The Christmas Feast

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The Christmas Feast Page 2

by Peggy Webb


  She thought about socking him in the eye, but the look on his face stopped her. Obviously, his concern was sincere. Also, quite obviously, he knew she belonged at O’Banyon Manor, which meant he was not a burglar at all but…

  “Tell me you’re not Elizabeth’s friend,” she said.

  “I’m Elizabeth’s friend. Lance Estes.”

  “Oh, Lord, she’s going to kill me.”

  “No, she won’t. She’ll never know.” He set her down and started toward the hall.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  “To catch a thief, if he’s still there. Stay put.”

  “No way.” Jolie grabbed the mop and trailed along behind.

  Lance would have laughed if he didn’t have a burglar to catch. “Can you be quiet?”

  “As a headache.” She grinned at him.

  Maybe Elizabeth was wrong, he thought. Jolie Kat Coltrane had guts and wit, two qualities rarely present in featherheads.

  “Okay,” he said. “Stay behind me and don’t do anything with that mop unless I say so. Got that?”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” She gave him a smart salute.

  Elizabeth had been right about one thing: her sister was cute. Wide blue eyes and generous mouth. Stubborn chin offset by classic cheekbones. He catalogued those details as naturally as he breathed. As an agent of the elite International Security Force, he was trained to study people inside and out. And what he saw of Elizabeth’s baby sister said substance, not fluff.

  That pleased Lance. Since he was going to be trapped with a companion instead of having the mansion to himself until the rest of the O’Banyons and Coltranes arrived, he was glad to have somebody with enough sense to carry on a decent conversation. Maybe he’d get lucky and she would also enjoy chess or bridge.

  With instincts honed to a fine point, he made his way through O’Banyon Manor and into a cavernous room whose centerpiece was a thirteen-foot-tall Christmas tree. Broken glass crunched underneath his feet and light spilled through the wide-open front door.

  “He’s gone,” he said.

  “How do you know? He could still be lurking around here somewhere, waiting to slit our throats.”

  “He left the front door open. We must have scared him off with our ruckus in the kitchen.”

  There was no need for her or any of the family to know about his job. Elizabeth had said she wouldn’t tell. “After all you’ve been through, you deserve an ordinary Christmas,” she’d said.

  Suddenly Jolie bolted past him and knelt beneath the tree. “He stole the presents.”

  An image of his childhood Christmases came to Lance—the tree decorated with strings of popcorn, the crate of apples donated by the local grocer underneath, the housemom complaining about the view of the parched Arizona desert outside their window. The founders of the orphanage had optimistically named it Sunshine Acres.

  Empathy wrenched him until his professionalism reasserted itself. The burglar wasn’t necessarily a destitute father desperate to give his family a good Christmas. He could be someone out to spoil the holidays for the town’s most prominent citizens. Or a thief with a warped sense of humor. Or kids on a lark.

  “He even stole some of the decorations.” Jolie picked up the pieces of a broken glass bauble. “I guess we should call the police.”

  That’s all he needed. Law enforcement everywhere. Cameras, reporters, more headlines in the newspaper.

  “There’s no need. I can take care of this.”

  “You can?”

  “Yes, but not tonight.” He didn’t want to trample evidence in the dark. “Let’s go to bed and start fresh in the morning.”

  Jolie thought about his proposal for a while, then said, “Okay.” He liked that—a woman who had sense enough to recognize authority without asking a lot of silly questions.

  “I guess you’ll want a bath, too.”

  “I guess.” He grinned at her.

  “Sorry about the chocolate.”

  “It’s okay. At least I’ll never forget this trip.”

  “And thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For not telling Elizabeth. She thinks…” Suddenly Jolie drew herself up like a soldier, hanging on to the mop as if it were a rifle. Any minute he expected her to salute. “I’ll put you in the west wing,” she said.

  “Where do you sleep?”

  “East wing.”

  “I’ll sleep there, then.” Her cheeks colored as if he’d suggested hanky-panky. He hastened to set her straight. “In the hall, if necessary. You’ve had one intruder tonight. I want to be close by in case you have another.”

  “Oh…” She flushed again. Good lord, the woman had thought he meant to sleep in her bed. “Well, of course…that’s a good idea. But there’s no need for you to sleep in the hall. O’Banyon Manor has too many beds for that. Follow me.”

  It wasn’t hard to do her bidding. She had the loose, swinging walk of a tomboy, with more than a hint of sass. Lance liked Jolie’s walk. In fact, there were a lot of things he liked about her.

  He chose the bedroom next to hers.

  “If you hear anything, just knock on the connecting door,” he told her.

  “Sure thing. Good night, Lance.”

  The way she looked up at him, flushed and expectant, put him in mind of a sixteen-year-old on her first date. The thought rattled him, and he practically bit her head off with a curt, “Good night.”

  He was tired, that was it. Too tired to have more than one brain cell functioning. The bed, covered with a plump green comforter, was large and inviting. He’d have climbed right in if it hadn’t been for the chocolate. Sighing, he stripped off his clothes and headed toward the shower for a major cleaning job for both himself and his jacket. But Jolie’s voice coming from the balcony caused emotion to slam him in the gut.

  “Star light, star bright…”

  Jolie Kat Coltrane was standing on the balcony wishing on a star. “Good God!” Nobody in his or her right mind believed in wishes anymore. Lance jerked his pants back on and closed the curtain.

  Elizabeth would never wish on a star, but that’s not why Jolie was doing it. Stars fascinated her and always had, not just their beauty but the strange, mesmerizing power of them. The pull of the heavens was so strong that she stayed on the balcony until the chill crept through her sweater.

  Then she went inside to her formerly safe room, which now had a ticking bomb not two feet away.

  What had made Elizabeth pick the kind of man Jolie could never resist? A wild, rugged maverick, a little on the scruffy side, a lot on the dangerous side. My Lord, she wouldn’t sleep a wink thinking how easily he’d picked her up off the floor. Like a bauble he’d found in a box of Cracker Jacks.

  Elizabeth usually went for the buttoned-down type, the kind of man who wouldn’t be caught dead in other people’s houses without his coat and tie. Leather. This time her sister had fallen for a man in leather.

  Oh Lord, his jacket. Jolie had forgotten to tell Lance that Shady Grove had a very good dry cleaner that also specialized in leather, and she would take his jacket tomorrow to have it cleaned. She didn’t want him thinking she was some kind of scatterbrain who made messes she didn’t clean up.

  She threw back her covers and had her hand raised to pound on Lance’s door when she noted a ribbon of pink through her window. Good grief, it was already tomorrow. If she didn’t quit mooning over Elizabeth’s boyfriend, she was never going to get any sleep.

  Maybe daylight would restore her common sense. Climbing back into bed, she pulled the covers up to her chin and said, “After all, tomorrow is another day.” She fell asleep in the midst of her best Scarlett imitation.

  O’Banyon Manor was even more impressive in the daylight than it had been at night. Sitting atop the highest hill within five miles, it commanded a panoramic view of Shady Grove, a charming little town that looked whitewashed in the sun. With three church steeples, a tree-shaded square and green storefront awnings Lance hadn’t noticed as he’d
whizzed down Main Street in the dark, Shady Grove could have been the set for a modern-day version of Mayberry. The Andy Griffith Show had been Lance’s favorite TV program, though the only person who’d ever known that was dead now.

  Don’t think about Danny.

  Instead he turned his thoughts to the odd set of tracks on the manor’s sweeping drive that approached O’Banyon Manor. Small rubber tires had left tracings of charcoal and soot on the concrete, another puzzlement. This was an agrarian section of Mississippi. He’d seen nothing but soybean and cotton fields lying fallow for miles between the small towns. As far as he knew Shady Grove had not one single smokestack. The biggest employer was probably the hospital on the west side of town.

  He heard Jolie before he saw her. Humming “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and wearing soccer pads and a baseball helmet, she came toward him with a jaunty walk that lifted his spirits. Lord knows why.

  “What are you doing in that getup?”

  “Flak gear.” Her smile was beautiful, wide and sincere, the kind of smile that lit her whole face. She squatted beside him and her perfume wafted over him.

  Flak gear and perfume. Lance suppressed a smile, then wondered if she’d worn it for him. An alarming thought.

  “Flak gear?”

  “In case we run into danger. This was all I had. I played all kinds of sports in high school. I guess you’d call me a tomboy.”

  He wouldn’t. Definitely not. But he didn’t tell her that. Instead he stood up. Away from her. After all, he’d been kneeling a long time and needed to stretch his legs.

  Or so he told himself.

  “Looks like you’ve found evidence,” she said.

  “Yes. Traces of charcoal.”

  “Little red wagon.”

  “What?”

  “These tracks.” When she stood up her perfume wafted over him again, and all he could think about was how she would look in a black evening gown that bared her shoulders.

  “They’re made by a little red wagon, a Radio Flyer. I had one just like it when I was a kid. One of my favorite things to do was run it through the ashes after one of the fireplaces had been cleaned out, then race up and down the driveway.”

  He could picture her, pigtails flying, gap-toothed grin splitting her face while her mother stood in the doorway anxiously.

  “I’ll bet you were hell on wheels.”

  “A royal pain is more like it.” Her engaging smile electrified him, made him forget what he was doing. A reaction that was one of the many reasons he had chosen to remain a bachelor.

  It was the safe thing to do. The smart thing. Unlike his partner Danny, Lance would leave behind no widow or small child, no one to mourn when his number came up, as it surely would. Men in dangerous professions never expected to be around to draw social security.

  “Is there anyplace around here where you’d get ashes on your wheels?”

  “Nowhere except the backyard.”

  There were no signs that the little red wagon had come from that direction. That ruled out a thief who had sneaked through the backyard and inadvertently run through the debris from an O’Banyon fireplace.

  “What kind of thief would pull a little red wagon, anyhow?” she said.

  Jolie went up another notch in Lance’s book. “That’s the question I’m asking myself.”

  “And what answer did you come up with?”

  “A Scrooge-like Santa who came down the chimney.”

  “Or a chimney sweep passing through town.”

  Jolie played his game without blinking an eye. Just like Danny. Pain as familiar as his right arm shot through Lance’s heart, and he abandoned the game.

  “The tracks go halfway down the drive....” He traced them to where they split to the left, while Jolie stayed close by. Too close. Lance veered to the right to put some distance between them. A cowardly thing to do. But that was his new modus operandi, wasn’t it?

  Headlines flashed through his mind. International Security Force Agent Dead… Flames Consume ISF Agent… ISF Agent Killed in Raid Gone Awry. Partner Lives.

  Somebody had to take the blame, and the press was all too eager to lay it at Lance’s feet. “ISF Agent L. C. Estes stood by while his partner went up in flames. On a hot summer night in a small Italian village, Estes led a raid that cost his partner his life....”

  “Lance?”

  “Sorry. I was thinking....” Let her believe he was thinking about the Christmas thief. It was simpler that way.

  “Well, look, thinking is much easier on a full stomach. Why don’t we go inside and have a hearty breakfast, then go out and catch a thief?”

  Visions of bacon sizzled a perfect golden brown and homemade biscuits light enough to float danced in his head.

  “I can’t tell you the last time I had a good home-cooked breakfast.”

  A funny look crossed her face, then she clapped him on the back and said, “Come on, then. What are we waiting for?”

  Chapter 3

  Collapsed biscuits charred in the oven and bacon burned in the pan while the most gorgeous man this side of heaven sat in the O’Banyon kitchen drinking coffee strong enough to float nails. It didn’t help a bit that he was Elizabeth’s boyfriend.

  He belongs to Elizabeth…he belongs to Elizabeth. Jolie had to keep telling herself that.

  She took a fortifying sip of coffee and nearly gagged. “I’m sorry I made the coffee a little strong.”

  “It’s just the way I like it.”

  She added kindness to her long and ever-growing list of Lance Estes’s assets. Kind men were usually tender. The very thought of Lance’s tender hands caressing her melted Jolie right down to her knee pads. A combination of wild and tender was so rare that Jolie felt as if she’d found an exotic, practically extinct mountain cat. A gorgeous specimen not seen in these parts since her ninth grade soccer coach moved to Georgia and broke her teenaged heart.

  “Maybe we ought to turn off the oven.”

  Lance’s voice jerked her back to the ugly reality of billowing smoke. She’d already set herself on fire with forbidden desire. Next thing she knew she’d be igniting her kitchen with flames that only Shady Grove’s volunteer fire department could extinguish.

  Lance leaped from his chair, grabbed a hot pad and jerked the smoking biscuits out of the oven. “Oh dear,” she said. What she’d strived for was the fluffy, melt-in-your-mouth confection the recipe optimistically called “angel biscuits.” What she got was charcoal briquettes.

  “Maybe I left out a vital ingredient,” she said.

  “Maybe.” Was there no end to his generosity of spirit?

  “I’ll try again.” She was already dumping flour in the bowl when he put a hand on her arm. Thoughts of biscuits flew right out of her head.

  “That’s okay, Jolie. We can have cereal, or if you don’t have that, I can pick up some doughnuts in town.”

  “We have plenty of cereal, but…” She pictured cornflakes floating forlornly in skimmed milk, accusing her of failure with every soggy bite. “Oh, dear…”

  “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  As long as he would keep touching her, she was more than all right; she was euphoric…and a dirty, low-down sister-betrayer. She moved to the refrigerator and poured two big glasses of orange juice.

  “Sure, I’m fine.” Did she dare risk handing him the glass? No, that meant touching again. Accidentally, of course. “We have all kinds of cereal. Take your pick.”

  Naturally, he chose the snap, crackle and pop kind, her personal favorite. Then he added lots of sugar, which was exactly the way she liked it.

  “You don’t happen to like lobster with butter, do you?” she said. Her favorite food on the face of the earth. Well, if you didn’t count buttered popcorn.

  “I can’t get enough of it,” he declared.

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Elizabeth likes lobster,” Jolie stated, and he looked at her as if she�
��d lost her mind. That’s all she needed—another person who viewed her as the world’s biggest bubblehead. “Where did you meet my sister?”

  “Italy.”

  Jolie had been to Italy once, but not with a heartthrob. While Elizabeth strolled through moonlit piazzas with her lover, Jolie had wrestled with weimaraners at an international dog show.

  “I was there once,” she said. “With a dog.”

  “I’ve been with a few of those myself.”

  “At least the four-legged ones know how to heel.”

  Lance’s laughter exploded throughout the kitchen, and it was contagious. By the time they’d finished wiping away tears of mirth, Jolie felt as if they were becoming friends, which was a very good thing. He might turn out to be her brother-in-law. Shoot, if Elizabeth had a brain in head she would hang on to Lance Estes.

  “After we finish this sumptuous banquet cleverly disguised as cereal, I’ll be ready to help you catch a thief,” she said.

  “You don’t have to come along.”

  Didn’t he want her? Probably not. Why would anyone who loved her smart, successful sister want to spend time with ditzy Jolie?

  Still, it was her Christmas tree and her presents. She had a right to tag along. Besides, the reinvented Jolie needed to add keeping the family’s gifts safe to her new, responsible lifestyle.

  “I want to,” she said, and then, so he wouldn’t think she was stubborn, she added, “Besides, you might need me to identify the Radio Flyer.”

  “Fine. Suit yourself.”

  She’d hoped for a more enthusiastic response, but she tried not to take it personally. Besides, he redeemed himself by scrubbing the burned pan while she put their cereal bowls in the dishwasher.

  “I never thought I’d see the bottom of that pan again,” she said. “How’d you do that?”

  “Elbow grease and experience.”

  “What kind of experience?”

  “Growing up, I always got kitchen detail.”

  “We took turns around here, but since I was the youngest with the least forceful voice, I usually got the dirty jobs.” She grabbed her baseball helmet and rammed it back on her head. Who knew what kind of trouble they’d encounter? And she wanted to be prepared. It was one of her new mottoes.

 

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