Mistletoe Magic

by Fern Michaels

  The only difference: now he was seeing it through the eyes of a man in total, absolute love.

  Love. He’d fallen head over heels. Big-time.

  Chapter 12

  “I can’t believe you’ve spent your entire life in the fine state of Colorado and never chopped down your own Christmas tree. It’s practically unheard of,” Melanie joked, as they trudged through ankle-deep snow. The day was bitter cold, but at least the sun was out. A perfect day to cut down a tree.

  “Yeah? Well I know something else that’s unheard of,” Bryce said.

  Winded, Melanie stopped to catch her breath. “What’s that?”

  Bryce dropped the canvas bag of tools on the snow-crusted ground next to his sturdy boots. “This.” He wound his hand around her loose hair, something he’d been wanting to do all day. With his free arm secured firmly around her waist, Bryce kissed her with all the pent-up emotions he’d spent the past forty-eight hours confronting—kissed her because he wanted to and because he could. Her response matched his. Both were eager to take their passion one step further, but Bryce wanted to wait until the timing was right. Or that’s what his brain kept telling him. Another part of him said, forget timing, but that part would have to wait. He drew away from her but kept both arms wrapped around her waist. “You taste like chocolate.” He licked his lips, teasing her.

  She grinned the grin of the cat that ate the canary. “Think it has anything to do with that cup of hot cocoa I drank before we left?”

  He nibbled at the tender spot where her shoulder met her neck. “Mmm, I’ve never done this,” she muttered between kisses, “while searching for the perfect tree.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” Bryce whispered, sending chills down her spine.

  Melanie nodded in agreement. “This isn’t the place . . . it’s too cold.” She visibly shivered. “Let’s go find my Christmas tree before I turn into an icicle. I don’t remember it ever being this cold, do you?” She moved away from him and grabbed the bag of tools by his feet. He took them from her, and she let him. He was a true gentleman, and she found that she liked that about him. Kind of an old-fashioned sort of guy. Women’s libbers would not approve, that’s for sure. She laughed out loud.

  “What?” he asked. “Tell me what you’re laughing at.”

  Melanie plodded along, content to have Bryce by her side. “It might not be funny to you. But I can see you’re not going to let me brush it aside. Actually, I was thinking how nice it is to be with a man who has manners. You know, you’re sort of old-fashioned. I like that about you. Not something a modern woman admits to these days.”

  She glanced at him, surprised at the tenderness in his expression.

  “I guess I should say thanks. And you’re right, I am a bit old-fashioned. My dad was adamant when it came to treating women with respect. He always treated Mom and Grace like they were a queen and a princess. I just followed in his footsteps. Are you telling me you dated a bunch of ill-mannered slobs?”

  They came to a clearing, one Melanie was quite familiar with. Tall pine trees flanked the clearing, their pungent odor refreshing. Even though cutting one’s own Christmas tree down in Colorado without a permit was illegal, Melanie’s parents had owned this particular piece of property for at least twenty years. Her father always replanted what they took. It was kind of like their own personal Christmas tree farm.

  Spinning around hoping to catch a glimpse of just the right tree, Melanie watched Bryce watching her. “Hey, you’re not looking. You have to spin around like this.” She twirled around, both hands splayed out at shoulder level. “When I was little, I would use this method, and whatever tree my right hand pointed to, that’s the one we would chop down. Didn’t matter the shape or size, Dad can work miracles with a pair of clippers, so . . . well, that’s what I did—actually, still do. Look.” She pointed to a small blue spruce about fifty feet away from where they were standing. “What do you think?”

  Melanie watched Bryce closely as he came up next to her. He didn’t touch her, he simply looked at her, his forest green eyes shining as bright as the sunlight that filtered through the massive pines. “I think I’m falling in love with you, that’s what I think.”

  A soft gasp escaped from her lips, her breath caught in her lungs, then she exhaled.

  “I think I am, too. Falling in love.”

  There. She’d said what she’d never imagined she would say to a man she’d practically just met.

  Bryce wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down on the snow-laden ground. “Ever make a snow angel?”

  Chapter 13

  Olga Krause normally wasn’t one for theatrics, but that day she would make an exception. It was, after all, the time of year one showed goodwill to one’s fellow man. Besides, she really didn’t have a say in the matter.

  “I want you to know this is highly unusual,” she said to the police officer and to Carla Albright, a social worker she’d known since coming to work at the orphanage twenty-seven years ago. “Come inside; you’ll let out all the warm air the state has to pay for.” Olga Krause opened the back door for the pair. Highly out of line, they were.

  “I know it is unusual, that’s why we’re here,” Carla stated matter-of-factly.

  The policeman, who couldn’t have been a day over thirty, held a small infant carrier by its sturdy plastic handle, while in his other hand, he gripped the hand of a little boy. The child’s face was red, his bright blue eyes cloudy and puffy, as if he’d been throwing a temper tantrum. Miss Krause peered inside the carrier. Practically a newborn. And she did not accept newborns under any conditions. Or she wouldn’t if given the choice. They cried constantly and were never satisfied. Fortunately, the state agency rarely saw a newborn. It seemed adoptive parents wanted them. She did not understand why. Why would one willingly want a baby? She had eleven children at the agency ranging in age from nine to fourteen. Not that she liked them, but they were much easier to manage than infants. Babies required constant attention.

  “Follow me,” Olga Krause said to the two unwelcome visitors. “Let’s go to my office.”

  They followed her down the dark hallway.

  “You would think the state would spring for some lights,” Carla said to Olga’s back. “It’s as dark as a cellar in this place. And it’s too quiet. Where are all the children?”

  When they reached the office, Olga Krause turned the desk lamp on. She nodded toward two old blue-gray chairs. “Sit.”

  The small boy hiccupped, then stuck his thumb in his mouth. “Take your thumb out of your mouth right now, young man. You’ll have an overbite, and the state will be responsible for the bill.”

  Carla Albright practically flew out of her chair. “How dare you speak to a child that way! He’s only three years old, and he just lost both of his parents in a terrible car accident! Why do you care what the state has to pay for? It certainly doesn’t come out of your paycheck.”

  Carla reached for the little guy’s hand. She gathered him in her arms and sat down, holding him tightly in her lap. She dabbed at his eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. “Officer Rogers, please sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. At least six-foot-three, Officer Rogers looked like an oversized child in the small chair. Careful so as not to wake the little girl resting peacefully inside, he balanced the carrier on his lap.

  “Now, tell me exactly why you’re here,” Olga Krause demanded. “It’s after eight o’clock. We normally don’t allow visitors at this ungodly hour.” She crossed her arms over her more-than-ample bosom, waiting for an answer.

  “You need to retire, Olga. You’re too old for this job,” Carla said through clenched teeth.

  “How dare you tell me what I can and cannot do! Now, get on with it before I ask you both to leave. Explain.” She directed her hateful gaze at the little boy and his infant sister.

  “Every state agency except yours has reached its maximum occupancy. It’s Christmas, Olga. Where
is the Christmas tree the state allocates its tax dollars for?” Carla smoothed the little boy’s damp hair. “I’m serious. Olga. Something is not right here. I’m sure you have an explanation, but before you say another word, hear me out. Officer Rogers, would you mind taking Sam—that’s his name, by the way—to the restroom, wipe his little face off, and see if he needs to potty. It’s my understanding he has been trained for quite some time now,” Carla said.

  “Uh, sure . . . but,” Officer Rogers looked at the baby in his lap.

  “I’ll take her.” Carla gently helped Sam off her lap, then took the infant carrier from Officer Rogers. Sam looked like he was getting ready to cry again. Carla was so sad for the two children, she was tempted to take them home herself, but it was against state policy. If something didn’t change soon, she would have to risk the state’s wrath.

  “Where are the children?” Carla demanded as soon as they were alone. “And don’t you dare tell me they’re sleeping, because no one puts a child to bed this early anymore, unless they’re sick. And where is the Christmas tree? I’m not going to ask you again.” Had she not had the infant seat in her lap, Carla would’ve reached across the desk and smacked Olga Krause right upside her homely face. Thank goodness for the baby, she thought as she fought to control herself. No wonder World Adoption Agency never ran at capacity. Who in their right mind would send a child to this . . . this prison camp?

  “The children are in bed. I don’t know if they are asleep; if they aren’t, they should be. Bedtime is seven thirty, prompt. No exceptions. I have used the funds allocated for a tree for another purpose, which is none of your concern. Now, what is it you expect me to do with these two . . . kids?” Olga Krause gestured toward the baby as though she were garbage.

  Carla was a calm woman. Never married, she’d devoted her life to finding homes for children who needed them. At sixty, she wasn’t quite ready to call it quits, but after this experience, she wasn’t so sure. Olga was in her midseventies and as mean as a belly-crawling snake. Carla prayed she never became as bitter and hateful as the woman sitting across from her. The state should have fired her years ago. Why they hadn’t remained a mystery.

  Forcing herself to bite her tongue, Carla spoke between gritted teeth. “Two days ago, these ‘kids,’ as you so eloquently call them, were made wards of the state when their parents were killed in a car crash on I-70. It was on the news—I’m sure that if you watched the news, you would have heard about the pileup. Eight cars were involved. Sadly, Sam and Lily, she’s three months old, in case you’re interested, were left without any family. Both parents were adopted and had no family to speak of. They were young and apparently they hadn’t made . . . arrangements for their children, which is the worst injustice in the world. Now, does that answer your questions?”

  “You want to leave them here? I am not equipped for an infant, I’ll have you know. We don’t have a crib, and certainly there are no baby bottles to be found. I’m sure one of our sister agencies is much more equipped than I.” Olga Krause drummed her fingertips on the desk.

  “Trust me, if I had a choice, we wouldn’t be here. There is nowhere else, Olga. You have to take them. Unless you’ve a family willing to foster them on such short notice. My fosters are full, especially during the holidays. Poor little things,” Carla said.

  Olga cleared her throat. “Well, I have a young couple who might take them in, but I can’t say for sure until I speak with them. The woman was just here; we haven’t even completed her background check, though I’m sure she passed. I haven’t counseled her or her husband. Never mind, they’re not qualified. Forget I brought this up.”

  “No. Let’s call them. I’ll see to it that their paperwork is expedited. Give me the information before I do something I’m not proud of.” Carla made a mental note to check on the other children before she left. This was worse than she’d imagined.

  Olga removed the single file from her desk drawer. She hadn’t placed a child in over twenty years. With luck, that was about to change.

  Chapter 14

  With a slight screech, the plane touched down at Las Vegas’s McCarran International Airport at precisely 1:40, just as scheduled.

  Melanie and Bryce were seated in first class and had been given the royal treatment, courtesy of Caesars Palace and Bryce’s checkbook. When he’d originally booked the trip, he’d had his mother’s creature comforts in mind. Now he was glad he’d sprung for the extras. Melanie looked like a kid at Christmas when he’d picked her up this morning. She’d brought a small Louis Vuitton carry-on and nothing else. A woman with taste, he thought as he’d watched her at the airport in Denver. A true class act.

  “What?” Melanie asked him while they waited for the cabin doors to open. “You’ve got this funny look on your face.”

  Bryce placed his hand on her cheek. “It’s just the look of a guy head over heels in love, that’s all.” All the corny, lovey-dovey stuff he’d made fun of in his younger days wasn’t corny anymore.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.”

  Melanie giggled. “Sorry. You just looked funny to me. Guess I’ve never seen what a guy in love looks like.”

  A flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom, telling them they were allowed to unfasten their seat belts but should remain seated.

  “I know it’s crazy, but I’ve never felt this way. Ever,” Bryce said. He’d told her about Diana, and she’d told a few stories of her own. Both were on equal footing in the romance department.

  Another flight attendant told Melanie and Bryce their limousine was waiting on the tarmac.

  “Top of the line, Bryce, top of the line.”

  “Only the best.” He grinned.

  Since they were going to be in Vegas for just two nights, both had brought only carry-on luggage so they wouldn’t have to wait at the baggage claim. Bryce carried both pieces of luggage in one hand.

  In a cordoned-off private section on the tarmac, a sleek white Lincoln Town Car limousine waited for their arrival. Inside the limo, they found a chilled bottle of Cristal with two crystal goblets. With expert skill, Bryce removed the cork. He filled each goblet, the creamy white foam overflowing. “Let’s make a toast.”

  Melanie nodded, holding her flute aloft. “Cheers.” Bryce touched her glass with his. “To the future.”

  “To the future,” she repeated.

  If anyone would have asked Melanie a week ago what she would be doing a week later, she certainly could not have told them she would be drinking champagne while riding in a limousine with a man she was madly in love with. She still hadn’t told Stephanie or her mother and dad about her blossoming relationship with Bryce because it was still so new to her. They hadn’t even slept together. Melanie was a patient woman, and she knew for a fact that Bryce was a patient man. They’d had more than one opportunity to throw all caution to the winds, yet they hadn’t.

  Lost in her daydreams and expensive champagne, Melanie reclined into the soft leather seat, suddenly too tired even to think about anything romantic, let alone act on it. She closed her eyes. She was almost asleep when her cell phone rang. Fumbling through her purse, by the time she located her phone, whoever was calling had hung up. She didn’t recognize the number, so she assumed it was a new client. She wasn’t even going to think about work until after New Year’s.

  She and Bryce were on the same page in that department for sure.

  “Anyone I know?” Bryce asked as she put her cell phone back in her purse.

  “I don’t recognize the number, so it’s probably just a new client.”

  “Spoken like a woman of means,” Bryce teased.

  She winked at him. Though she hadn’t gone into avid detail about her finances, she had told Bryce that her grandmother had made her a very wealthy young woman. He told her that was fine with him, but he wasn’t interested in her money.

  When they arrived at Caesars Palace, a uniformed attendant actually rolled out the red carpet for them as they entered th
rough a private entrance reserved for VIP guests only. He took their luggage and followed them at a discreet distance. Melanie felt like a movie star.

  “A girl could get used to this kind of treatment,” Melanie whispered.

  “I have no clue where I’m going,” Bryce remarked. The young man with their luggage revealed a small card in his hand. “If you will follow me,” he said politely.

  Bryce and Melanie stepped aside, allowing him to take the lead. Roman elements with a contemporary style made the elegance at Caesars Palace stunning. Everywhere one looked, there was marble, sculpted statues, and chandeliers that glistened like diamonds.

  A replica of Michelangelo’s statue of David stood eighteen feet high in the center of the grand lobby, adding a more imperial atmosphere. Melanie had only been to Las Vegas once, with a group of girlfriends right after she turned twenty-one. They’d spent most of their time lounging by the pool drinking wildly mysterious-looking cocktails. (That’s probably why she didn’t remember the trip that well.) So in a way, Las Vegas was as new to her as it was to Bryce.

  The young man used the card to open the door to their room. They were staying in the Palace Tower Deluxe suite. After their luggage was put away inside a closet, Bryce gave the guy a wad of cash, then closed and locked the door behind him.

  “This is awesome,” Melanie said as she gazed around the room.

  Decorated in brown, gold, and several shades of cream, the suite boasted a living room complete with sofa and contemporary end tables with exquisite lamps atop each one. A small dining area close to the balcony gave one a bird’s-eye view of the famous Las Vegas Strip.

  “So, what to do first?”

  Melanie laughed. “Now that’s a loaded question if ever I heard one. This hotel is humongous. It’ll take days to see everything. It’s a shame we only have two. I don’t remember much about my last trip here. I guess I wasn’t old enough to appreciate the concept.”