to the fictitious upcoming nuptials.

  She thought that was a good touch on his part. He looked and sounded just like a smitten groom-to-be, fantasizing about his bride.

  Now for whose benefit were they putting on this little show? She could play the role better if she had some inkling as to the nature of the audience. Jordan tried to telegraph the question back to him, but again the wave-length didn't seem to be working. They really needed to work out some more signals, she decided.

  A faintly amused “ahem” was Jordan's first audience response. She turned her head in the direction of the sound, and didn't have to fake her consternation. The woman waiting to be introduced to her had to be his mother. The age, the family resemblance, and the maternal stance of inspection gave it clearly away.

  Jordan turned horrified gray eyes on her silent conspirator. “Tell me this isn't your mother,” she hissed, not even trying to avoid being overheard.

  "I'm afraid I can't,” Luke replied. He didn't even have the grace to look abashed. Instead he looked sort of harried, Jordan realized. Sort of in need of rescue.

  Maybe contending with four brothers—plus spouses—was a piece of cake compared to a whole clan. He had her sympathy. Also her marvelous acting talents, which she hoped he appreciated.

  She let out a faint moan of despair and buried her face in his suit jacket. “I can't believe it. How could you do this to me?” The accusing question ended with her wounded face lifted to his. Jordan turned stricken eyes to his mother. “I can't believe he let me meet you looking like this. Oh, dear. This isn't how I wanted it to go. I was going to be all dignified so you'd be impressed."

  She managed to stop short of wringing her hands. That would have been going too far, and although she played it right up to the edge, she resisted the temptation to step over.

  Luke's mother, meanwhile, visibly went from reserved inspection to motherly sympathy. No doubt she was recalling her own trepidation about meeting her future mother-in-law and feeling Jordan's pain.

  If they really were engaged, Jordan thought in satisfaction, Luke would be in trouble now. She'd have his mother on her side. In fact, the woman proceeded to turn an accusing look on Luke.

  "Oh, Luke, you've embarrassed this sweet little thing. Really, I thought I raised you to have better manners."

  Luke was dumbfounded. How had the wicked fairy done it? His mother had insisted on lingering and annoying him, thanks to Wendy's rumor mongering about perfumed love letters. He'd thought Jordan's timely phone call would get him off the hook. Instead, his mother had decided she had to get a look at the mysterious fiancée before the rest of the family met her on Thanksgiving.

  And now he was the bad guy? Unfair, he protested silently.

  His mother was now looking at him as if he'd inflicted terrible suffering on Jordan's frail, fragile shoulders. Somewhat, he realized in dawning horror, like his reaction to her description of her fraternal tormentors. The obvious conclusion floored him.

  She'd given him a snow job fit to open a ski season. And he'd fallen for it.

  She might be small, Luke thought, but she certainly wasn't helpless. In fact, if she wasn't his ally, she would be downright frightening.

  Devious wasn't the word for her. No, it fell far short of describing her slippery, wily ways. If she ever turned to a life of crime, Luke was certain she'd make a fortune pulling off con games and never being caught. Although if she was caught, no officer would have the heart to arrest her and no judge or jury would ever convict her.

  He was impressed. He'd had no idea he was getting a true professional for his holiday hoax. Judging by his normally reserved mother's reaction, Jordan would be firmly embraced by the family. A cheerful warmth rose slowly and settled somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. He was really going to get away with it.

  The least he could do, he supposed in resignation, was to take the fall and look more or less contrite for subjecting Jordan to his mother unprepared. What would a real fiancé do?

  He drew her into his embrace and wrapped one arm securely around her slight form. “Now, darling, don't worry. How could she help falling for you as fast as I did?” Luke teased the shameless little liar.

  Jordan looked pensive. “But that's just it, Luke. It all happened so suddenly. What are they going to think?"

  "They'll think you're an angel sent from heaven,” Margaret Foster interjected. “Truly. We had nearly given up hope that Luke would ever settle down.” She came closer to hug Jordan. “Welcome to the family, dear. I'm so pleased.” She kissed Luke's cheek in a congratulatory salute. “Now I have to be going. I'll look forward to seeing you both on Thursday.” With a final approving smile, she exited Luke's offices.

  "And we should go, too.” Luke neatly sealed their escape as he led a very willing Jordan towards the door. “If anyone calls for me, Abby, I'll be back around
two."

  With a parting wave and smile to Abby, Jordan let Luke pull her along. Once they were safely out of sight and hearing, she let out a long gasp of relief and sagged against his convenient support.

  "Whew. That was a close one. Your mother, of all people! Still, for having to improvise, I think we did pretty well. What do you think?” Jordan went from consternation to exhilaration in a single conversational bound and waited patiently for Luke to catch up with her.

  He glanced down at her and gave her a rueful look. “I don't know if I should spank you or thank you."

  Jordan's eyes twinkled. “Thank me. It's much more fun. Besides, I think you should be grateful. Didn't I just rescue you from nagging and haranguing, not to mention any further potential matchmaking she might have had up her sleeve?"

  Airily, she pointed out her justification for lying to a dear woman whose only crime lay in wanting to see her son happily married. After all, she was only keeping her side of their bargain. And they wouldn't have been driven to it in the first place if their families would simply listen to reason. Jordan might sympathize, but she and Luke were only acting out of a sense of self-preservation.

  "True,” he agreed, shortening his stride to accommodate hers, since she was nearly running along beside him. “You did rescue me, and in return I'm not only rescuing you but keeping my promise to send you flowers every day."

  "Hey, how did you do that?” Jordan demanded, remembering his unexpected maneuver.

  "I didn't think there could be many Jordan Christians in Burlington. I found you in the directory. Then I called a florist and asked if they'd ever delivered to that address. They had, and I just took a chance that you liked calla lilies.” His explanation sounded businesslike, but actually Luke was rather proud of his detective work. He thought he'd scored a few points for perseverance as well as delivering superior fiancé service.

  He silently dared her to find a real fiancé who could compete. And he was about to buy her a ring to die for. He hadn't met the pixie he couldn't impress. She'd like the ring and she wouldn't talk about losing it, either. And she wouldn't be giving it back before she even put it on. Once she saw it, she'd cry before she'd be willing to give it up.