Christmas On Nutcracker Court

by Duarte, Judy

  “It’s an action/adventure novel,” Carly said.

  Mike scrunched his face. “What’s that?”

  “It’s the kind of book that has a bunch of ticking bombs that are about to go off in a city,” Josh explained. “And a lot of guys get shot and killed trying to find them before they blow up.”

  Carly supposed he was close to being right, but rather than agree, she added, “Best of all, he’s paying me to do it.”

  “Cool.” Josh lit up at that bit of news, reminding her of the child he’d been just months ago. “Does that mean that, if you do a good job, he’ll hire you full-time to edit all his books? And then you can stay home and not work at the salon anymore?”

  “No, I’m sure this is just a one-shot deal.”

  Disappointment slid across his face, wiping away all evidence of the little boy who’d once liked holding her hand when they were out in public.

  She couldn’t help wondering if there was any other way she could support the family while working from home, but there really wasn’t.

  “That’s cool about you helping with his book,” Mikey said. “Maybe he’ll hire you to do other stuff for him. I think he’s super rich.”

  That was an interesting thing for him to surmise. “Where would you get an idea like that?”

  “Because he’s weird and stays in his house all day.” Mikey turned to his brother. “Hey, Josh, remember that show we watched about that guy who got stuck in his house?”

  “The hoarder?” Josh grinned and nodded, then turned to Carly. “It was really cool, Mom. You should have seen it. This old man had so much junk in his house that he was practically buried alive with books and boxes and garbage. And when the firemen finally broke in and found him, they had to take him to the hospital. Then, when his kids came to clean out the house, they found about a million dollars stuffed in coffee cans and boxes and stuff.”

  “I doubt that Mr. Tolliver is a hoarder. And I’ve seen him outside of his house. He was definitely wearing street clothes and not a bathrobe.” Carly did have to admit that she really knew very little about the man.

  “Well, he’s gotta be rich, though. He doesn’t have to work at a job, and he can stay home all day writing books. A poor guy couldn’t do that.”

  She supposed her son had a point. Some rich people preferred to live a simple life and not flaunt their wealth.

  “By the way,” she added, “I told Mr. Tolliver to bring his dog when he comes over tonight.”

  At that, Mikey shot up from his seat, nearly dislodging the cushions on the sofa. “He’s going to bring Hemingway with him? Did you hear that, Josh?”

  “Yeah, I heard.” Josh shot a look of disbelief at Carly. “You invited a dog to dinner?”

  Carly could understand why he’d think that was an odd thing for her to do, and she wasn’t really sure why she’d mentioned it to Max.

  Before she could try and explain her reason, which had something to do with making an awkward situation easier on the kids, Josh began to chuckle. “Actually, I think that’s kind of cool, Mom.”

  She was both relieved—and glad—to know he was on board with the idea, so she tossed him a playful smile. “Well, it’s not that cool. The dog isn’t going to sit at the table with us and eat tacos.”

  “We know that,” Mikey said. “But thanks for inviting Hemingway, too. We like him a whole lot better than we like Mr. Tolliver.”

  She’d figured as much. “I thought you boys might like to play with the dog while Mr. Tolliver and I talk about his book.”

  “Sure, we can do that,” Mikey said. “We’ll take Hemingway out in the backyard to play. Can we eat our dinner out there, too?”

  “No, the humans will eat inside.”

  Josh shrugged, then returned to his homework, while Mikey turned up the sound on the television.

  Carly couldn’t very well remain in the living room, wasting time when she had a meal to prepare.

  And a house to straighten up.

  Not that it was messy. It’s just that it wasn’t ready for company, even if she had no intention of giving Max Tolliver—or his dog—the red carpet treatment.

  Max had spent a little more time than usual in the bathroom, shaving, splashing on a bit of his favorite cologne, and getting ready to go to Carly’s for dinner.

  He could make a lot of excuses as to why that might be, but the truth was, he was actually looking forward to seeing her again.

  She’d told him he could bring the dog with him, but he’d decided against that. He might have grown fond of the crazy mutt over the last few months, but he wasn’t what you’d call an animal lover, if that’s what she’d been thinking. So why go overboard on that sort of thing?

  He removed his car keys from the small table near the front door, turned on the porch light, then exited the house. As he locked up, he heard footsteps and glanced over his shoulder to see Maggie heading up his sidewalk with a small paper sack in her hand.

  “I hoped that I’d catch you before you left,” she said. “I have something I wanted to give you.”

  Max wasn’t sure how she’d known that he had plans for the evening, but even more surprising was the fact that she’d brought something to him. “What is it?”

  She opened the bag, reached inside, and whipped out a red-and-green knit dog collar. “It’s a gift for Butch.”

  If the dog hadn’t responded so many times to that name, Max might have corrected her. Of course, he wouldn’t put it past Maggie to toss doggie treats over the fence, training Hemingway to answer to Butch.

  But why would she do that? She couldn’t be that loony, could she?

  He watched as she fiddled with the collar for a moment, turning on a little switch. The next thing he knew, the thing lit up and started blinking.

  “It’s a battery-operated Christmas collar,” she said. “Isn’t it great? The boys ought to get a kick out of that.”

  The woman was either psychic or a basket case. How had she known he was going to see any children tonight?

  He chuffed. “What kids are you talking about?”

  “Joshua and Michael. Aren’t you going to their house for dinner?”

  If he asked how she’d known where he was going, she’d probably tell him Hemingway had told her—which wasn’t possible, since Max hadn’t uttered a word to the dog, as crazy as that would have been.

  More likely, she’d probably talked to one of the Westbrook boys earlier today. Or maybe she’d chatted with Lynette, who could have found out from Carly. Either way, Max would almost prefer to believe that the dog had told her rather than think he was becoming the subject of idle feminine chatter and gossip.

  Still, he went ahead and took the collar from Maggie and thanked her.

  “You’re welcome.” Her eyes, the color of the wild blue yonder, glimmered with apparent delight. “Have a great time this evening.”

  He stood on the porch for a moment, watching her head back to Helen’s house.

  The woman was nice enough, he supposed. She was also related to his neighbor, who seemed completely sane.

  So what was the deal with cousin Maggie? He still hadn’t decided if she was a dog whisperer, a psychic, or a snoop.

  Shaking his head, unable to decide which, Max returned to the house, planning to put the collar away until he began to have second thoughts.

  He only pondered the decision for a moment or two.

  “Why not?” he muttered. Hemingway would probably be a good icebreaker this evening. He’d also keep the kids occupied while the adults had some time to themselves.

  So he went to the back door and called the dog in.

  “Do you want to go play with your friends?” he asked.

  The wooly mutt responded with a little bark and a wagging tail.

  “Okay, then. Let’s put this on you. We can’t very well go without looking our best, huh?”

  For a moment, Max’s thoughts took a romantic turn, but not for long. He wasn’t about to compete with another man for a
woman’s affection. He’d been in that position once before and had refused to play the game. Instead, he would talk to Carly about the manuscript.

  He’d dropped it off at her house Tuesday morning. Of course, she probably hadn’t had time to read it yet, but he was looking forward to talking to her about it anyway.

  Five minutes later, with Hemingway in the backseat, Max arrived at the Westbrook house, a single-story tract home on Canyon Drive.

  “I probably ought to have my head examined for bringing you along,” he told the dog, as he got out of the car and opened the passenger door.

  He grabbed Hemingway by the Christmas collar, with its battery-operated lights blinking and twinkling, and snapped on the leash. Then, after locking up his vehicle, he walked the dog to the front door and rang the bell.

  Hemingway stood at his side, wagging his tail like crazy, undoubtedly hearing the kids inside.

  As the door swung open, Max was greeted by both boys, who appeared a little apprehensive upon seeing him—until they laid eyes on Hemingway.

  “Hey, look at his collar,” Josh said. “It lights up and everything.”

  The boys bent over the happy dog, scratching his back and stroking his ears. Hemingway, it seemed, was in heaven with all the attention.

  “Can he come and play with us?” the younger boy asked, as he looked up at Max with wide-eyed wonder.

  “It’s okay with me,” Max said, “but maybe it would be best if you took him outside to do that.”

  “Okay,” Mikey said, “but can he come into our room first so we can show him our toys and stuff?”

  “He’s housebroken, so it’s all right with me, but you’ll have to ask your mom.”

  “She won’t mind.” The little guy dropped to his knees and greeted Hemingway like a long-lost friend.

  The dog, his tail wagging across the floor like an automatic whisk broom, wasn’t any less excited to see the boys, which convinced Max that it had been a good idea to bring him after all.

  He hated to admit that Maggie might have been right—and not just earlier this evening.

  You know, she’d told him, your dog would be much happier if he had kids to play with on a regular basis.

  Max couldn’t argue that. Hemingway probably would prefer to live with Carly and her sons, rather than with him.

  The boys would be better off, too. At least, if they had a four-legged playmate around all the time, they might be more apt to stick around the house and stay out of trouble.

  The same could be said for Hemingway, who wouldn’t need to roam the neighborhood looking for excitement any longer.

  Of course, if Max were to make an offer like that, he’d miss the crazy mutt.

  There was also another reason to hang on to the dog, one that wasn’t selfish.

  Pets were both time consuming and expensive, so it was safe to assume that Carly couldn’t afford the extra expense of dog food, vet bills, or an occasional new shirt for a neighbor.

  On top of that, if she was forced to move to an apartment, she wouldn’t be allowed to have animals, especially a big one that could be loud and clumsy at times.

  No, giving Hemingway to the Westbrooks would only end up dumping more problems on Carly, something Max wouldn’t do.

  As footsteps sounded an approach, he looked up and spotted her coming his way, just as pretty as he’d remembered.

  Maybe more so.

  She had on a pair of snug-fitting denim jeans that could entice a man, as well as an oversized sweatshirt with a colorful Mother Goose appliqué that insisted she hadn’t given flirtation a single thought.

  After aiming a welcoming smile at Max, she placed her hand on the oldest son’s shoulder and asked, “What are you boys doing?”

  “Playing with the dog,” the little one said.

  “But you’re making Max—I mean, Mr. Tolliver—stand out in the cold.”

  “Oops. Excuse me.” Josh took the dog by the collar and led him through the living room. “Come on, Hemingway.”

  The boys didn’t need the leash—or even the collar, for that matter. Hemingway would have followed them anywhere.

  Now, as the two adults stood in the open doorway, Max returned his gaze to Carly, whose cheeks were flushed a pretty shade of pink.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, stepping aside to let him in, “I really have tried to teach them manners.”

  He was sure that she had. “Don’t worry about it. I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be a kid—even if the boys might have told you otherwise.”

  She flashed him a grin, her green eyes sparkling, then closed the door.

  As Max entered the cozy living room, with its hardwood floors, green walls, and overstuffed furniture with brightly colored decorator pillows, he spotted an antique rocking chair next to the brick fireplace, its white mantel laden with picture frames.

  A forest green throw draped along the back of the old chair hid most of the wooden spindles, but it was similar to one he remembered seeing at his grandparents’ house when he’d been a boy.

  “I like your rocker,” he said. “My grandma used to have one like that.”

  “I wish I could say that it’s a family heirloom, but I picked it up at a garage sale a few years back.”

  “You made a good purchase,” he said, deciding the only thing missing in the room was a fire in the hearth. “It looks good in your living room.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  They continued to stand in the center of the room, with him making more out of her décor than he would have normally done, but for a writer, he found himself at a loss for words this evening.

  “In fact,” he added, trying to shake the awkwardness, “you’ve got a nice house.”

  “Thank you. I’m going to miss living here when we move, but that’s life. God must have another home in mind for us.”

  Max didn’t know about that.

  “Can I take your coat?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He removed the fleece-lined jacket and handed it to her.

  As she hung it up on an antique coat tree by the door, he noted a plaque on the wall—one of several—entitled “Footsteps in the Sand.” On the other side of the entry, he spotted one of a couple of cherubs.

  The simple artwork added to the warm and cozy feeling he had the minute he stepped into her house.

  As he inhaled the spicy aroma of whatever she’d been cooking, he said, “Something sure smells good.”

  “I made tacos tonight. I hope that’s okay with you.”

  “It’s more than okay. I love Mexican food, so this is a treat. Thanks for inviting me to dinner.”

  “You’re welcome.” She led him to the overstuffed sofa, with a beige-green-and-brown plaid print. “I just need a few more minutes in the kitchen. Why don’t you have a seat?”

  “Can I help with something?”

  “No, I’ve got everything under control.”

  As he settled onto the sofa, he said, “Did you get a chance to look at my manuscript yet?”

  “I’ve just read the first two chapters. When I started getting tired, I set it aside. I didn’t want to miss anything.”

  “I appreciate that.” He hated to quiz her, but since she didn’t offer up any comments, he couldn’t help pressing her just a little. “So what do you think so far?”

  “You’re a good writer, Max. The story opens with action, which was intriguing.”

  Max had hoped the readers would feel that way. And knowing that Carly had been hooked from the start meant a lot, although he wasn’t sure why he valued her opinion so much.

  Still, since she hadn’t gotten to Priscilla’s introductory scene yet, there wasn’t much they could discuss tonight.

  “Would you rather have the kids play outside with the dog?” he asked. “I think they went into the bedroom.”

  “No, it’s getting cold, so they really need to stay in the house.”

  He nodded, then struggled to come up with something more to say. They really had very lit
tle in common, although he wished that wasn’t the case.

  “Speaking of the kids,” he said, “I’m willing to talk to Josh. How do you want me to go about that?”

  “I’m not sure. I was hoping you’d have some idea how to broach the subject.”

  Max thought on it for a moment, then said, “I’ll check on Hemingway, then try to strike up a conversation with him.”

  “That should work. And while you’re gone, I’ll put the food on the table.”

  As Max got to his feet and started in the direction the boys had taken his dog, he realized he had a lot more experience talking to hardened defendants who’d broken the law than twelve-year-old boys.

  Hopefully, he wouldn’t blow it and let Carly down.

  Josh thought it was pretty cool that his mom would invite a dog over for dinner, even if Hemingway wasn’t sitting next to them at the table, munching on tacos and dipping tortilla chips into salsa.

  It was also nice to see how excited Mikey was to have Hemingway in their room. For a kid who’d been scared of the dog at first—and scared of his own shadow most of the time—Mikey sure had taken to the big, hairy mutt.

  Of course, Josh couldn’t blame him for that. Hemingway had grown on both of them.

  Too bad they didn’t have a dog of their own. If they did, Mikey would have a watchdog to protect him and wouldn’t need Josh to sleep in the same room with him anymore. Then Josh could have a place where he could hang out alone, just like he used to before their dad moved out.

  A light rap-rap-rap sounded on the doorjamb, and Josh looked up to see Mr. Tolliver.

  “Come in,” he said.

  It was weird having the man at their house tonight, just like he was a regular visitor. But if he was going to be their mom’s boss, at least while she edited his book, he and Mikey would have to get used to seeing him around.

  But that meant they could probably see Hemingway, too.

  “How’s it going?” Mr. Tolliver asked.

  “Okay.”

  “Mind if I take a seat?”

  “No, go ahead.” Instead of looking at him as he sat on the edge of the mattress, just a couple of feet away, Josh studied his little brother and the dog.