Mac strode toward the front door. Each time he’d come to visit Ray, which hadn’t been often enough, he’d noticed that particular house and how it had been going steadily downhill. When the Grants had lived here, Jillian’s father had spent a lot of time outdoors, creating a garden showcase, but time had certainly changed things. The lawn, once neatly trimmed, was overgrown. And the colorful array of flowers, plants, and bushes that had lined the driveway and porch now grew wild.
But the yard wasn’t the only thing that had been neglected. The white gingerbread trim had yellowed with age, and the faded green paint on the exterior walls had chipped and cracked. He hoped the new resident was planning to refurbish the place, which would increase the value of all the homes on the street.
He rang the bell. At least, he thought he had. Dead silence suggested it might not be working, so he lifted the squeaky brass knocker and rapped. As footsteps sounded within, he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and waited for someone to answer.
His breath caught when an attractive, thirty-something brunette opened the door, and as recognition dawned, his heart slammed against his chest.
There stood Jillian Grant.
Chapter Two
As Jillian welcomed her old boyfriend into the house, her pulse rate soared through the roof, and her heart tripped all over itself trying to regain control.
Yesterday she’d spotted a man in the neighborhood who’d resembled Mac, but she’d shrugged off the similarities, thinking her eyes had been playing tricks on her. But, apparently, they hadn’t been.
Now here he was.
“You look great,” Mac told her.
She wanted to believe him, but she’d gained weight during her marriage—ten pounds with each child she’d borne and then some. But she thanked him anyway and added, “You look great, too.”
And he did. He still wore his sandy-blond hair stylishly mussed, and his blue eyes were just as bright and intense as they’d ever been. His face had matured nicely, and in keeping with the memory she held of him, a light stubble of day-old beard added to the bad-boy aura she’d found so attractive when she was a teenager.
A nasty lump, which appeared fresh, marred his forehead, though. She wondered how it had happened—a fight maybe?—but the question stalled on the tip of her tongue. After the way she’d ended things between them, she didn’t have the right to be so curious.
Nor did she have the right to gawk at him, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He still resembled the lanky teenager she’d once known, and she found him just as intriguing now that he’d grown up. Maybe more so.
As they strode through the entry and into the living area, he scanned the room from top to bottom. She imagined he was noting the yellowed water spot on the popcorn ceiling, the curled up edges of the blue floral wallpaper, and each gouge and scratch on the original hardwood floor.
She was taking in a few things, too, like the way he’d bulked up over the years and filled out the white T-shirt he wore.
He was either working out regularly or his job required physical labor. Construction maybe? She could imagine him driving a bulldozer or wielding a jackhammer.
Her gaze returned to his shirt, but this time she actually noticed the red and black lettering that read: JIFFY BAIL BONDS—We’ll have you out in a jiffy.
Did Mac work at the place?
Or maybe he’d used their services. Her heart sank a bit as she entertained the possibility.
“I always wondered what the inside of this house looked like,” he said, reminding her that this was the first time she’d ever invited him in.
She’d had her reasons for not doing so at the time, but wouldn’t stew about that now. “I’m afraid the house was in much better shape when my dad and I lived here.”
“I thought your father sold this place when he left town.”
“No, he didn’t. While I was in my first semester of college, he moved up to the Sacramento area to be closer to me. But instead of selling the house, he rented it out. Now I’m trying to get it back into shape, and it’s a lot more work than I expected.”
“Tell me about it,” Mac said. “I’m refurbishing one of the Victorians, too. The beige and white one that’s on the other side of the cul de sac.”
So they were practically next-door neighbors; only Mr. Iverson’s house separated them.
“In fact…” Mac laughed and pointed to the knot on his head. “This is a result of my latest fix-it project.”
He seemed to be doing a good job in the chitchat department, but she was almost speechless. All she could seem to do was marvel at how good the years had been to him.
“Are the neighbors giving you a hard time about decorating the house and yard for Christmas, too?” he asked.
“A couple of them have made comments, but I’m pedaling as fast as I can to turn this place into a home, so stringing lights along the eaves and around doors and windows is the last thing on my list.”
She didn’t mention that when she and the kids moved out of the house they’d once shared with Jared in Roseville, she hadn’t thought to bring any decorations or ornaments with her. And even if she had the money to buy new ones and the time to put them up, she just couldn’t get into the holiday spirit this year.
Of course, she blamed Jared for that. If she were still living with him, she’d be wrapping the last of the gifts, polishing the silver, and planning elaborate menus for Christmas Day.
“Charlie told me the woman living here was a single mom,” Mac said, “but I didn’t realize it was you.”
“Are you talking about Mr. Iverson, the old man who lives next door?”
Mac nodded.
She wondered what else her crotchety neighbor had said. He’d been on Tommy’s case about one thing or another ever since they moved into the house next to his.
In fact, he’d come to the door and voiced another complaint yesterday, but he’d caught her at a bad moment. Jared had just called to say his child support check would be late, which meant, after paying a repairman to get the furnace working again and then purchasing a new hot water heater, she was going to be strapped for cash. So she would be buying groceries instead of the tree she’d promised the kids they would get this weekend.
She’d been on the verge of tears when Mr. Iverson had knocked on her door, and when he started in about Tommy, calling him a hellion and saying that he needed a firm hand, the floodgates had opened.
Fortunately, Mr. Iverson had been so taken aback when she fell apart that he couldn’t back off the porch and skedaddle fast enough.
“It’s good to see you,” Mac said.
“Thanks.” She offered him a smile, wishing she hadn’t postponed her diet until after the holidays. “I’m glad you stopped by.”
She glanced down at the pink cotton blouse she wore, noticing a grape jelly stain on the front. She definitely would have changed her clothes if she’d known she was going to see Mac, and she would have combed her hair and applied a bit of lipstick, too.
Uh-oh. Her thoughts shifted and her movements stilled. If Mac was living in her neighborhood now, she hoped Tommy hadn’t had a run-in with him.
“So why did you come by?” she asked.
“Charlie wanted me to talk to you.”
“Why?”
“He mentioned calling the police, and I thought he was overreacting. So I figured it might be best if I took care of it.”
The police? Jillian crossed her arms. “What is it this time?”
“Apparently, he had an angel decoration in his front yard, and now it’s missing.”
“And he thinks Tommy took it?”
“That’s about the size of it.”
Jillian let out the breath she’d been holding. “Tommy is angry with his father, and I’ll admit that he’s been acting out and is difficult at times, but he wouldn’t have taken anything that didn’t belong to him.”
“I’m sure you know the boy better than anyone.”
“Just f
or the record,” she added, “Mr. Iverson has been picking on Tommy. And I’m not saying that because, as he told me a couple of days ago, ‘every old crow thinks her baby’s white as snow.’”
Mac smiled. “Would you mind if I talked to your son?”
“No. Not at all.” Maybe it would be good for Tommy to talk to another adult—and a male for a change. She nodded toward the doorway that led to the rest of the house. “Come on. I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”
As Jillian led Mac through the entryway and into the living room, she spotted a pile of Barbie clothes Megan had left in the center of the area rug. She stooped to pick them up, hoping Mac didn’t think she was a lousy housekeeper as well as a negligent mother.
To be honest, though, she had to accept at least a bit of responsibility for the divorce. After all, she’d gotten so caught up with her dad’s failing health, with baking cookies for the P.T.A., and driving on field trips that she’d slowly stopped thinking of herself as a wife and lover. But she’d always been a good mother, and when Mr. Iverson had implied otherwise, she’d bristled.
She held the doll clothes close to her chest, like a shield to protect herself from anything Mac might hurl at her. “The divorce has been a big adjustment for all of us.” Well, at least it had been for her and the kids. Jared hadn’t seemed to lose a wink of sleep over it.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mac said.
She’d been sorry, too. “The breakup was completely unexpected, although, in retrospect, it shouldn’t have been. It was more than a little unsettling at first, but I think, with time, we’ll all be better off.”
Her ego had taken a beating when Jared had left, and while she knew his affair had been more of a reflection on his lack of morals than on her personally—or the twenty-some pounds she’d gained since they got married—that didn’t keep seeds of doubt from sprouting every now and then.
“I imagine your father is happy that you moved back into his house,” Mac said.
“Actually, my dad passed away a little more than a year ago, so it’s just the two kids and me living here now.”
Mac raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry about your dad. And divorces are tough. It sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”
The way he’d said divorce made her suspect that he’d experienced one, too. So she yielded to temptation and asked, “Have you…?”
“No, I’ve never been married. But with my job, it’s just as well.”
Now there was another topic they could discuss and stay on neutral ground. She shuffled the tiny clothes in her arms. “What line of work are you in?”
“Law enforcement. I’m a homicide detective with the San Diego Police Department.”
“Oh, really? That’s a…”
“Surprise?”
“Yes, I guess it is. Dad would have been…” She paused, realizing she’d veered right back to a touchy subject. “Well, to be honest, he always figured you’d be riding in the backseat of a patrol car, not in the front.”
Mac tossed her a wry smile. “I guess there weren’t too many people in Fairbrook who expected me to make something out of my life.”
“I knew you would.”
“Did you?” His gaze locked on hers, demanding complete honesty.
She had believed in him. But she had to admit that even though she’d tried to sing his praises to her father, there had been a niggling fear that Mac would always have an edge about him, that he’d never kick his rebellious streak. That if she’d married him, she’d end up…
…in the same boat she was in now.
She chuffed inwardly at the irony.
Still, she suspected it had been Mac’s bad-boy reputation and the slim prospects for a law-abiding future that had been part of his appeal back then.
Before she could conjure a response, Megan skipped into the living room, her blond ponytail swinging from side to side. “Mommy, have you seen my…” The six-year-old froze in mid-step when she spotted Mac. “Oops.”
“Megan,” Jillian said, “this is Mac. He’s an old friend of mine. We went to high school together.”
Mac reached out his hand to her daughter. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The child seemed a bit perplexed by the adult greeting, but she nibbled on her bottom lip and smiled at the same time, then took the big hand he offered.
“You look a lot like your mommy,” Mac said, straightening. “She used to wear her hair long like yours, too.”
Megan shot a glance at Jillian and smiled, her shyness abating some.
Jillian took the opportunity to hand over the doll clothes. “Now that you’re here, young lady, I have a job for you to do. You forgot to put these away when you were finished playing with them.”
“Sorry.” Megan reached for the clothing, but an evening gown, a tiny wedding veil, and a bathing suit dropped to the floor.
“It might be easier to make two trips,” Jillian told her. “And by the way, lunch is almost ready. Where’s your brother?”
“He’s in the backyard making a fort. As soon as I put this away, I’ll tell him to come in.”
After Megan left the room, Jillian turned to face the man whose visit had momentarily shaken her world. “Have you eaten yet? I’m afraid the pickings are slim since I need to go grocery shopping. But I can offer you all the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you can eat.”
He chuckled, the rich timbre of his voice tilting her world further yet. “I might take you up on that. I worked through breakfast and my cupboards rival Mother Hubbard’s.”
She led him into the kitchen. While he sat at the table, she sliced several apples and poured two glasses of milk. Then she took a pitcher of tea from the fridge and a tub of ice from the freezer. Before preparing a drink for herself and for Mac, she turned and leaned her denim-clad hip against the counter. “Let’s get back to Mr. Iverson and his angel. I really can’t believe Tommy took it.”
“It might have been a childish prank. When I was a kid, I was involved in more than my share of those.”
“I suppose it’s possible. Tommy seems to have been hit harder by the divorce than Megan. That’s probably because the woman his father got involved with has a son who used to sit across from him in school. And right now, that boy, his mother, and my ex are…” She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “Well, they’re probably sunning themselves on the deck of their cruise ship as we speak.”
“Does Tommy know that?”
“I wish he didn’t. Before we moved back to Fairbrook, the boy was telling everyone in class how his mother’s new boyfriend was taking them on a Disney cruise out of Orlando.” Jillian tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “And, just for the record, Jared was the classic workaholic who never had time for school programs, dance recitals, or family vacations.”
“No wonder your son is hurt.”
“Before the divorce, Tommy was a happy, loving child.” She straightened and stepped away from the cabinet. “So, needless to say, I’m in uncharted water when it comes to dealing with hurt and angry little boys.”
She couldn’t read Mac’s expression, although she searched carefully, looking for skepticism or disbelief and finding neither. She suspected that holding his thoughts and reactions close to the vest had been part of the skills he’d garnered at the police academy and later on the job.
Still, she couldn’t help but add, “In spite of what Mr. Iverson may have told you, I’m a good mother.”
Mac got to his feet and closed the gap between them. He placed a hand on her shoulder, sending her reckless pulse rate soaring again. “No one could convince me otherwise, Jilly.”
“Thanks.”
His touch lingered long after he removed his hand, and his musky, mountain-fresh scent taunted her even as he returned to his seat. She struggled not to take in another heady whiff, but before she could regroup, the back door swung open.
“What’s for lunch?” Tommy asked.
“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” she answ
ered, before introducing Mac to her son.
Again, Mac addressed the child respectfully, taking the small, dirt-stained hand in his.
Since Megan had yet to come into the kitchen, Jillian decided to lay the latest problem on the table. “Mr. Iverson had an angel in the nativity scene in his front yard, but now it’s missing. Do you know where it might be?”
“I saw it when we moved in,” Tommy admitted. “And it was there a couple of days ago, I think.”
“Mr. Iverson seems to believe that you might have taken it,” Jillian said. “I hope you aren’t playing a trick on him to annoy him.”
“I didn’t take it. Why would I want a dumb ol’ angel?” Tommy crossed his arms and frowned. “And I don’t try to annoy him. It just happens. But he tries to mess with me all the time. And he does it on purpose.”
“Oh, yeah?” Mac asked. “How does he mess with you?”
Tommy furrowed his brow, scrunched his face, then shrugged. “Like the other day. I was playing with my little parachute guy and throwing him up in the air, but he accidentally flew over the fence and landed in Mr. Iverson’s yard. Any nice, regular person would have thrown it right back over the fence. But not Mr. Iverson. He kept it instead. And he still has it.”
Jillian eased closer to her son. “Did you tell him the parachute guy was yours and ask him to give it back?”
“I tried. I knocked a bunch of times, but he didn’t answer. Then I rang the bell. But he never came to the door. I knew he was home, though. I could hear the TV on some news show. So I looked in the window and accidentally bumped into one of the big plants on his porch. It fell over, and the pot broke. I knew he would be super mad, so I ran away. But then he came over and yelled at my mom instead.”
“He didn’t yell at me,” Jillian said in the old man’s defense. But he certainly hadn’t been happy about it.
Again, Tommy shrugged. Then he used a dirty index finger to push his glasses back up the bridge of his freckled nose.
Silver Bells Page 29