A Little Christmas Magic

by Sylvie Kurtz

  If that was a portion for two, she went by a different set of measures than most people. The three of them could pig out on what she'd brought and still have leftovers. Once they arrived in the kitchen, Max poked her nose around Logan's legs and sniffed up at the casserole.

  "Are you feeding that dog? The bag of kibble still seems awfully full."

  "She's fussy. Won't eat that stuff." Straight-faced, he couldn't resist teasing her. She took her food much too seriously. "Max here loves your casseroles, though."

  As if to prove him right, Max licked her chops.

  "Well, at least someone appreciates my effort." Her small burst of laughter and her gentle smile unexpectedly ricocheted inside him.

  She handed him the dish. "Half an hour at three seventy-five."

  Frowning, he shoved the casserole in the oven and set the temperature and timer. Confusion jumbled his thoughts once again. She'd taken the ribbing good-naturedly. She hadn't gotten mad or burst into tears like Julia, his ex-wife, would have. Is that what he'd wanted, female shrapnel to put his wayward thoughts on the right track again? He didn't want Beth there, didn't want to care what happened to her, couldn't get involved, not with her, not with a child as part of the equation. He needed to be alone with his pain and his memories. And she was disrupting his plans.

  But there was something about her that aroused all of his protective instincts, instincts that had proven defective, instincts he needed to curb if he were to survive. Was it her small size? The fact she was all alone so far from town? Or was it because of her son?

  He glanced at the boy and dog playing with the tug toy in the cleared area by the bay window. Jamie's vitality reminded him of Sam's no-holds-barred approach to life. He had an angel's face, but his hazel eyes twinkled like the devil's. He was Dennis the Menace with brown hair. He could have been Sam.

  Sam would have loved Max, too. She'd be giggling like Jamie, enjoying every second of the game. After two minutes she'd have been begging, "Daddy can we keep her? Can we?" And he'd have told her yes because refusing her anything was difficult. Something inside his chest wrenched hard, and he reached a fist to his heart to relieve the agony.

  "A little green stuff wouldn't kill you," Beth said, removing her mittens and stuffing them in her coat pocket.

  Still caught in the web of his memories, Logan grumbled something. Green stuff? What was she talking about?

  "Lettuce. You know what that is, right?"

  Food again. The woman was obsessed. "It's healthy. Who needs that?"

  "Right. Not good for self-flagellation."

  Without meaning to, he cracked a gruff chuckle. She wouldn't understand. How could she? Her son was hale and hearty and by her side. But he didn't want to get into a discussion with her, so he let the comment pass. "You're right there. I never expected the chow to be so good in purgatory."

  "I'll take that as a compliment." And she did look inordinately pleased. "You know, if you told me a bit more about yourself, I could be sure and whip up a dish you'd really hate. That way you could have the jail-like feel you seem to want."

  Food, that was the way to deal with Beth. Keep the conversation on food. "I never cared much for brussels sprouts or sweet potatoes."

  A gleam of pure challenge sparkled in her eyes. "You're on, cowboy. Brussels sprouts and sweet potatoes."

  "You wouldn't."

  "I would. It's going to have to wait till the weekend, though, because I have to deal with technical problems at work this week."

  "Is that why you were late?" He tossed the question as if he couldn't care less about the answer, yet he could feel the quickened hammer of his heart against his ribs. Distracting himself by rummaging through the fridge, he grasped a can of soda to offer her, then rejected it for a bottle of sparkling water.

  "If I never see ground beef again, I'll be happy," she said with a shake of her head. "On top of my regular food service, I had to deal with three hundred pounds of hamburger today because the walk-in freezer decided to take another vacation, and there's no money in the school budget for a new one."

  With a muffled thanks, she took the bottle he offered her and sagged against the counter. Tired lines underscored her eyes. Her bulky coat exaggerated the raised and stiff stance of her shoulders, as if a deep ache resided between her shoulder blades. When she reached to twist the cap off the water bottle, the bright red streak on the bandage caught his attention.

  Blood.

  He knew it. She'd overdone it and popped her stitches. Why couldn't she have taken a couple of days off instead of pushing herself to go to work?

  "You're bleeding," he said gruffly. He reached her in two steps, snatched her hand and peered at the bandage.

  "Tomato sauce," she said, laughing. "Lasagna, tacos, burritos. That's an awful lot of tomato sauce."

  Relief crested through him. "I've got some gauze around."

  Cheeks flushed, she snatched her hand away. "It's not necessary."

  "And how are you going to manage the task on your own?"

  Why was he pushing her? If she wanted to sleep with dirty bandages, what was it to him? Still, he didn't give her a chance to protest, or himself a chance to analyze his motives, but dug through the packing carton in which he thought he'd seen his first-aid supplies. "Take off your coat and make yourself comfortable."

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her hesitate, then relent. "Well, gee, Mr. Ward, choices, choices. Which chair to use?"

  "I'm afraid it's the counter or the toilet." He shot her a glance and couldn't understand what possessed him to add, "Or my bed."

  The fiery coloring of her cheeks pleased him enormously. No mistaking it for cold this time. She was so sure of herself, so competent, so balanced, seeing her flustered felt good. Except that it gave her face an endearing quality and sparked a troublesome need to touch that beautiful pink skin. Before he could talk himself out of the foolish idea, he grasped her by the waist and lifted her to the counter. A sound of surprise escaped her, and she held on to his shoulders to keep her balance.

  She was small and light and warm, so warm. At this angle, her mouth became the center of his focus, unleashing a rabid hunger from a forgotten depth inside him. She was a woman with a child, he reminded himself. A young child. He couldn't afford to be involved in that kind of situation.

  But he was a man. Damned or not, he couldn't argue the fact. And in spite of all the abuse he'd put himself through in the past couple of years, it looked as if he was still a healthy man.

  "Mom, look. Look at Max."

  Jamie's voice knocked sense back into Logan. He scurried away like a rat that had almost gotten trapped, and located the box of bandages in the packing carton.

  Jamie held the tug toy in the air, and Max jumped to retrieve it. She hung in midair when Jamie didn't let go. Logan cringed even though the dog looked sturdy enough to survive the three-inch fall, even though he'd done the same thing and worse with his grandfather's terrier a thousand times while growing up.

  "On the floor, Jamie," Beth chided. "You wouldn't want Max to get hurt."

  "But she likes it."

  "Jamie."

  "Okay, okay." He lowered the dog, and they resumed their tugging game at a lower level.

  As he unwound the soiled bandage from her hand, Beth shifted her weight from hip to hip, then settled on knocking the heel of her boot against the cabinet frame below her and talking at a rapid pace. "Not only was the freezer not working, but two of my workers didn't show up. The flu. They say it's going to be bad this year. And it's starting early, too. A good quarter of the kids are out with it. Have you had your flu shot?"

  He grunted. Getting a flu shot was the furthest thing from his mind. She wasn't going to start meddling with his health, too, was she?

  "Then there was Sasha—"

  "Sasha?"

  "A student. An eighth grader. She's having a real tough year. Divorce. Her mother and father are using her as a go-between. She doesn't want to take sides, and hearing both
of them badmouth each other is really wearing her down. I could tell she needed to talk, but I had all this ground beef to deal with."

  "Mmm." He'd bet his dinner Sasha had managed not only to win some of Beth's precious time, but gone back to class feeling better. "Lasagna, tacos and burritos."

  "American chop suey, too. Then the office wanted an update on the staff Christmas party. As if I had any time to even think with all that ground beef to deal with, let alone plan a party for a hundred. And if that wasn't bad enough, Laura came in, nagging about the concert next week."

  "Laura?"

  "Laura Darlington, president of the PTA. Not only for the middle school, but also for the elementary school. She loves to play the martyr. She complains she has to do everything herself, but when anyone offers to help her, she turns them down."

  "So why was she bugging you?"

  "I have to do the set-up because they'll be using some food service equipment for the PTA bake sale."

  "You get paid for this extra work?"

  "Of course not, I'm salaried."

  Of course not. It probably had never even occurred to her these people were taking advantage of her. He listened as she prattled on about her day, finding the task oddly soothing. He poked at the flesh around the wound. She had a compact hand, strong and soft. Warm. Skin like satin. A healthy pink. The only ugliness marring the perfection was the cuts and the stubbly marks of sutures.

  "The cuts are healing well," he said, interrupting her monologue, the oddly scrambled distractedness of his own mind.

  "Oh, well, yes. Thank you." She cleared her throat and looked around the room. "Eve would love what you're doing with the house. She'd wanted to spruce it up for years, but never had the time. She had a hard time parting with it. It's been in her family since it was built. Her father put in the bay window just a few months before he died in a tractor accident."

  "Umm." He continued with his task of wrapping a fresh bandage, going slowly, taking his time. He wanted it done right—so it would hold all day tomorrow... in case she had another emergency.

  "All set," he said, smoothing out the last bit of tape, reluctant for some reason to let go of the small hand.

  She fidgeted, examined the finer points of his bandaging job, and smiled nervously. "Thanks."

  He needed something to do other than reach for the strand of curly blond hair that had worked its way out of her ponytail's red-and-white scrunchie, so he moved away, rolling the remainder of the gauze.

  "I guess we'd better get going." She launched off the counter top a bit too heartily and stumbled.

  Instinctively, he extended his arms and caught her. Body landed against body. As if lightning had struck, they both froze. Firm, rounded hips filled his hands. The erotic pressure of breasts flattened against his chest. Blond hair with the muted scent of mint teased the five o'clock shadow under his chin. How long had it been since he'd held a woman? Since he'd had sex? Tension strung his body tight. Hunger, heavy and insistent, came awake with a savage roar of blood. All he could hear was the persistent pounding of his pulse.

  Her head tilted back. Her mouth parted. Her breath seemed to have been snipped mid-inhalation. Watching her eyes darken was like witnessing the birth of a black hole. He wanted to get lost in the impassioned depth of those eyes. Her mouth was another beacon calling to him, as if putting his lips against hers could provide a new breath of life. Impulsively, he pressed her closer, spreading the warmth of her breasts, her pelvis, her thigh against his, wanting more, yet fearing the strong current of need reeling through him like a spring tornado.

  There she was a woman with a woman's needs written so plainly in the seductive blue of her eyes. And there he was, against all odds, a man still able to feel hunger for a woman. But she wasn't the type to keep things on a surface level. She struck him as the kind of woman who needed pretty words, a lot of cuddling, and the promise of happily-ever-after.

  He wasn't ready for a woman's tender warmth and all the complications that went with it, for the responsibility of another child's welfare. And she would never be ready to deal with the cold blackness Sam's death had left inside him.

  Yet he couldn't seem to let go, and she couldn't seem to push him away.

  Beep, beep, beep, went the timer.

  Saved by the buzzer.

  A ragged breath rattled out of him. He released her, swiveled and reached for the knob on the stove, shutting off the noise. She skittered away.

  As he opened the oven door, a wave of heat and the Shepherd pie's enticing aroma of mashed potatoes, meat and gravy wafted over him. Jamie's giggles tinkled through the kitchen like wind chimes. The dog's barks added a happy melody to the joyful chaos. Even Beth's fussing over boy and dog created a pleasant counterpoint.

  God, if he closed his eyes, it would all feel so normal.

  Warmth and child and dog and food and woman.

  So normal.

  For a moment, for an hour, was it so wrong?

  He took the casserole out of the oven, rested it on the stove's surface. He held on to the Pyrex dish's transparent knobs, felt the heat burn his fingers through the dishcloth's terry material.

  Before he could stop himself, the word spilled out of his mouth, "Stay."

  Chapter 7

  "Stay."

  He said the word more like a command than an invitation, but Beth sensed a note of something—longing?—in his voice.

  He turned around, terrycloth towel still in hand. The lines of his body were stiff. The strength in his hands was visible in the hard hold he had on the towel. Nice hands. They'd felt good on her. Maybe too good. They'd sparked a series of delicious little shivers up and down her spine. She could feel them still tickling her skin like an itch she couldn't quite scratch.

  And when he'd looked at her with those deep, dark eyes so intense and hungry, she'd tingled from the sudden heat that reawakened sensations she thought had died with her husband.

  With Jim dead for five years, there was nothing wrong in seeking a new relationship. But she couldn't help it. Even thinking of another man in that way made her feel as if she were betraying her vows. She'd loved Jim with all her heart. How could she possibly love anyone else as deeply?

  She swallowed hard, trying to make sense of the disappointment churning in her stomach. "Stay?"

  "For dinner." With a rough, almost nervous gesture, Logan pointed to the casserole on the stove behind him. "There's more than enough for all of us."

  "You don't have chairs or a table," she said, feeling like an idiot as soon as she'd spoken. What did it matter about chairs or a table? He was reaching out, and she was making the attempt difficult for him. Why? Because of their awkward embrace—which really hadn't been an embrace at all but Logan stopping her from falling flat on her face. Was it his fault she'd made more of it than there was just because she missed Jim, because it was the holidays, and the holidays always seemed to find her a little lonely?

  "Picnic!" Jamie shouted. "Remember, Mom? Like we did when the power went out last time."

  "Good idea, sport. I've got a tablecloth somewhere in here."

  Logan set about rummaging through the boxes and came up with a red-and-white-checkered oilcloth, the kind used on picnic tables. For a fleeting moment a sad look pained his face as he looked at the cloth. Was he remembering his wife, his daughter and the good times they had shared?

  With all that sadness filling him up, Logan wasn't looking for a relationship, either. Hadn't he planned on hibernating? Better, easier, for them both to keep this on the simple plane of neighborliness. He's a project, she reminded herself, not a prospect. And she needed to encourage her project's sociability.

  With a grand flutter that delighted Jamie and Max, Logan spread the cloth on the floor.

  He rifled through the packing carton once more and handed Jamie a stack of paper plates and plastic utensils. "Here, sport, why don't you set the table?"

  Jamie, dogged by Max, placed four plates and three sets of utensils around the clot
h.

  "Is that what you've been using? Paper and plastic?" Beth asked, laughing. Keep the situation light. Make him enjoy this dinner so that going out into the community will seem the next logical step. She put her coat on top of Jamie's on the small window seat and sat cross-legged at the cloth's edge, relieved to have a reason to stay. Jamie and Max joined her.

  "Saves time. Besides, tomorrow I won't have a sink." He took the casserole dish and set it in the middle of the cloth.

  "Why not?"

  Another trip to the packing carton produced a serving spoon. He washed it, then handed it to her. "I have to take it out to renovate the counter."

  She dug into the shepherd's pie and served Jamie. Max licked her chops and thumped her tail with each move of the spoon. She'd topped the turkey base with a layer of corn, then another of mashed potatoes. Not exactly enough vegetables for one day. But so what if there wasn't a salad or something green to accompany the main dish? No one was going to die of a vitamin deficiency. Besides, there was more going on here than a meal. This was a small step in implementing her plan to have Logan smiling by Christmas.

  "What are you putting up instead?" she asked, pleased to hear Logan willing to talk for a change.

  "The counter's in good shape. I'm just going to cover it with tile."

  "Sounds pretty."

  "Durable."

  "What's your color scheme?" She piled Logan's plate with a double serving.

  "I haven't decided yet."

  "Something bright. Especially because there's no natural light in that corner of the kitchen." She smiled. "I know, I know. That doesn't go with your jailhouse theme though."

  "I just might surprise you."

  And a glance told her he just might. He definitely had layers worth exploring beneath that bearish exterior. Deep down, beneath all the protective armor around his heart, was a sensitive, passionate man. She was sure of it. Only a man who could love someone fully could hurt so profoundly.

  "What about Max?" Jamie complained as Beth served herself.