An Informal Christmas (Informal Romance Book 1)

by Heather Gray

  “Nope. No sisters.”

  “Well then…you might want to watch out for this one.”

  Setting her folded napkin back down on the table, Rylie stared open-mouthed at the chaplain. “Seriously? Is that the best you can offer? I want to get him into bed?”

  Blossom chuckled. “Oh, I have better, but I find it telling that you went directly to bed and skipped over the whole jail part.”

  Rylie leaned against the padded seatback.

  The chaplain cut a piece of pineapple into fourths and ignored her.

  How long had she known Blossom? Long enough to know better. “Alright, alright. I’m going to dump my tray and go play nice with Mr. York. Do me a favor and don’t start naming our children. Jail’s still not out of the question.”

  Blossom’s chuckle followed her out of the cafeteria.

  This time as Rylie dashed toward the elevator, a hand reached out to stop the doors from closing. She brushed through the still-open doors, a thank you on her lips. The words died a sudden death, though, as she caught sight of the thunderous face of Zach York.

  Should she ask what was wrong or automatically assume her presence offended him in some horrific way? How ridiculous! What was the worst that could happen?

  “Is everything okay?”

  His gaze cut to her and flitted away before anything close to eye contact was made. “Everything’s fine.”

  The clipped bite of his words said otherwise.

  Rylie crossed her arms. He might be one of the kindest men in the world and generous to boot — even if the elevator was markedly empty of the boxes he normally toted with him — but she wasn’t obligated to take his attitude without complaint. “If you’d rather reschedule this meeting, we can do that.” Under her breath, she added, “Whenever you think you’ll be fit company.”

  Zach’s stare touched on her again, still not quite making eye contact, but long enough that she glimpsed the raw pain there.

  Rylie took a step back. She’d worked herself up into a dither, but without uttering a word, he robbed her of every ounce of irritation. Many of her kids had worn that same look at one time or another. How had she missed the signs?

  “I’d rather get this over with today if you don’t mind.” His voice was still tight, but the surliness had seeped away.

  The ding of the elevator filled the small space, offensive in its cheerfulness.

  Rylie silently slipped through the brushed steel doors and made her way to the Child Life office whose door, by contrast, was full of bright colors. Today it was decorated with portraits different kids had made of their pets.

  Seeing that door almost always put her in better spirits, and today was no different. She smiled at the crayon drawing of someone’s imaginary purple pet kangaroo before she crossed the threshold into the office.

  The sight of boxes stacked almost to the ceiling brought her to a screeching halt.

  Zach, unprepared for her sudden stop, slammed into her back and sent her sprawling. Rylie threw her arms out to break her fall, but before she made contact with the scratchy taupe carpet, an arm snaked around her middle and pulled her back.

  “I’m sorry.” His breath, a tantalizing caress, carried the rumble of his voice. A tickle made its way down her spine. Yep. Definitely a tickle. No way was it a chill. She wasn’t a chill-down-the-spine sort of woman.

  As soon as Rylie’s feet were back under her and she was steady on them, Zach released her.

  She immediately missed the band of steel circling her midsection and the heat of his presence against her back. Which was even more unlike her than having chills race up and down her spine.

  To hide her flustered unease, Rylie stepped away and ran her hands down her scrub-clad thighs, smoothing away the invisible creases. “Talk about adding a little excitement to life.” Not that almost falling was exciting, but how else was she supposed to fill the silence? “Thank you for the boxes.”

  Zach gave a brief nod and tucked his hands into his pants pockets.

  “If this was a wrestling match, you and I would be on one team. Communication would be on the other. And we’d be losing.”

  The corner of his mouth tilted up. “We might be better off with dart throwing. I’ve never been much good at wrestling.”

  Rylie chuckled. She couldn’t help it. “So, since I bombed on the whole following-up-and-coordinating-with-you-thing, do you want to tell me what you brought us this month?”

  “Bowling balls.”

  What? “Bowling balls?”

  He shrugged. “I figured they’re not a choking hazard the way marbles are.”

  His implacable face gave nothing away, but surely it was a jest. Rylie took a tentative step toward the first tower of boxes and regarded them with equal measures of curiosity and suspicion. Nobody would be foolish enough to stack bowling balls that high… would they?

  Suzie bustled in from the hallway. “Oh good! Did Zach tell you all about the treats he’s donating this month? We’ve got enough sock monkeys to make sure every child in residence gets one.”

  Rylie stared at the man in question. “You were joking?”

  “I am occasionally capable of humor.”

  She answered him with an eye roll.

  “Did I miss something?” Suzie surveyed them both with a look that said, Don’t mess with the guy who gives us toys for the kids.

  Zach’s voice was scratchy. “I, uh, might have led her to believe the boxes held bowling balls.”

  Suzie laughed then, and she had the kind of laugh that filled a space so completely that nothing negative dared fight for survival in its presence. Rylie thought of it as her boss’s super power. One laugh from her, and disagreements were settled, grudges forgotten, and joy restored.

  “Come on.” Zach tipped his head toward the door. “I know we need to meet, but can we take it to the cafeteria? I need lunch. Besides, this place is kind of claustrophobic with all those boxes stacked everywhere.”

  Suzie waved them out the door before Rylie decided whether or not she even wanted to go.

  “So, sock monkeys, huh?”

  Zach shrugged as he stuffed a steak fry into his mouth.

  “The kids’ll love them.” Rylie took a sip of her soda before picking up the pen resting next to her notepad. “We will never turn away anything you bring, but Suzie wants me to see if we can coordinate the rest of the year. Any objections?”

  Zach shook his head as another fry disappeared.

  So, a man of few words… Or polite enough not to talk with his mouth full.

  Rylie tried not to be distracted by the memory of his strong hands stopping her from wiping out on the office floor. “October is Halloween.”

  Another fry vanished.

  “Because our children come from so many different backgrounds, we recognize all the major holidays, but we don’t force anyone to participate.”

  A frown tugged his lips down. “What do you do for this one?”

  “Well…” Rylie cringed, heat warming her cheeks. Halloween wasn’t the best example of what Child Life did for the kids. “We provide candy for anyone who’s allowed to eat sugar as long as their parents don’t object. Kids who are out on the main floor sometimes dress up.”

  “That doesn’t sound like much.”

  She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

  His mocha eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

  She did her best to shrug it off. “We’re near the nation’s capital. We treat people from all over the world — all different nationalities and faith traditions. Every year, some of our parents object to a Halloween celebration for religious reasons. Some Christian families object; others don’t. Some Muslim families object; others don’t. They’re not the only ones, either. The topic became politically charged, and Child Life was eventually ordered to give up.”

  One corner of his mouth tilted up, but she couldn’t tell whether it was in good humor or sarcasm. “And what about you? Do you object for religious reasons?”

  How
should she answer that? She was trained to be politically correct, but a direct question deserved a reply in kind. “I don’t personally take part, but…” She searched for the words. How to explain herself in a way that didn’t leave her sounding hypocritical? “Ninety percent of children — regardless of faith affiliation — look forward to Halloween for weeks, and my job is to make their time in the hospital as easy as possible. If that means helping them celebrate the day, then so be it. Besides, having a choice about Halloween — or any other holiday — isn’t in my job description.”

  Zach polished off the last of his fries and took a long draw on his root beer. “How about a costume contest?”

  Huh. Weren’t they at the part where he was supposed to tell her what he thought of Halloween?

  He ignored her silent question as his own train of thought picked up speed. “Each unit should have its own contest. You’ll want judges to determine winners. We can give out trophies for best costume, funniest, strangest, most colorful. We can come up with a dozen different ones if we put our minds together.”

  Rylie chewed on her lower lip as she wrote down the suggested trophy titles. It didn’t seem that Zach was all that interested in talking about himself. She might as well pick up the new conversation thread and go with it. “We can call it the Northern Virginia Children’s Hospital First Annual Costume Contest.”

  “Uh, that’s a mouthful, but I get the point. Leave the H-word out altogether, and maybe there’ll be fewer detractors.”

  “Not everyone can afford to go out and buy a costume.” Rylie wrote dollar signs down on her notepad.

  “Let me check with a wholesaler I found. They had a great price on the sock monkeys. I’ll see if they have any deals on costumes. Kids are resourceful, though. I bet you’ll find they come up with ideas based on what they remember being in their parents’ garage or hall closet.”

  Her pen tap-tap-tapped on the pad of paper. “I’m sure you’re right. Children are remarkably creative.”

  “I might also know where to get the trophies. You work on the list. Come up with at least a dozen award titles and email me. We’ll put the unit, the date, and the trophy title on each one.”

  Rylie jotted down his instructions. Then she wrote the word Judges and circled it. “You should be a judge.”

  His eyebrows shot up and disappeared behind the in-need-of-a-trim blond hair.

  “You should. Can you make yourself available that day?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  This was the second time she’d tried to get him in the same room with some of the kids. He seemed just as determined as last time to find a way out of it.

  What was his story?

  October

  “I brought you something.” Zach stood there watching her, a wary look on his face.

  Rylie worked up what she thought was a good scowl. “And you couldn’t call first?”

  Her scowl must not have been very convincing, though. Zach laughed at her. “Yeah, about that…”

  She pulled the top box from the stack he’d brought. “Definitely not bowling balls.”

  “Costumes. In case anyone can’t come up with something. Or doesn’t have the money. Whatever.”

  Rylie glanced through one of the boxes. He’d covered all the sizes with some to spare. “The kids will appreciate it.”

  “Join me for lunch?”

  Rylie settled the boxes into The Vault before turning to look at him again. She was more physically attracted to this man than she’d been to anyone… ever. That made him dangerous. On the other hand, there had to be more to him than coffee-colored eyes and lean muscles.

  There was only one way to find out for sure. “The cafeteria okay? I need to stay on the grounds.”

  Rylie watched as Zach ate most of a chicken strip in a single bite. “So, uh, what’d you have for breakfast?”

  “A lot.”

  She shook her head and looked at her tray. A whole wheat turkey wrap, pickle, baked chips, and water. His chicken strips smelled better than they should.

  Zach tapped the table between them. “So what did you do with her?”

  “Who? Suzie?”

  He shook his head. “No. The gal who used to answer to the name Rylie and seemed like she wanted to chase me out of the hospital every time I came in.”

  Double ouch. Rylie supposed she did have some apologizing to do. “I’m sorry about that.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Just tell me what changed.”

  She took a bite of her pickle to stall for time. The problem was that a person could only stall for one pickle bite. If she took two bites, she’d look like one of those people who bought whole pickles out of giant glass jars at convenience stores in rural towns nobody’d ever heard of.

  “Are you going to stare at your pickle the whole time or take another bite?”

  “I don’t buy pickles out of jars.” Come on, floor. Open up. Swallow me. Do something!

  “Uh, okay.”

  Rylie reached for her water. “What was it you asked?”

  Zach ate another fry. “If you were going to take another bite of your pickle. But before that, I asked what changed to make you so nice. A little odd, sure, but nicer than before.”

  She’d gone from a surly shrew to odd but nice. Was that an improvement? She couldn’t tell.

  “I work with a lot of sick kids, and sometimes those kids don’t do as well as I’d like.”

  “And that makes you angry?” His voice held curiosity, not judgment. That was a good start.

  “It makes me sad, but I wasn’t handling it the right way, and it was turning into bitterness.”

  His gaze flitted away as a heavy blanket settled over the light banter they’d been sharing. “So what’s the right way to handle it, then?”

  He looked at her, a brief touch of his eyes on hers, before staring down at his tray. In that tiny little space of time, Rylie saw the truth. The question he asked was deeper and broader than he allowed it to sound. Whatever secret he kept, the pain of it was unraveling the fabric of who he was, of how he saw himself.

  “I suppose the right way to handle it is to accept that you can’t.”

  A derisive snort met her words. “What good does that do?”

  She wanted to reach out, to touch the back of his hand where it clenched the edge of the table, but she held back. He needed to hear her words. They mattered more than any physical comfort she could give him.

  Rylie swallowed her indecision. She drew on her training, the part that helped her explain the hard truths of a child’s diagnosis. A real answer, no matter how difficult, was better than no answer at all.

  “If you don’t accept how weak you are, you’ll never step aside and let God take the reins. In my experience, He’s the only one who can handle the sadness and pain without crumbling under the weight of it. When we accept that we aren’t strong enough in our own power, we give Him control, and everything we do from that point on is in His power. He has enough to go around.”

  Zach released his death grip on the table, but he still wouldn’t make eye contact. Their light banter from before wouldn’t be making a return appearance anytime soon. She could live with that. She’d said what she needed to say.

  Rylie stood with her tray. “I wasn’t trying to be preachy. And to be honest, it’s something I’m still working on myself.”

  He nodded.

  She rested a hand on his shoulder. “I hope the rest of your day goes well. I’ll see you later.”

  Zach’s phone rang, and Rylie took the opportunity to make her exit and save him from having to form a reply to everything she’d said.

  When she reached the cafeteria’s exit, she looked back at him. He sat there, his phone in hand but not at his ear.

  Oh well. Maybe he didn’t know what to say to that person either.

  Rylie had been telling parents, nurses, and their young patients about the contest for weeks. The kids were exuberant in their chatter about the im
pending event. They would meet in the hallway and talk about what they were going to wear. Or hide away in their rooms and draw costume plans so detailed they put most fashion designers to shame. Even those who were scheduled for discharge before the big day got in on the fun by giving costume advice to anyone who would listen.

  Suzie, ever the valued asset, had gathered judges. One was an off-duty pediatric ER doctor who’d promised to wear a rainbow wig and red clown nose. The mayor of Falls Church was coming as a firefighter. Before jumping headfirst into a political career, he’d been a firefighter, so his outfit ought to be easy to come by. Then, of course, there was Zach.

  According to Suzie, she’d called him while he was at lunch with Rylie the week before but had been sent straight to voicemail. Hers was probably the call he’d gotten as Riley had left. Suzie thought of it as a coup. There’d been no need to convince their philanthropist to be a judge. She’d left a message telling him when to show up and to come in costume.

  Now the day was upon them, and Rylie was scrambling to make sure everything went smoothly. She was thankful to be kept busy enough that she didn’t have time to worry how Zach would act and if she’d said too much at that lunch.

  They would start with the largest group of patients, the ones on the main floor. The kids were divided up by age, ten and under in one category and everyone else in the other. From there, they would head to the Intermediate Care unit to judge their costumes, then on to Intensive Care, wrapping up in Oncology. The Oncology kids were hers, and she couldn’t think of a better way to conclude the day’s festivities.

  It was half past eight. The judges should be assembling in the lobby. Trophies were on their way to the nurses’ stations in each unit where they were being kept under guard, literally. A couple of the hospital’s off-duty security personnel volunteered to come in and make a big show of keeping sentry over the trophies.

  The guards were in full uniform and determined to do their best impression of the British Royal Guard – stiff posture and blank expressions all day long. She wasn’t convinced they’d be able to pull it off. The kids were determined to force a reaction.