The Christmas Tree Wars

by Robin Weaver

  “I expect so. Lass made a bit of a ruckus when I called the ambulance, but she’d passed out cold. I figured it might be a concussion or something.”

  “You called the ambulance?” Surely something would make sense soon. Or maybe he’d wake up.

  A woman in scrubs appeared. “Mr. James?”

  “Yes.” He and his father had spoken in unison.

  “Uh...Miss Forrester would like to see you now.”

  The doctor/nurse/assistant/whatever-she-was hurried away. He and his father followed, close on the woman’s heels. For a sick dude, his dad moved rather spryly. Probably a good thing since he basically hip-checked the old man so he could get to Suzette’s room first.

  She sat on the bed, sipping from a straw embedded in a Styrofoam cup. She lifted her head. “What are you doing here?”

  Somehow his father materialized in front of him. “How are you feeling, lass?”

  She snorted. “You’ve been a good friend, Arnie. I’m going to assume you aren’t in cahoots with your scoundrel son.”

  “Cahoots?” Again, he and his father had spoken in unison.

  “Look.” Spence twisted his head to glare at his father—who looked extremely healthy for a sick man. “Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

  “Right.” Suzette put her cup on the bed table, somehow managing to get a slamming noise from the Styrofoam. “Don’t ask how I’m doing? Don’t say, ‘Really glad you’re not seriously hurt, Suzette.’ Don’t even apologize for lying to me about hiding my decorations for five damn days. By all means, let’s get you up to speed.”

  Spence tried to swallow, but all the moisture seemed to have left his throat. “I’m sorry, Suzette. I am more glad than you can possibly imagine that you’re not seriously hurt. If I seem weird, it’s because I don’t understand how you ended up in the hospital in the first place.”

  She sniffed, not seeming at all appeased.

  “Suzette,” he tried again. “How are you?”

  “I’ll tell you how I am. I’m so mad I’m surprised all this water they’re making me drink isn’t turning to instant steam. How could you, Spence? I thought we were friends?”

  “How could I what?” He’d clearly done something, but didn’t have a clue what it might be. “I’d planned to join you for hot chocolate but you were...busy. So I went back to the store.”

  “Spence James, don’t you dare make this about Tripp. You and Katarina had to be in this together from the start. Did you have a good laugh after you told me my decorations weren’t in? Did you and old Big Boobs throw them in the trash? No, let me guess. You set them on fire and used the ashes to fertilize next year’s trees.” She slumped, the red color seeming to drain from her face like the last slurp of a milkshake. “For the first time ever, I actually had a chance to win the Christmas Tree Contest. And you shattered it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked out the window.

  The silence seemed like a punishment.

  His father elbowed him. Spence was so shocked, he stepped aside.

  His old man took Suzette’s hand. “Uh, Suzette. There’s something you need to know—”

  “Hold on a damn minute.” He stopped just short of bodily moving his father away from Suzette.

  “Could someone please tell me what happened?”

  Suzette snorted again. Spence felt pretty sure one of those woman’s magazines would include snorting in the top ten turn offs.

  “I bet you even released that pit bull on me. Did you train that monster dog to knock people over? I wouldn’t put it past you, Spence James.” With that bizarre declaration, she stared out the window again.

  “What dog?”

  His dad chuckled. “Miss Suzette had come for a visit. As she was leaving, Mavis’s little mutt got loose and ran into her as she was backing away. And you know that sidewalk at the bottom of my steps always freezes first.”

  “Oh.” So his father hadn’t done something stupid. Spence huffed out a breath, wondering why he didn’t feel more relieved. Suzette was okay. His father hadn’t been responsible. And the old man was well enough for him to go back to New York.

  “We need to talk about the reason for her visit, Spencerton.”

  Uh-oh. His father hadn’t used his full name since...since their last fight about where he planned to attend college.

  “Son, I’ve been so glad to have you home, I’ve overlooked your moodiness.” The old man must be feeling a lot better to use that tone with him. “Haven’t said a word, no matter how rude you’ve been, but I have to speak up now.”

  Seriously? His dad was going to criticize him? After he’d basically put his life on hold after his father’s heart attack. “By all means, speak up.”

  “I know you think my antiques business is lame, so I can almost understand you not caring about the store. But do you really have so little regard for Suzette?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Suzette’s ornaments. I told you where they were last week.”

  Ah, hell. “Eh...”

  “Why didn’t you give them to her, son?”

  “Yeah, Spence.” Suzette’s tone could scald meat. “Why didn’t you give them to me?”

  Chapter Nine

  All I Want for Christmas Is Time With You

  “Dad, can I talk to Suzette alone.”

  “No way, Spence.” A new bout of anger took root inside Suzette. “Your father deserves to know why you didn’t deliver the merchandise he ordered.”

  Spence didn’t answer, just looked at the ceiling.

  “What’s the matter? Your tongue get run over by a reindeer?” How could he hurt her like that? The dung beetle hadn’t answered one of her letters after he went off to college. Not one. After six months, she’d given up and quit writing, but Arnie had told her he asked about her every time he called home. She’d believed he cared about her a little bit.

  He still didn’t look at her.

  “Spence James, if you don’t quit staring at the ceiling, I’m going to kick you with my good leg.”

  That got his attention. He stared at her sheet-covered legs. “Did something happen to the other leg?”

  She didn’t want him to know, but she wanted him to feel a little bad. “I sprained my ankle. So even though I have my decorations—no thanks to you—I may not be healed in time for the contest.”

  Arnie cleared his throat. “Doctor said she’d be fine in a week if she stays off her foot, but that means someone needs to take care of her. Since this is your fault, Son, I think you should do it.”

  “No way.” Suzette shook her head. “After what he’s done, I wouldn’t trust him.”

  “Suzette. I am not in cahoots with Katarina. I don’t like her any more than you do.”

  “Oh.” Nothing like sincerity to take the wind out of a woman’s anger. She had no doubt Spence was being honest. “Then why would you want me to lose the contest?”

  He shook his head, looking a little bit like he’d found coal in his stocking. “I don’t. I hope you win. I planned to give you those paper things tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” She rubbed her forehead unable to think of any reason he’d delay. Unless...

  “Dad?” Spence looked at his father. “Can you please give us a minute?”

  “No.”

  Whoa. She expected Arnie to give in, to do whatever his son asked.

  “I’ll go, Son, but only if you agree to help Suzette. It’s your fault she was standing on that ice to begin with.”

  The older man’s logic was rather flawed, but she saw no reason to defend Spence.

  “Fine.”

  She twisted her head toward Spence—so hard something twinged. “Fine? Uh, no way.”

  “Good. I’ll go tell the nurse.” Arnie walked toward the door. “Now that you have someone to stay with you, they’ll probably let you go home.”

  When the door closed, she glanced at Spence. Was he smiling?

  “You don’t have to do this, you know. I ca
n stay with Kaley.”

  He shook his head. “She works, right?”

  “You work too.” There was no way she’d let Spence take care of her. Spending too much time with him...well, she simply couldn’t spend too much time with him.

  “Not any more. I’ve been a fool for not seeing how well my dad moves before. I’m at your disposal.”

  “I...” Elf. “I meant your other job. I’m sure you’ll be headed back to New York now.”

  “I’ve already taken off until the end of the year, Suze.”

  She shook her head, knowing there had to be a catch. And hoping she could find one. If Spence James spent any time in her house, all her “over him” might just melt like marshmallows in hot chocolate. “Why would you even consider doing this, Spence? You don’t seem like the nursemaid type.”

  “The same reason I hid your decorations.”

  Okay, she must have hit her head on the sidewalk. “Eh, what?”

  “I hid your decorations so you’d come back to the shop every day, Suze. I want to spend time with you. Catch up.”

  Chapter Ten

  There They Go A-Wassailing

  “Want some wassail?”

  “Sure.” Suzette could get used to having two men waiting on her night and day. Four days since her little fall and she could officially dub herself spoiled. Arnie refused to let her go home, installing her in the guest room instead. The sweet old man made sure she wanted for nothing during the day.

  While Spence worked at the antiques store. She had no idea why he’d agreed to stay on after basically busting his old man. Not that it mattered. When Spence came home at the end of business hours, her day got even better.

  She’d tried to get in touch with Lydia, but her friend insisted she couldn’t leave the store. Bob, who could work anywhere, said he’d be glad to look in on her, but he had too many house calls. Since when did I.T. guys make house calls? If she didn’t know better, she’d think she dealt with a full team of matchmaking elves. She’d even told Spence she could manage at home, but he refused to drive her. After day two, she’d given up any hope of pretending she didn’t have a major crush on him.

  And she’d been glad.

  Her time had not only been pleasant, but productive. She and the older James had planned every detail of her Christmas Tree. Then Spence made them describe every detail and he drew a scale model.

  Things couldn’t be going better.

  And it scared the sugarplums out of her. If she stayed much longer, her heart would desert her and go live with the James men. She should just pick up her ace bandage and go home.

  Spence sat down on the sofa next to her, being careful not to touch her elevated foot. He handed her a mug, not being nearly as careful about touching her arm.

  Determined to ignore the tingles, she took a sip. “Um, good.” The hot concoction was better than good—she tasted the orange, cinnamon, cloves and something a lot more potent. “What’s in this? Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  He flashed her the grin that made her drool. “There’s an idea.”

  More tingles danced up and down her spine, a sure sign she should change the subject. Their conversations seemed to get more and more intimate. “Does your dad know you raided his liquor cabinet?”

  Spence shrugged, causing his arm to brush hers again. Was it her imagination or was he sitting really close? “What are we, ten years old? Besides, Dad had three cups before he went to bed.”

  “Three? I’ll be on the floor after two.”

  Spence opened his mouth and then closed it. He stared directly into her eyes. The intensity of his gaze made her feel rather heated. “Don’t tempt me anymore than you already are, Sunshine.”

  “Sunshine? Since when do you call me Sunshine?”

  “Since just saying the word Suze makes me—” He stopped talking and grinned. “Drink your wassail, nymphette.”

  “Where is your dad?”

  “Duh, didn’t you hear me say he went to bed?”

  She grinned. “I know, I mean where does he sleep?”

  “Why does that matter, Suze? You think we need a babysitter?”

  She shook her head. “No. I think we need a chaperone.”

  He laughed. “We certainly do, but I’ll behave, Suzette. I promised you I would.”

  “What if I don’t want you to?” Holy holly. Why had she said that?

  He swallowed. “Don’t tempt me, woman. It’s already hard enough sleeping in the next room, thinking about...Never mind. Want to play cards or something?”

  “No.” She chugged the rest of her wassail, burning her tongue. “Finish what you were going to say. What do you think about?” She knew she played with fire, but she wanted—make that needed—a little holiday sizzle. Preferably a very spicy flame.

  He shook his head. “No way. You have enough power as it is.”

  Did she? If having Spence want her made her powerful, she wanted to be even stronger. She made a decision, one she vowed she wouldn’t regret. No matter what.

  “If you won’t tell me, Spencer James, I’m going to guess.”

  He sat his cup down on a side table. “Not a good idea.”

  “Nonsense, James. ’Tis a most excellent idea.” She scooted closer, being careful not to move her foot. “Do you think about this?” She kissed his neck.

  Had he shaved again? She could have sworn he had a bit of a shadow during dinner.

  “Suzette.” His voice sounded like a warning, but he didn’t move.

  She put her finger on his chin and turned his face toward hers. “Do you think about this?” With only a teensy hesitation, she kissed his lower lip.

  “Ah, hell.” He pulled her against him. And kissed her thoroughly. His lips melded into her mouth, tasting like wassail and mountain air. When his tongue intertwined with hers, she envisioned a million little snowflakes dancing on her skin. She could truly die happy.

  When he stopped, her brain was dazed and bemused in the most heavenly way.

  “Now behave, Suzette. I might not be able to stop next time.”

  She ran her finger down his shirt, not stopping when she reached a button. “Why would you want to stop?” And why didn’t she? Sure, she was long overdue for some hot fun with a hunky dude, but she really shouldn’t stoke the Spence fire.

  Then something cold and icy almost extinguished her flame. “I’m sorry, Spence. I forgot about your girlfriend.”

  He frowned. “Girlfriend?”

  His attitude made her frown. “Did you lie about having a girlfriend, too?”

  Spence huffed out a breath. “Suze, I mislead you about the ornaments—I’ve already humiliated myself and explained why, but I’ve never lied to you about anything else. There’s a girl in New York, but we really haven’t been together in two months, maybe more. The only reason I’m even considering stopping is because I’m afraid you don’t want this.”

  She swallowed, feeling bold again. The situation called for something drastic. So she pulled her shirt over her head. “You need to get over that nonsense.”

  Chapter Eleven

  There They Go A-Wassailing Some More

  Spence wondered if he’d ever be able to breathe right. Suzette’s chest was the kind of thing men started wars over. He’d never seen anything more beautiful. Any hope he’d foolishly held onto about keeping things in the friend zone went right out the window.

  He didn’t care if his father snored just two doors down. He wanted Suzette so much Jacob Marley and a team of ghosts couldn’t keep him away. He took a nipple in his mouth, savoring the rosy morsel.

  Suzette moaned. Her hand slid down his leg.

  She’d find him fully hard. Couldn’t be helped. He’d been aroused even before he made the wassail.

  “Hmm.” She ran another hand though his hair. “You’re a rather naughty boy.”

  He lifted his head to kiss her lips again. “Remind me to tell you what happened to the nice pot who called the kettle naughty.”

  She giggled
and moved to sit on him. “Ouch.”

  “Ah, shit, Suze. Your foot.” He sat up, feeling like a cad.

  She grimaced but pulled his head back to within an inch of hers. “You listen to me, Spence James. You’re an elfin’ architect for goodness sakes. Surely you can figure out a way to sit me on top of you without hurting my ankle again.”

  He grinned. “I believe I can devise the proper supports.”

  She nodded.

  “But first...” He stood and picked her up in his arms.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Be quiet. You’ll wake Dad.”

  She held on tight, her giggling muffled by his chest. He kicked the door closed and positioned her on the edge of the bed. He pulled up a chair and put two pillows on it. Being as gentle as possible, he placed her leg on the down covered hardback.

  She laid back on the mattress, raising her arms above her head.

  “Dang, woman. Give me a fighting chance.” Don’t you dare move.

  She giggled. “Just wondering how you’re going to get my clothes off.”

  Smart butt. Still, a thought formed in his head that would surely get him a lump of coal from Santa. Apropos since he had his own lump to worry about. “You have more clothes, right?”

  She nodded.

  He reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. With absolutely no intention of using them.

  She sat up straighter. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  He walked toward her, clicking the scissors together. “Oh, but I would.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She squeezed her eyes closed, lay back and grabbed the edge of the bed, holding tightly.

  Bloody hell. He set the scissors on the table and licked her midriff. His hand found its way inside her pajama pants. He let his fingers follow the line of the elastic from hipbone to hipbone with a slow, fluid motion. He wanted her more than he’d wanted an easel from Santa on his tenth birthday.

  Every time he traced the path, his hand inched lower, until his fingers were just above her triangle of hair. Something primal took control. He wanted to rip off those crazy pajamas, slam her against him.