by Ginny Baird
She swatted his forearm and giggled. “I was talking about the candles.”
“Oh wow, you’re right. I completely forgot…”
“I think we both did,” she said, snuggling back against him.
He brought both arms around her, holding her close. “Thanks for not making me sleep on the futon.” Then he added with a teasing lilt, “It looked a little lumpy.”
“Did not,” she chided playfully. Tara was enjoying this morning pillow talk. “Besides, I was the one who was going to take it.”
“Nuh-uh,” he insisted. “Not letting you go there now.”
“I do prefer it in here. It’s…” She spun slowly beneath the covers to face him. “Toasty.”
“I’ll say.” There was hunger in his eyes and energy, too. And he looked more handsome than ever wearing that early morning stubble. His wavy dark hair was sticking out every which-way, in a manner that was—adorable.
“Your hair’s all a mess,” she ribbed lightly.
“Yeah, well, so is yours.” His dark eyes sparkled. “Want me to try mussing it up some more?”
Tara laughed with delight. “You don’t even want coffee?”
“After…” He tugged her up against him, covers and all.
Tara’s entire body tingled. “You’re impossibly swoon-worthy.”
“Swoon-worthy?” he asked, though the compliment clearly delighted him.
“You can’t deny it.”
“Here’s what I can’t deny.” His tone was low, guttural, sexy... “I’m one hundred percent, certifiably crazy about you.”
Tara’s temperature soared and her heart hammered harder. “And, I’m totally wild about you, Heath.” His mouth moved in as Tara’s cheeks burned hotter. “Totally,” she sighed, falling under his spell.
****
Later that afternoon, they stood on the covered front porch of Tara’s father’s house. It was a cute clapboard bungalow with cedar shake shingles set near the edge of town. Smoke coiled from its stone chimney, and light warmed its interior rooms.
Dusk fell as winds ripped off the nearby cove, chilling the air. Tara had shown Heath around Beaumont, and he’d loved seeing the quaint shops, the one local market, the post office and smallish library. There were a few churches, too, as well as a number of private homes, old houses that had been converted to art galleries, and other stores. One of them was Tara’s bookstore, the Happy Hearts Bookshop.
While, naturally, everything was closed today, Heath had been able to get a sense of the tiny town and its tightly knit community. Particularly as Tara had shared personal anecdotes about the various shop owners and the residents she knew well. She’d also let him into her bookstore for a private tour, and he’d been very impressed with the place. He could tell she’d loved showing it off, too.
Tara’s business was her pride and joy and she’d built it from the ground up. In the beginning, some folks had been skeptical, thinking a store specializing in romance novels couldn’t possibly survive in this small town. Tara had been incredibly pleased to prove the naysayers wrong. Though she’d indicated that sales had been slow lately, Tara exuded confidence they would pick back up again soon. Christmas was coming, after all.
“Remember what I told you,” Tara instructed, her breath clouding the air. “And, please don’t take anything my dad says too seriously.”
“I’m sure he’s not the ogre you make him out to be,” Heath whispered hoarsely as she rang the bell.
Tara held a sweet potato casserole in her hands, and Heath carried the wine and a gift box of pralines. They’d brought a Merlot and a Sauvignon Blanc, in order to give them all a choice. Chianti was their special couple wine, and Tara’s dad wasn’t a huge fan of Italian food or drink, anyway.
Richard McAdams pulled back the door with a broad smile, but his good nature was directed at his daughter. “Tara, my dear! Happy Thanksgiving!” The barrel-chested man with silvery hair and a short solid frame hugged Tara briefly.
When he turned his coal-black eyes on Heath, some of that warmth evaporated. “You must be the young man Tara’s told me about.” He extended a hand and Heath shifted the bottles in his grasp to shake it.
“It’s nice meeting you, Mr. McAdams.”
He shooed them both inside and quickly shut the door against the howling winds at their backs. “Please, call me Richard.” While he was being polite, there was stiffness in his demeanor. Heath somehow had the notion that Tara had told her dad to be on his best behavior, and he appeared to be trying. “Thanks for bringing the wine and the candies,” he said when Heath handed him the gift box.
“They’re Savannah pralines,” Heath offered. “Tara said you might enjoy them.”
“Probably not as much as the ones from New Orleans.”
“Dad,” Tara hissed sharply in low tones. “You’re being rude.” Then she straightened her spine and did her best to change the subject.
“It smells awesome in here,” she said, slipping out of her coat. She took Heath’s wine and set it on the entrance table along with her casserole, so he could remove his as well.
“Something does smell mighty good,” Heath agreed. Then, he addressed Richard. “Thanks for including me in your Thanksgiving.”
Richard grumbled something unintelligible and Tara gaped at him.
Heath awkwardly cleared his throat. “Should I take this wine to the kitchen?”
“Yes, let’s!” Tara said, fiercely turning her back on her dad. She picked up her casserole, leading the way down the short hall. “Don’t mind him,” she said quietly. “He’ll soften.”
Heath sure hoped so. Otherwise, he was going to be in for a very long meal.
“Didn’t mean that the way it sounded!” Richard called after them.
No, Heath thought. You probably meant it worse. Tara had shared that her dad was overprotective of his only child. He also harbored unwarranted suspicions about big businessmen and their secret motives, according to Tara. Heath had two strikes against him right out of the gate.
If Richard knew the truth about Wellington International’s plans for North Shore Central, things would look even worse. That’s why Heath intended to keep any mention of that acquisition totally off the Thanksgiving table.
They entered the cute kitchen with a white ceramic sink and gingham curtains hanging over its adjacent window. Though the kitchen was small, its décor was impeccable, with upscale stainless steel appliances complementing the sleek kitchen faucet and brushed chrome drawer pulls on Williamsburg blue cabinets. Lattice-glass doors showcased pretty blue and white china stacked on shelves, and the countertop was a marble-patterned granite. “Impressive kitchen,” Heath remarked, setting down the wine.
A fully roasted turkey sat on the cooktop, while pots simmered on the other burners on the stove. Tara slid her casserole in the oven with another dish to keep it warm.
“My dad remodeled just last year,” she offered. “He really loves to cook.”
“I had to take out a big home equity loan to pay for it,” Richard interrupted from the doorway. “But, it’s been worth it, every cent.”
“Your contractor did an incredible job.”
“No contractor.” Richard beamed proudly. “Did most of the work myself.”
Heath’s estimation of Richard grew. He always appreciated people who could do things for themselves. “That’s amazing.”
“Tara did the wiring.”
“Wiring?” Heath viewed Tara with surprise and she laughed.
“He means, I put in the dimmer switch.” She winked and pointed to an artsy chrome lamp hanging above the rustic kitchen table with four chairs. Heath saw it was set for dinner, with a paper, fan-out turkey in its center.
Richard caught Heath’s eye on the decoration and said, “Tara made that when she was seven, you know. She always did have a thing for turk—”
“Dad!” Tara yelped and Richard’s temples reddened. He turned his dark eyes on Heath’s.
“Sorry,” he said, sounding
abashed. “Sometimes I can’t help myself.” He shrugged apologetically. “She is my only daughter.”
“I don’t blame you one bit, sir,” Heath said. “I’d feel exactly the same if she were mine.”
A companionable sheen glowed in Richard’s eyes. “That so, lad?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then, come on, and let’s have ourselves a drink.”
“I’ll open the wine,” Tara offered.
“Forget yer wine!” Richard said with a wave of his hand. He leaned toward Heath conspiratorially. “Who needs wine when we’ve got Irish whiskey, eh?”
****
The dinner seemed to go a lot better than Heath expected. He wasn’t sure whether that was because he’d managed to form some sort of bond with Richard, or if he should thank the Irish whiskey. Just like Tara, Richard was an accomplished cook. The turkey was tender and delicious and its accompanying oyster stuffing was out of this world. Tara’s sweet potato casserole was a hit, as was her dad’s famous corn pudding. They had a chilled asparagus salad on the side, cranberry sauce, and rolls, with Richard’s homemade pecan pie for dessert.
“Everything was fabulous,” Heath said, as they finished up. “Thank you so much.”
Richard cheerily tipped his tumbler to one side. “Thank you for being our guest!”
Tara smiled happily at Heath, and he could tell she was relieved that dinner had been a success. “It’s been my honor to be here. Now, in return, I hope you’ll let me do the dishes.”
“Not yet!” Richard stopped him before he could stand. “First, we have a little something to celebrate!”
Heath and Tara glanced curiously at each other.
“Stay put,” her dad instructed, then he retrieved a bottle from the freezer compartment of the refrigerator. “This should be nice and cold by now.” Richard pulled three champagne flutes from a cabinet and returned to the table with those nested in one hand and a champagne bottle in the other.
Tara watched him wide-eyed. “Da-ad? What exactly are you doing?”
“Celebrating!” Richard replied heartily. He re-joined them at the table and set everything down, before surveying his remodeling handiwork in the room. “I thought it was going to take me five years to pay off the materials! Now, I’ll get it done in two!”
Tara gaped at him, completely lost. “I’m not sure I understand?”
“It’s my job, girl!” Richard stated happily. “Don’t you know?” He stared proudly at his daughter and then shot a wink at Heath. “Just yesterday morning, I was promoted to branch manager. Just think! Twenty years in the same slot, and nothing! And, here I am in my ripe old middle age, getting advanced to the job of my dreams.”
Chapter Sixteen
Heath’s stomach felt sour all the way back to Tara’s apartment. What an underhanded trick for North Shore Central to play. By promoting Richard to management, they’d essentially sealed his fate in getting canned from the bank. Rather than having the guts to tell him outright that his job was in jeopardy, they’d staged this little charade of making him feel like a king for a day, only to have his throne yanked right out from beneath him.
The irony was, if they’d left Richard in his current teller position, his spot might have been spared. Heath wondered if someone at the bank secretly had it out for Richard, or whether he was simply a sacrificial lamb? If Richard was axed, that meant someone else could keep his or her job. Perhaps somebody who had temporarily been “demoted”… Hmm.
“You’re being awfully quiet!” Tara said. Since she knew the area best, she’d offered to drive to her dad’s house, which was fine with Heath. She’d been chauffeuring him around all day; Tara had stated he’d done enough driving coming in from Boston, and he hadn’t wanted to argue with her.
“Just thinking over the great time I had,” Heath replied. “Your dad is a really nice guy.”
“I know he’s a great, gruff grizzly sometimes, but he’s really a teddy bear underneath.”
“He certainly seems to have a soft side when it comes to you,” Heath said sympathetically.
“Thanks for being so understanding, and for not letting him get to you.”
“Tara, I—”
“What is it?” She turned toward him and her brow rose in concern. A raccoon skittered across their path, and Tara had to quickly apply the brakes.
“I think you’d better keep your eyes on the road.”
“Of course.” She tightened her gloved fingers around the steering wheel. “But something is bothering you, isn’t it?” she asked intuitively.
“Bank business,” he answered truthfully. “Nothing that can be addressed tonight.”
“Then let’s not worry about it tonight,” she said resolutely. “You can worry about it when you get back to Savannah.”
Heath eyed her lovely profile, knowing that he’d be worrying plenty. He had to find a way to fix this mess of a situation with her dad. At the same time, Heath understood that some of it was beyond his control. It was like a giant snowball had begun rolling, which was now gaining momentum. And, in the end, it was going to completely flatten the parent Tara worshiped: her dad. “All right,” Heath agreed, trying to focus on something more positive. “What are our plans for the rest of the night?”
“Well, I can tell you this…” Tara giggled naughtily. “They won’t involve the futon.”
Heath belly-laughed, finding her directness a turn-on. “You keep this up, I’m never going to want to leave Maine.”
She shot him a shy smile. “That’s kind of what I was hoping.”
****
Sunday morning in her driveway, Heath kissed Tara with a passion that made her fear she was never going to see him again. They’d shared a marvelous weekend together, and despite the snowy weather Tara had gotten to show Heath more of Beaumont. She’d also spent plenty of time snuggling with him indoors, and they’d made some incredibly romantic memories in her apartment.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” he said, gazing into her eyes.
“And I’ll miss you,” she returned, from the depths of her soul.
“When can I see you again?” he asked. “Please tell me before Christmas?”
Her lips trembled in a smile, because that was her wish, too. “Will you come here?”
“If I can arrange it.” He squared his shoulders with determination. “What I mean is, I will arrange it—just as soon as I can. I’ll call.”
“Good,” she said, as her heart took wing. “I’ll answer.”
His lips pulled up in a smile. “Have you thought about what you want for Christmas?”
“Not yet,” she said sunnily. “How about you?”
“I’ll let you know.” His dark gaze washed over her and Tara was captured in his spell. “Tara?”
“Yes?”
He clasped both her hands in his and pressed them to his chest. “Tell me you won’t pledge your heart to someone else while I’m away.”
She grinned warmly. “Never.”
“Good.” A smile graced his handsome face. “Then let’s start making plans for the holidays. And about where you’d like to spend Christmas, in Savannah—or here.”
“But, my dad—”
“I know. He’s invited!”
“To Georgia?” she asked with pleased surprise. “Really?”
“Do you think he’d like my Granddad Lyle?” Heath shot her a cagey look and Tara giggled.
“Absolutely!”
“Then, we can talk about what might work best. We’ve got plenty of time between now and then. We can finalize our plans when I come back in December.”
Tara was so overjoyed about spending Christmas with Heath that it was hard to think beyond the holiday. But she already was. Way deep in her heart, she was dreaming of more. She was imagining being with him always. “I can’t wait to spend my first Christmas with you,” she finally said.
“That makes two of us,” he uttered, bringing his mouth to hers.
****
Heat
h felt like he was working a jigsaw puzzle with several missing pieces. Try as he might, he couldn’t get cooperation from North Shore Central. And it was hard to aim straight when you were shooting in the dark. If Heath could get a handle on why they’d promoted Richard to begin with, he might propose a reasonable solution. The trick was, he couldn’t inform North Shore Central that he had a personal interest at stake, and he could never let Richard know he’d had anything to do with saving his job. That was, if Heath was even able to accomplish that.
He raked a hand through his hair, thinking he’d never faced a bigger challenge. There was so much more than money involved; he had people’s lives to think of. People he cared for. Heath hung his head in shame, wondering how many other families’ well-beings he’d compromised, without ever fully understanding it. Tara and her dad were just one case. How many more had gone before, without Heath giving their situation a second thought?
That’s when a stunning idea occurred. Heath knew what he wanted for Christmas, and it had nothing to do with himself. He wanted something better for Wellington International. He didn’t want it to be the sort of institution that thrived based on other people’s misery. He’d strive to make it a place that created safe havens for everyone. There were ways to finesse this. Think smart. So that nobody lost and everyone gained. Wellington International could do better than simply being a big business. It could also be a benevolent one.
Heath hadn’t thought like this until he’d known Tara. She hadn’t just altered his perspective; she’d changed his heart. And that heart had opened up to the reality that employees were facing. Across the country and around the world... If someone got displaced from one branch, couldn’t Wellington International make a spot for them elsewhere? Might there be some sort of alternate institution? A charitable foundation where the laid-off workers could be employed, and in their own ways help to benefit others?