Love for the Holidays (five book Christmas bundle)

by Noelle Adams

  “I see,” he murmured. She could feel his eyes on her face. “You’ve been eavesdropping again.”

  “Not on purpose. You were talking in the middle of the hallway!”

  “I was.” There was suddenly a smile in his voice. She turned to look, but he wasn’t smiling with anything but his eyes. “I wasn’t really looking forward to the date anyway. I can go out with her later. This is the only Christmas Eve I have this year, and I’d rather spend it here.”

  She peered at him, suddenly hopeful. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Okay,” she said, brushing away another tear and feeling a lot better. If he wanted to watch the movie, then that was all right. She’d be happy to have him watch with her.

  “So I can stay?”

  “Yes,” she said, giving him a definitive nod and grinning up at him. “You can stay.”

  So they watched White Christmas, and they had hot cider and sugar cookies. And Helen made Cyrus laugh because she knew all the words to the Sisters song. And there were lots of presents waiting for her to open in the morning. They were probably just dolls and stuffed animals, but they’d be fun to open anyway.

  So it was a pretty good Christmas Eve after all.

  Second Christmas Eve

  nine years ago

  Large, wet flakes of snow blew against the windshield, so hard and thick that Cyrus could barely see the road.

  If he hadn’t known the route so well, he never would have made it these last few miles. The steady snow that had been falling when he’d left D.C. had gradually turned into blizzard conditions.

  He never should have driven out to Clarksburg this afternoon. He’d decided against it after looking at the forecast and seeing the snow already coming down earlier in the day. Although obligation ensured he made the trip to see his father every Christmas, it wasn’t a trip he relished, and he’d been relieved to have a legitimate excuse to cancel it.

  There was a new club opening downtown that he’d wanted to visit tonight, and last week he’d started seeing a stunning brunette. She was wild, exotic, and so sexy it took his breath away. Christmas Eve at a club with her sounded a lot more appealing than an uncomfortable dinner with his father and a precocious twelve-year-old girl.

  He’d called to tell them he couldn’t make it out because of the snowstorm, and Helen had said it was fine. Her voice had been small and wobbly, however, so he’d known she’d been crushed. She’d tried to act nonchalant, but he suspected she’d been crying before she hung up the phone.

  So he decided to make the trip after all. Irrational guilt and pity pushed him into it.

  He’d always liked Helen. She was a smart, amusing girl who’d somehow managed to keep her vibrant spirit despite how little love and human connection she had in her life. He’d never spent much time with her because he was at college in the city, but it wasn’t like hanging out with her was ever unpleasant.

  But watching an old movie with a twelve-year-old just couldn’t compare to spending the evening with gorgeous, dark-haired Arlette who had legs that stretched for miles and knew how to use them.

  He couldn’t resent Helen for missing out on a night with Arlette, though, and he couldn’t resent her for the blizzard he was trying to inch through on the last stretch of road to the house.

  It had been his choice to come, and he wasn’t convinced he wouldn’t have made the same decision again, when faced with Helen on the phone sounding so defeated.

  Cyrus was the only son of a very wealthy, influential businessman. He was used to getting a certain kind of attention, merely because of that fact. In a way, it was nice that someone wanted his company so much—without the draw of his money, reputation, or resources.

  It was just his luck that the someone happened to be a twelve-year-old girl.

  He was focused so intently on keeping the car on the slippery road that he almost missed the turn into the drive that led up to the house. Fortunately, a grounds worker must have plowed the drive sometime recently, since there were only a couple of inches of snow covering the pavement.

  He steered the car down the long driveway and then into the garage, letting out a sigh of relief when he finally shifted into park. He’d never been a nervous driver, but for a while there he was convinced he might end up in a ditch on the side of the road.

  He was here now, though, and it was just four o’clock in the afternoon. At least Helen would be excited to see him.

  The butler greeted him politely when he emerged from the garage into the house, but otherwise his welcome was nonexistent. The house was almost eerily silent.

  Last year, when he’d arrived on Christmas Eve, Helen had come bounding down the stairs with an excited squeal and practically tackled him with a hug. This year she wasn’t expecting him to come at all, though, since he’d never phoned to tell her he’d changed his mind.

  He carried his overnight bag and the bag of presents he’d brought into his room. Then he stopped by Helen’s room, but it was empty.

  The room looked different than it had when he’d last been out that summer. The walls were still painted an elegant cream-color, with one accent wall covered in expensive cream and gold damask wallpaper.

  But the dolls and stuffed animals, which had gradually thinned out over the last two years, were now completely gone, and a new bookcase had been brought in to join the other two—all three overflowing with books. One wall was covered with posters, pictures, maps, and magazine photos of different places in the world she evidently liked or wanted to visit. Some were obvious or predictable—London, Paris, Vienna, Moscow, Edinburgh, Athens, Fiji, Hong Kong. But there were also several images of ancient sites like Machu Picchu, Tikal, Petra, Delphi, and Leptis Magna.

  Cyrus was distracted by scanning and identifying the pictures for a minute before he turned to look at the messy computer desk, on which was placed the laptop he’d given her the previous Christmas.

  He was about to turn away when he noticed that the worn gray sweatshirt that had been her father’s was draped over the upholstered chair in the corner. For some reason, the sight struck him as poignant, and it took a moment to shake off the feeling.

  Eventually, he left the room. He checked the rest of the house but still couldn’t find any sign of her.

  Finally, he gave up and tapped on the door to his father’s study.

  Drake Owen arched his eyebrows as he saw his son. “So you braved the snow after all?”

  “Yes,” Cyrus replied, biting back a justification or excuse. He knew from long experience that such explanations only left him at a disadvantage. “Where’s Helen?”

  “She’s around somewhere. Is she in her room?”

  “No. And she’s not in the library or the media room.”

  “I’m sure she’ll turn up eventually. Maybe she went outside.”

  Cyrus’s mouth dropped open. “Outside? There’s a blizzard outside!”

  “Maybe not. I believe she likes to investigate the artifacts in the basement. Maybe she’s there. She’s an independent little thing and doesn’t like me interfering with her activities.”

  Cyrus scowled but bit back his instinctive sharp response. He’d had many conversations with his father over his treatment of Helen, and none of them made the slightest difference. Drake Owen spent most of his time in D.C., while Helen stayed at the Clarkburg house with her nanny and the domestic staff. In some ways, it might be better that his father mostly acted like she didn’t exist.

  At least she was spared the pressure, the biting sarcasm, and the coldness that Cyrus himself had always received from his father.

  Cyrus left the study and went down to the basement. Helen had been at work down there too. Instead of rows of boxes and trunks holding memoirs of past years and Owen travels around the world, she had pulled out and rearranged most of the treasures. In one corner she’d draped all of the exotic fabrics, tapestries, and antique rugs and then hung lines of lanterns, chimes, and crystals until it looked like a Persian bazaar
. In another corner she’d collected all of the statues, sculptures, and totem poles.

  He couldn’t help but smile at all of her work. He couldn’t imagine how long it had taken her to arrange all of the items so carefully and intentionally.

  He walked past several towers of antique side tables and saw that one whole section of the basement was filled with dozens of neatly laid out table settings of the various sets of china the Owens had collected. A family of carved Mayan gods were eating from 18th century Bavarian china. A collection of Russian dolls were set up around Japanese dishes and tea cups. And a battalion of wooden soldiers were grabbing a quick bite off blue and white Grecian plates.

  Cyrus laughed as he examined the place settings. She’d even found centerpieces for each arrangement.

  Finally he shook himself back into focus and realized that he still needed to find Helen, since she obviously wasn’t down in the basement.

  He went back upstairs and headed to the kitchen, where the housekeeper told him she’d seen Helen heading outside an hour or so ago. “It wasn’t snowing so hard then.”

  Cyrus felt a flare of panic when he glanced outside. The snow was blowing so wildly that it was impossible to see beyond an arm’s length. What the hell was wrong with everyone in this house, letting a girl go out by herself in a blizzard?

  As he put his coat, hat, and gloves back on, he made himself think through what he knew of Helen’s habits. Although he only saw her a few times a year, she’d taken to emailing him several times a week. He tried to respond at least once a week so she wouldn’t think he was ignoring her, but he just didn’t have the time or energy to be a pen pal to a little girl, and he didn’t always read her rambling messages very carefully.

  He did remember, however, that several times she’d mentioned converting an outbuilding that used to be a tool shed into what she called a “writer’s retreat.” Evidently, she liked to go there to write or to be alone when she was upset.

  He knew where the outbuilding was, so he started through the snow in that direction. It wasn’t unbearably cold—probably not much lower than freezing—but the wind was so strong and the snow so thick that it beat at his face and nearly blinded him.

  He trudged through the snow, which was nearly as high as his knees, and directed his course by instinct, since he couldn’t see well enough to verify his direction. The uncovered skin of his face burned, and his throat ached from the cold air.

  He couldn’t really tell how long he’d been fighting the blizzard when he saw a hint of red in the distance.

  “Helen!” he called, surprised by how raw his voice sounded.

  “I’m here!” She wasn’t that far away.

  He pushed toward her voice until he found her. She must have fallen down and was now struggling to her feet, hugging something under her coat.

  “What the hell are you doing out here? Are you crazy?” He had to speak loudly to be heard over the wind, but he probably didn’t need to speak quite as loudly as he had. She really was an infuriating little thing sometimes, and she didn’t even sound contrite.

  “Don’t yell at me. I was getting back fine on my own.”

  When she started defiantly back toward the mansion, he saw how far her words were from the truth. She was limping quite dramatically.

  “What happened?”

  “I just twisted my ankle. I’m fine. I don’t want to talk to you, since you’re being so rude.”

  “I’m sorry if I was rude, kid,” Cyrus said, trying to hide his impatience. He really wanted to get them both out of the snow and wind. “I was worried about you.”

  “I was fine,” she replied, sounding a little less indignant.

  Deciding the rest of the conversation could wait until they’d gotten inside, Cyrus reached down and hauled Helen up so he could carry her. She was small, even for a twelve-year-old, and she normally wouldn’t have been any sort of a burden. But she was wearing a puffy coat that kept slipping against his wet gloves, and she was carrying under her coat what he discovered was an enormous hardback book.

  He discovered this when it accidentally clobbered him in the shoulder.

  He bit back a few expletives as he fought to keep her from sliding out of his arms, and his muttering wasn’t quite under his breath when he heard her start to giggle.

  “Some heroic rescue this turned out to be,” she said, still laughing as she tried to help by grabbing onto his neck.

  He almost strangled from her tight hold, but at least it kept her from falling back into the snow. “You are an ungrateful little wretch who deserves to be left to the mercy of frostbite and polar bears,” he grumbled as he was finally stable enough to start back to the house with her.

  As expected, she wasn’t remotely fazed by his words. “I wish there were polar bears. That would be so cool. I watched a documentary about them on Monday and all the scientists say they’re doomed, that there’s no hope of them surviving much longer in the wild because of all the climate change and the glaciers melting. The little baby polar bears are the cutest things in the world. It’s so sad. I thought you weren’t going to come today because you were too scared of the snow.”

  She was like a glint of white light. Sharp, quicksilver, ever-changing, maddeningly ephemeral. And she was rambling right into his ear so he could hear her over the whipping of the wind. Although he was now breathless from the cold, wind, and effort and she hadn’t even paused to breathe between her sentences, Cyrus didn’t have any trouble keeping up.

  “I wasn’t scared. I was trying to be smart and not drive when the road conditions were too bad, but I made it after all. At the moment, I’m rather jealous of the polar bears, since they are made to withstand these kinds of blizzard conditions and we’re not.”

  “You wouldn’t be jealous if all your ice was melting and you had to swim and swim and swim to look for seals and other food that just isn’t there anymore. They showed one that was so hungry—poor thing—she tried to catch a whale to eat.”

  “Did she get it?” Cyrus let out a relieved breath as he reached the back door to the house, stepped inside, let Helen slip down to the floor, and then shut the wind and snow outside with a click of the door.

  “No.” She’d remained on the floor in a heap of puffy red coat, snow-caked strawberry-blond hair, and clever green eyes. “It was so sad I almost cried. Poor, starving polar bear.”

  Cyrus could see that her empathy for the creature was genuine, and he wondered how an isolated, neglected girl could still have such a soft heart and generous spirit.

  “We can discourse on polar bears more later. Now you need to warm up.”

  “I’m not that cold,” she said, clearly lying since her teeth had started to chatter. She pulled the book she’d been hugging out from under her coat, and he saw it was an oversized sketch book. “And you need to warm up too.”

  “I intend to warm up,” he told her, taking off his hat and coat and trying to shake off the snow.

  When the housekeeper appeared and asked if everything was all right, Cyrus asked her to make sure Helen changed out of her wet clothes and put on something warm.

  Then, his duty done, he went back to his room to take a hot shower and change clothes, since his socks, the bottom half of his pant legs, and his collar were all soaked from the snow.

  Fifteen minutes later, he left his room, feeling much better, and stopped by the library.

  Helen was curled up with a blanket on the rug in front of the fire, looking at a large book of glossy nature photography and sipping a mug of something hot. Her hair was still damp, but it was braided into two long braids, and she wore a thick green sweater with black leggings.

  “Are you in a better mood now?” she asked, grinning at him brightly when he came in.

  He frowned. “I was never in a bad mood.”

  “Yes, you were. You snapped at me. I was very offended.”

  Since she didn’t look offended, he didn’t take her words seriously. “I told you I was worried about you.”r />
  “Were you?” she asked, looking almost hopeful. “Are you sure you weren’t just annoyed because I got trapped in a blizzard?”

  He tried to suppress a smile. “I thought you said you were doing fine getting through the snow on your own.”

  “Oh.” She looked momentarily taken aback, but then she smiled at him blithely again. “I was, but thanks for coming after me anyway.”

  “How’s the ankle?” He lowered himself to the floor to sit next to her on the rug.

  “It’s not too bad,” she replied, showing him a wrapped ankle by sticking a foot out from under the blanket. “Jenny wrapped it up for me. Did you want some cocoa? Jenny gave me marshmallows and whipped cream since I’d had such a bad time of it.”

  Cyrus could tell from the inflection of the final words that Helen was quoting the housekeeper directly. It sounded just like the woman. “No, thanks. It won’t be long until dinner.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” she asked, frowning at him. “Cocoa isn’t food.”

  He couldn’t keep up with her moods. She was evidently annoyed now because she’d interpreted his idle remark as implying that she had too big an appetite.

  “Why did you come?” she asked, changing the subject again. “Really.”

  Cyrus gave a half-shrug, feeling momentarily uncomfortable. He searched for an offhand response but couldn’t find one. “It’s what I always do.”

  “But you said you couldn’t make it.”

  “I could make it after all.”

  Helen peered at him with such scrutiny it felt like she could see into his soul. “Did you come because of me?”

  “Yes,” he admitted, feeling awkward at the admission but telling her the truth anyway. “I did.”

  Helen’s face burst into a wide grin. It was a shining thing. “I’m so glad.”

  She was just a child, and she would never be as jaded as he was. But they were alike in one way at least.

  Cyrus was used to people wanting to be around him, but it was always for what he could offer them. He spent his days surrounded by people—friends, women, hangers-on—but he was still mostly alone.