And now he was ready to move forward and the woman he loved couldn’t.
As much as he wanted to march over to Nicole’s house and push, cajole, and persuade her to embrace life, he knew it would be for naught. She had to want it. And the sad truth now was that she didn’t.
It was Christmas Day. The boys wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. He had no desire to go to the Kiers’ open house after his shift.
He sipped his coffee. It had grown cold and bitter.
“Shit.”
He reached for his coat, determined to head to the office and bury himself in work. The doorbell rang. Irritated by the intrusion, he set the cup down and moved toward the door. He snapped it open, ready to send whoever it was away.
To his shock, it was Nicole.
Nicole had never been as nervous as she was right now. Embracing life had never been so frightening but she knew if she didn’t go for it now, Richard would have won and she’d always regret it.
“Nicole, what are you doing here?” Ayden’s face was a stone mask and revealed no hint of emotion.
That didn’t help. She’d hoped he’d see her and take her into his arms and tell her that he loved her. Instead, he stood rigid, his hands fisted at his sides as if he were bracing himself.
“I came to see you,” she said.
“Where’s the baby? Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Yes. She’s fine and with Kendall.”
Nicole felt like she could jump out of her skin. Good Lord, where was the brave, fearless woman who used to camp alone in the mountains? “Can I come in?”
“Why?” His tone was cool, distant.
Nicole hadn’t expected this. She’d expected him to welcome her with open arms. Refusing to retreat, she held up a neatly wrapped box. “I have a Christmas gift for you.”
That seemed to darken his mood. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to.” She kept her smile bright. “Can I come in?”
He stepped aside. “Sure.”
Ayden closed the door softly behind her. Her gaze went to the tree. It was a disaster and yet it was wonderful. “I love the tree.”
His look was openly skeptical. “Why?”
Despite all the hits this family had taken, they’d taken the time to put up a tree. “It is a signal of hope and life. And it’s a pure reflection of your boys and you.”
Silent, he glanced at the tree as if seeing it with fresh eyes.
Fearing that her emotions would turn her into a blithering coward, she handed him the box. “Here.”
He took the package but made no move to open it. “Thanks.”
“Open it.”
“Nicole, what’s this all about?”
“Open it.” She’d resolved when she’d started this trek that there was no going back.
Annoyance flashed in his eyes. He tore at the paper as if he wanted the accursed gift open so that he could acknowledge it, and then, as quickly as possible, send her away.
As the paper ripped, he found himself staring at a cereal box. He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I already ate breakfast.”
“Oh, don’t look at the box.” She laughed. “It was the only box I had that the gift fit in. Open the box.”
She’d taped the box securely and it took him a few frustrated seconds to peel the layers of tape off so that the lid opened. He reached inside and pulled out a flat square object nested in tissue paper.
Nervous anticipation bubbled inside of her as she watched him toss the cereal box aside and with long, lean fingers rip the tissue paper from her present. It was a framed picture, only he was staring at the back of it.
“Turn it over.”
He hesitated, sighed, and complied. It was a picture of Nicole and Ayden taken at Beth’s christening. Nicole held Beth and Ayden’s boys flanked them.
“Lindsay took the picture with my camera. I would have set the whole shot up differently. And I would have coaxed a fuller smile out of Zane. And the frame and mat were all I had on hand this morning. The colors are all wrong for that picture.”
Ayden closed his eyes. “Why are you giving me this?”
She nibbled her lip. “That’s the day I told you I couldn’t see you anymore.”
He stared at her with an intensity that made her skin itch. But he did not say a word.
“I was still reeling with a lot of emotions then and I wasn’t whole enough to care for anyone other than Beth at the time. But I’m different now.”
Ayden still didn’t speak. And a muscle in his jaw started to pulse as if the hold on his patience was slipping.
God, she felt like a fool. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
“No.”
“Right.” He wasn’t going to make this easy. It had to come from her. She shoved her hands in the pockets of her worn jeans and then pulled them out. “This year was about healing for me. Getting my feet back on the ground. And I did a good job of that.”
He continued to stare but his jaw had relaxed a fraction.
“And then that damn letter arrived and I felt myself sliding backwards. It was as if the last eighteen months had never happened. I felt like a wreck all over again.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
Just hearing him speak gave her the courage to keep talking. It wasn’t so much his words that she heard but the tone of his voice. This tone wasn’t exactly ecstatic but the anger had faded.
“After what happened in that hotel hallway … well, I just felt even more like I was back at square one. I was just so damn afraid.”
“Of me?” Bitterness coated the words.
“No. I was afraid of opening my heart again and then watching Richard destroy another person I cared for.”
He set the picture down. “What’s your point?”
“I’m trying to fix this and I’m just making a mess of everything.”
“You’re trying to fix our friendship? Our affair?”
“No. I mean yes. I mean no. I’m trying to fix us. I’m trying to tell you that I love you. And that even though I may seem like a coward at times I am doing my level best to tell you that I do have a backbone and that I can stand up for what I want. I want you—”
He closed the gap between them in an instant, cupped her face with his hands, and kissed her on the lips. The kiss was hard and searing and so full of emotion she forgot the entire speech she’d practiced on the way over here. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her. He banded his arms around her waist and held her so close she could feel the beat of his heart against her chest.
Finally, the kiss ended but they remained entwined in each other’s arms. “I love you, David Ayden.”
He traced her jawline with a calloused finger. “I love you too, Nicole. And I will take you on whatever terms you have.”
“Actually, I came here to make an honest man of you, if you’ll have me.”
A grin tipped the edge of his mouth. “An honest man?”
“Well, it seems like the honorable thing to do.”
“I wasn’t expecting marriage.”
Her heart sank a little. “So you don’t want to get married?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“So you do want marriage?”
He kissed her on the lips. “I’m saying I don’t want it if you don’t. Life isn’t quite so black and white when I’m with you.”
She nibbled her lip. “That’s the thing. I do want it. Despite all the past …stuff…I believe in marriage. I believe in us being married.” His eyes filled with so many emotions she couldn’t begin to name any of them. “I’m making a mess of this.”
“You’re doing just fine.” He pulled away from her and crossed the room to a desk in the corner. He opened a drawer, pulled out a small box, and returned to her. “I’ve had this since April. I saw it days before the christening and thought it was perfect for you. I hoped one day to give it to you.”
Tears filled her eyes. Good God, he’d
bought her an engagement ring days before she’d shot him down. “I’m so sorry.”
He brushed her tears away with his thumb. “Don’t be sorry. You were being honest. You weren’t ready. I wasn’t crazy about what you’d said that day but I understood.”
He cracked open the box to reveal a stunning ring. It wasn’t a traditional solitaire diamond but a gold band embedded with a string of small diamonds. She stared at it amazed. It was perfect.
“I thought about a big single diamond, but I figured that just wasn’t you. When I saw this ring, it just seemed to suit who you were.”
Tears streamed down her face.
“If you don’t like it…”
“I love it. You know me better than I know myself.”
He pulled the ring out of the box and slipped it on her ring finger. “Will you marry me, Nicole?”
More tears followed. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
They made it to the Kiers’ party that night. But they were late.
A Mulberry Park Christmas
Judy Duarte
Chapter One
When the doorbell rang the first time, “Mac” Maguire was stretched out on the floor with his head and shoulders under the kitchen sink, trying to fix a leaky P-trap. He wasn’t in the mood for visitors, so he ignored the interruption.
But then it chimed again.
And again.
In his haste to get to his feet, he banged his head on the cupboard overhang and cursed under his breath. By the time he reached the entryway, his forehead was throbbing and aching like a son of a gun. So when he swung open the door, he found it difficult to smile, even when he found seventy-nine-year-old Charlie Iverson standing on the stoop wearing a blinking, battery-operated Santa hat, a white shirt stained with tobacco juice, and a red and green argyle vest.
“I need to report a theft,” the elderly widower said.
“Did you call the police?”
“You are the police.”
Yes, but Mac was also off duty and on vacation. “What was stolen?”
“An angel that’s been in my family for years. It was standing in the front yard, right by the nativity scene. Just like it’s been every Christmas since Grace and I moved to Sugar Plum Lane.”
“Is that the only thing missing?”
Charlie slapped his hands on his hips. “That’s plenty, as far as I’m concerned. And it shouldn’t be too hard to find the culprit. I know who he is. It’s that little hellion who lives next door.”
Mac wasn’t up for this right now. Not while his forehead hurt and the kitchen sink was torn apart.
“I’m not one to fight with my neighbors,” Charlie added, “but that brat has gone too far this time. So I thought you could go next door, demand that he return my angel, then tell him and his mother what happens to naughty little boys whose parents don’t control them.”
Mac had pretty much raised himself, so he had firsthand knowledge of what happened when parents didn’t play an active role in their children’s lives. But he wasn’t about to get involved in a neighborhood dispute, especially when he planned to list the house he’d recently inherited with a Realtor right after New Year’s Day.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t had a run-in with that kid yet,” Charlie said.
“No, not yet.” The majority of the homeowners on the street were senior citizens, but Mac had seen several children playing outdoors. “Which kid are you talking about?”
“The one who moved in a week ago.” Charlie pointed to the pale green Victorian house on the opposite side of the cul de sac, the one Jillian Grant had lived in when she was growing up.
“What makes you think that boy stole your angel?”
“Who else would do it? He’s as ornery as all get out, and this isn’t the only thing he’s done to spite me. Last week, while I was pruning the roses, he sprayed me with the water hose. And yesterday, he pelted me with pine cones. He also thinks it’s funny to ring my doorbell and then run away before I can get to it.”
Right now, Mac wished Charlie had rung the bell and then run off.
“How old is the kid?” he asked his temporary neighbor.
“Eight or nine, I suppose. Just the right age for a good spanking. But he doesn’t have a father, and his mother coddles him.”
Mac raised a hand to his forehead, finally giving in to the compulsion to probe the wound and determine how badly he’d hurt himself.
Great, he thought, estimating the lump to be about the size of a walnut. As he lowered his hand, he checked his fingertips for blood, but didn’t find any.
Mr. Iverson cocked his head to the side and studied Mac’s injury, squinting to get a better look. “What happened to your noggin?”
“I bumped it.” Mac again fingered the tender lump. “It’s no big deal.”
And neither was Charlie Iverson’s problem. The boy was probably just mischievous. Not that Mac was making excuses for his behavior.
The elderly widower scanned the house and yard. “I see you still haven’t gotten your Christmas lights up yet.”
No, and Mac didn’t intend to. He only had a week to get the house in shape, then he’d be back on the job and living in his loft apartment in downtown San Diego again. “I’ve been too busy.”
“I can imagine. Too bad Ray had to go and die before he could fix up the place. Still, he always found time to decorate for Christmas, which is a tradition on Sugar Plum Lane. I’m not sure if you know this, but folks come from miles around to see the light displays on our street.”
Yeah. Mac had already been approached by several well-meaning neighbors. And he’d told them all the same thing. He really wasn’t into Christmas. Never had been. Not even as a kid.
“By the way,” Charlie said, “Ray stored his decorations and lights in the attic, so if you need anyone to help you put them up, just let me know. I’ll give you a hand.”
“Thanks, Charlie. But I really don’t have time to drag it all out, then put it away a week later.”
“But yours and that boy’s house will be the only ones on the street without lights.”
“Yeah, well, that can’t be helped.”
Charlie clucked his tongue. “That’s a shame. Christmas won’t be the same this year.”
Before Mac had time to consider a response, Charlie added, “’Course, it won’t be the same without my Grace either. Everyone in Fairbrook used to call her The Cookie Lady. She’d start baking just after Thanksgiving and freeze what she could. Then she’d fix a platter of goodies for all our friends and neighbors. She’d even remember the mailman, the folks at the bank, and her hairdresser.”
From what Mac had heard, Charlie didn’t have any family left. And since he’d lost Grace just months before Ray passed away, he had a lot to grieve this year.
As the old man’s eyes glistened, Mac decided to change the subject to one they’d both be more comfortable discussing, but Charlie blinked back his grief and beat him to it.
“Anyway, back to that kid.” Charlie crossed his arms. “I suppose I’ll have to go next door and give his mother a piece of my mind. But I’ve done that already. And when she got all weepy eyed, I backed down. I never have been able to handle a woman’s tears. That’s why I think an official visit from a police officer might work better.”
“It would have to be an unofficial visit. I’m off duty, and Fairbrook isn’t even in my jurisdiction.”
“So you’re suggesting it would be better if I called FPD and made a formal complaint?”
Mac sucked in a deep breath, then slowly blew out, hoping to expel his frustration as well. As much as he’d rather let his temporary neighbors squabble, he didn’t like the idea of a kid being dubbed a troublemaker at such an early age. He knew firsthand how easy it was for a boy to start believing the adults who’d called him a bad seed and predicted he’d never amount to anything. But he didn’t like the idea of a budding sociopath living in the quiet, tree-lined neighborhood either.
“No, Charlie. There’s no need to cal
l FPD yet. I’ll talk to the boy and his mother.” And if Mac thought the kid was going to graduate to setting fires and hurting small animals, he’d encourage Charlie to file an official complaint.
“Thanks, Mac. It’s nice having a cop in the neighborhood again.” Charlie adjusted the Santa hat he wore, then turned and started down the steps. “I sure miss Ray Burke.”
Mac missed him, too. Ray had been Mac’s first partner, and in spite of a thirty-year age difference, the two had become best friends. Of course, thanks to all the overtime Mac pulled, they hadn’t gotten to see each other as often as they would have liked after Ray retired. So when Mac received word that Ray had died of a massive coronary in his sleep, he’d been slammed by regret as well as grief.
By all outward appearances, Ray had been in excellent health, so his death had been totally unexpected.
And so had the news that Ray had created a trust and had named Mac as the sole trustee.
Still, Mac didn’t plan on staying in Fairbrook more than a week or ten days. Just long enough to fix up the house and put it on the market. He sure couldn’t take care of two places, and his apartment in San Diego suited him best.
Besides, Mac wasn’t into the Christmas hullabaloo or life in the suburbs. And if by some fluke he decided to go the white-picket-fence route, it wouldn’t be on Sugar Plum Lane, the one neighborhood in which he’d been the least welcome as a teenager.
Mac stepped onto the porch, then closed the front door and made his way to the sidewalk, where Charlie waited for him.
“See there?” Charlie pointed to the nativity scene at the far corner of his yard. “The angel used to be looking over the manger, but now it’s gone.”
Mac hadn’t noticed the angel before, but he’d keep an eye out for any stray ones in the neighborhood that matched Charlie’s figurines.
His focus shifted to the pale green Victorian where the so-called hellion lived. The house and yard were as devoid of holiday adornment as his was.
As Charlie shuffled up his driveway and headed home, Mac continued to walk toward the house that had once belonged to the Grants. Shortly after Jillian had left for college, her father had packed up and moved. At least, that’s what Mac had heard. He wondered who lived in the house now. Someone who’d just moved in, Charlie had said. A single mom who coddled her ornery kid.
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