Glad Tidings: There's Something About ChristmasHere Comes Trouble

by Debbie Macomber

  “That’s not true,” Maryanne argued. “I quit my job at Rent-A-Maid because you insisted.” It had worked out for the best, since she had more time for her writing now, but this wasn’t the moment to mention that.

  “Oh, right, bring that up. It’s the only thing you’ve ever done that I wanted. I practically had to get down on my knees and beg you to leave that crazy job before you injured yourself.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “Trust me, it was a humbling experience and not one I intend to repeat. I’ve known you how long? A month?” He paused to gaze at the ceiling. “It seems like an eternity.”

  “You’re trying to make me feel guilty. It isn’t going to work.”

  “Why should you feel anything of the sort? Just because living next door to you is enough to drive a man to drink.”

  “You’re the one who found me this place. If you don’t like living next door to me, then I’m not the one to blame!”

  “Don’t remind me,” he muttered.

  The comment about Nolan finding himself a wife had been made in jest, but he’d certainly taken it seriously. In fact, he seemed to have strong feelings about the entire issue. Realizing her welcome had worn extremely thin, Maryanne headed for his apartment door. “Everything’s under control here.”

  “Does that mean you’re leaving?”

  She hated the enthusiastic lift in his voice, as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Although he wasn’t admitting it, she’d done him a good turn. Fair exchange, she supposed; Nolan had been generous enough to her over the past month.

  “Yes, I’m leaving.”

  “Good.” He didn’t bother to disguise his delight.

  “But I still think you’d do well to consider what I said.” Maryanne had the irresistible urge to heap coals on the fires of his indignation. “A wife could be a great help to you.”

  Nolan frowned heavily, drawing his eyebrows into a deep V. “I think the modern woman would find your suggestion downright insulting.”

  “What? That you marry?”

  “Exactly. Haven’t you heard? A woman’s place isn’t in the home anymore. It’s out there in the world, forging a career for herself. Living a fuller life, and all that. It’s not doing the mundane tasks you’re talking about.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you marry for the convenience of gaining a live-in housekeeper.”

  His brown eyes narrowed. “Then what were you saying?”

  “That you’re a capable talented man,” she explained. She glanced surreptitiously at his manuscript, still tidily stacked by the typewriter. “But unfortunately, that doesn’t mean a whole lot if you don’t have someone close—a friend, a companion, a...wife—to share it with.”

  “Don’t you worry about me, Little Miss Muffet. I’ve lived my own life from the time I was thirteen. You may think I need someone, but let me assure you, I don’t.”

  “You’re probably right,” she said reluctantly. She opened his door, then hesitated. “You’ll call if you want anything?”

  “No.”

  She released a short sigh of frustration. “That’s what I thought. The soup should be done in about thirty minutes.”

  He nodded, then, looking a bit chagrined, added, “I suppose I should thank you.”

  “I suppose you should, too, but it isn’t necessary.”

  “What about the money you spent on groceries? You can’t afford acts of charity, you know. Wait a minute and I’ll—”

  “Forget it,” she snapped. “I can spend my money on whatever I damn well please. I’m my own person, remember? You can just owe me. Buy me dinner sometime.” She left before he could say anything else.

  Maryanne’s own apartment felt bleak and lonely after Nolan’s. The first thing she did was walk around turning on all the lights. No sooner had she finished when there was a loud knock at her door. She opened it to find Nolan standing there in his disreputable moth-eaten robe, glaring.

  “Yes?” she inquired sweetly.

  “You read my manuscript, didn’t you?” he boomed in a voice that echoed like thunder off the apartment walls.

  “I most certainly did not,” she denied vehemently. She straightened her back as if to suggest she found the very question insulting.

  Without waiting for an invitation, Nolan stalked into her living room, then whirled around to face her. “Admit it!”

  Making each word as clear and distinct as possible, Maryanne said, “I did not read your precious manuscript. How could I possibly have cleaned up, done the laundry, prepared a big kettle of homemade soup, and still had time to read 212 pages of manuscript?”

  “How did you know it was 212 pages?” Sparks of reproach shot from his eyes.

  “Ah—” she swallowed uncomfortably “—it was a guess, and from the looks of it, a good one.”

  “It wasn’t any guess.”

  He marched toward her and for every step he took, she retreated two. “All right,” she admitted guiltily, “I did look at it, but I swear I didn’t read more than a few lines. I was straightening up the living room and...it was there, so I turned over the last page and read a couple of paragraphs.”

  “Aha! Finally, the truth!” Nolan pointed directly at her “You did read it!”

  “Just a few lines,” she repeated in a tiny voice, feeling completely wretched.

  “And?” His eyes softened.

  “And what?”

  “What did you think?” He looked at her expectantly, then frowned. “Never mind, I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Rubbing her palms together, Maryanne took one step forward. “Nolan, it was wonderful. Witty and terribly suspenseful and... I would have given anything to read more. But I knew I didn’t dare because, well, because I was invading your privacy...which I didn’t want to do, but I did and I really didn’t want...that.”

  “It is good, isn’t it?” he asked almost smugly, then his expression sobered as quickly as it had before.

  She grinned, nodding enthusiastically. “Tell me about it.”

  He seemed undecided, then launched excitedly into his idea. “It’s about a Seattle newspaperman, Leo, who stumbles on a murder case. Actually, I’m developing a series with him as the main character. This one’s not quite finished yet—as I’m sure you know.”

  “Is there a woman in Leo’s life?”

  “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

  Maryanne wasn’t. The few paragraphs she’d read had mentioned a Maddie who was apparently in danger. Leo had been frantic to save her.

  “You had no business going anywhere near that manuscript,” Nolan reminded her.

  “I know, but the temptation was so strong. I shouldn’t have peeked, I realize that, but I couldn’t help myself. Nolan, I’m not lying when I say how good the writing was. Do you have a publisher in mind? Because if you don’t, I have several New York editor friends I could recommend and I know—”

  “I’m not using you or any influence you may have in New York. I don’t want anything to do with your father’s publishing company. Understand?”

  “Of course, but you’re overreacting.” He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. “My father wouldn’t stay in business long if he ordered the editors to purchase my friends’ manuscripts, would he? Believe me, it would all be on the up and up, and if you’ve got an idea for a series using Leo—”

  “I said no.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it, Annie. This is my book and I’ll submit it myself without any help from you.”

  “If that’s what you want,” she concurred meekly.

  “That’s the way it’s going to be.” The stern unyielding look slipped back into place. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll quietly go back to my messy little world, sans wife and countless interruptions from a certain neighbor.”

  “I’ll try not to bother you again,” Maryanne said sarcastically, since he was the one who’d invaded her home this time.

  “It would be appreciated,” he said, apparently ignoring
her tone.

  “Your apartment is yours and mine is mine, and I’ll uphold your privacy with the utmost respect,” she continued, her voice still faintly mocking. She buried her hands in her pockets and her fingers closed around something cold and metallic.

  “Good.” Nolan was nodding. “Privacy, that’s what we need.”

  “Um, Nolan...” She paused. “This is somewhat embarrassing, but it seems I have...” She hesitated again, then resolutely squared her shoulders. “I suppose you’d appreciate it if I returned your keys, right?”

  “My keys?” Nolan exploded.

  “I just found them. They were in my pocket. You see, all you had in your refrigerator was one limp strand of celery and I couldn’t very well make soup out of that, so I had to go to the store and I didn’t want to leave your door unlocked and—”

  “You have my keys?”

  “Yes.”

  He held out his palm, casting his eyes toward the ceiling. Feeling like a pickpocket caught in the act, Maryanne dropped the keys into his hand and stepped quickly back, almost afraid he was going to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Which, of course, was ludicrous.

  Nolan left immediately and Maryanne followed him to the door, staring out into the hallway as he walked back to his own apartment.

  * * *

  The next Thursday, Maryanne was hurrying to get ready for work when the phone rang. She frowned and stared at it, wondering if she dared take the time to answer. It might be Nolan, but every instinct she possessed told her otherwise. They hadn’t spoken all week. Every afternoon, like clockwork, he’d arrived at Mom’s Diner. More often than not, he ordered chili. Maryanne waited on him most of the time, but she might have been a robot for all the attention he paid her. His complete lack of interest dented her pride; still, his attitude shouldn’t have come as any surprise.

  “Hello,” she said hesitantly, picking up the receiver.

  “Maryanne,” her mother responded, her voice rising with pleasure. “I can’t believe I finally got hold of you. I’ve been trying for the past three days.”

  Maryanne immediately felt swamped by guilt. “You didn’t leave a message on my machine.”

  “You know how I hate those things.”

  Maryanne did know that. She also knew she should have phoned her parents herself, but she wasn’t sure how long she could continue with this farce. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, of course. Your father’s working too hard, but that’s nothing new. The boys are busy with soccer and growing like weeds.” Her mother’s voice fell slightly. “How’s the job?”

  “The job?”

  “Your special assignment.”

  “Oh, that.” Maryanne had rarely been able to fool her mother, and she could only wonder how well she was succeeding now. “It’s going...well. I’m learning so much.”

  “I think you’ll make a terrific investigative reporter, sweetie, and the secrecy behind this assignment makes it all the more intriguing. When are your father and I going to learn exactly what you’ve been doing? I wish we’d never promised not to check up on your progress at the paper. We’re both so curious.”

  “I’ll be finished with it soon.” Maryanne glanced at her watch and was about to close the conversation when her mother asked, “How’s Nolan?”

  “Nolan?” Maryanne’s heart zoomed straight into her throat. She hadn’t remembered mentioning him, and just hearing his name sent a feverish heat through her body.

  “You seemed quite enthralled with him the last time we spoke, remember?”

  “I was?”

  “Yes, sweetie, you were. You claimed he was very talented, and although you were tight-lipped about it I got the impression you were strongly attracted to this young man.”

  “Nolan’s a friend. But we argue more than anything.”

  Her mother chuckled. “Good.”

  “How could that possibly be good?”

  “It means you’re comfortable enough with each other to be yourselves, and that’s a positive sign. Why, your father and I bickered like old fishwives when we first met. I swear there wasn’t a single issue we could agree on.” She sighed softly. “Then one day we looked at each other, and I knew then and there I was going to love this man for the rest of my life. And I have.”

  “Mom, it isn’t like that with Nolan and me. I...I don’t even think he likes me.”

  “Nolan doesn’t like you?” her mother repeated. “Why, sweetie, that would be impossible.”

  Maryanne started to laugh then, because her mother was so obviously biased, yet sounded completely objective and matter-of-fact. It felt good to laugh again, good to find something amusing. She hadn’t realized how melancholy she’d become since her last encounter with Nolan. He was still making such an effort to keep her at arm’s length for fear... She didn’t know exactly what he feared. Perhaps he was falling in love with her, but she’d noticed precious little evidence pointing to that conclusion. If anything, Nolan considered her an irritant in his life.

  Maryanne spoke to her mother for a few more minutes, then rushed out the door, hoping she wouldn’t be late for her shift at Mom’s Place. Some investigative reporter she was!

  At the diner, she slipped the apron around her waist and hurried out to help with the luncheon crowd. Waiting tables, she was learning quite a lot about character types. This could be helpful for a writer, she figured. Some of her customers were pretty eccentric. She observed them carefully, wondering if Nolan did the same thing. But she wasn’t going to think about Nolan....

  Halfway through her shift, she began to feel light-headed and sick to her stomach.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Barbara asked as she slipped past, carrying an order.

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  “This morning. No,” she corrected, “last night. I didn’t have much of an appetite this morning.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Barbara set the hamburger and fries on the counter in front of her customer and walked back to Maryanne. “Now that I’ve got a good look at you, you do seem a bit peaked.”

  “I’m all right.”

  Hands on her hips, Barbara continued to study Maryanne as if memorizing every feature. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m fine.” She had the beginnings of a headache, but nothing she could really complain about. It probably hadn’t been a good idea to skip breakfast and lunch, but she’d make up for it when she took her dinner break.

  “I’m not sure I believe you,” Barbara muttered, dragging out a well-used phone book. She flipped through the pages until she apparently found the number she wanted, then reached for the phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  She held the receiver against her shoulder. “Nolan Adams, who else? Seems to me it’s his turn to play nursemaid.”

  “Barbara, no!” She might not be feeling a hundred per cent, but she wasn’t all that sick, either. And the last person she wanted running to her rescue was Nolan. He’d only use it against her, as proof that she should go back to the cosy comfortable world of her parents. She’d almost proved she could live entirely on her own, without relying on interest from her trust fund.

  “Nolan’s not at the office,” Barbara said a moment later, replacing the receiver. “I’ll talk to him when he comes in.”

  “No, you won’t! Barbara, I swear to you I’ll personally give your phone number to every trucker who comes into this place if you so much as say a single word to Nolan.”

  “Honey,” the other waitress said, raising her eyebrows, “you’d be doing me a favor!”

  Grumbling, Maryanne returned to her customers.

  By closing time, however, she was feeling slightly worse. Not exactly sick, but not exactly herself, either. Barbara was watching Maryanne closely, regularly feeling her cheeks and forehead and muttering about her temperature. If there was one thing to be grateful for, it was the fact that Nolan hadn’t shown up. Barbara insisted Marya
nne leave a few minutes early and shooed her out the door. Had she been feeling better, Maryanne would have argued.

  By the time she arrived back at her apartment, she knew beyond a doubt that she was coming down with some kind of virus. Part of her would’ve liked to blame Nolan, but she was the one who’d let herself into his apartment. She was the one who’d lingered there, straightening up the place and staying far longer than necessary.

  After a long hot shower, she put on her flannel pyjamas and unfolded her bed, climbing quickly beneath the covers. She’d turned the television on for company and prepared herself a mug of soup. As she took her first sip, she heard someone knock at her door.

  “Who is it?” she called out.

  “Nolan.”

  “I’m in bed,” she shouted.

  “You’ve seen me in my robe. It’s only fair I see you in yours,” he yelled back.

  Maryanne tossed aside her covers and sat up. “Go away.”

  A sharp pounding noise came from the floor, followed by an equally loud roar that proclaimed it time for “Jeopardy.” Apparently Maryanne’s shouting match with Nolan was disrupting Mrs. McBride’s favorite television show.

  “Sorry.” Maryanne cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled at the hardwood floor.

  “Are you going to let me in, or do I have to get the passkey?” Nolan demanded.

  Groaning, Maryanne shuffled across the floor in her giant fuzzy slippers and turned the lock. “Yes?” she asked with exaggerated patience.

  For the longest moment, Nolan said nothing. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his beige raincoat. “How are you?”

  Maryanne glared at him with all the indignation she could muster, which at the moment was considerable. “Do you mean to say you practically pounded down my door to ask me that?”

  He didn’t bother to answer, but walked into her apartment as though he had every right to do so. “Barbara phoned me.”

  “Oh, brother! And what exactly did she say?” She continued to hold open the door, hoping he’d get the hint and leave.

  “That you caught my bug.” His voice was rough with ill-disguised worry.