Christmas Magic

by Andrea Edwards

  “He’s a little boy,” Casey said.

  “We’re going to get married when we’re old enough,” Tiffany said firmly. “We’re going to live on a big farm outside of town and raise horses, goats and llamas.”

  “Does Dubber know about this?” Casey asked.

  “What do most men know about anything?” Tiffany replied.

  Casey shook her head. “Tiffany, I like Dubber, but I’m not interested in him as a…” Jeez, how was she supposed to put it? Kids just seemed to grow up too fast these days. “…As anything but a friend.”

  “That may be so, but some men are excited by older women. You know, like that guy in The Graduate. The movie where this young guy was chasing this Mrs. Robinson, who was a whole lot older than he—”

  “I know, I know,” Casey explained. “I saw the movie. But I’m not encouraging Dubber in any way.”

  “Are you discouraging him?”

  This was ridiculous. She’d just had this conversation with Mike. “I’m not rude to him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Why don’t you just cozy up to Mr. Burnette?” Tiffany said. “He’s not going with anyone right now.”

  “Tiffany, I don’t think this is any of your business.”

  Tiffany was not listening. “And when you do, make it good. Dubber isn’t that easy to fool. He’s a pretty sharp cookie.” The girl shrugged, a half smile on her face. “I mean, for a man.”

  Casey couldn’t believe this conversation. She wasn’t looking to cozy up to anybody. She had a full life, with plenty of opportunities for cozying up if she was so inclined—which she wasn’t. She happened to like her freedom. She had things to do, places to be, as it were, and no time for cozying.

  “It shouldn’t be hard, Miss Crawford,” Tiffany continued. “You’re already living with him.”

  “I’m living in the same house, Tiffany. There is a difference.”

  The girl just shrugged. “Handle it any way you want, just handle it.”

  Maybe a small town wasn’t such a great place to live. Not if everyone was going to butt into her business. “Tiffany, let me explain something to you.”

  “No.” The girl shook her head. “Let me explain something. I’m the Region IV Tae Kwon Do champ in my age-weight class. I’m going to the nationals this summer. Do you understand what that means?”

  “It means you’re good at martial arts.”

  “I’m very good, ma’am. I can take big men down.” Tiffany stood up; she wasn’t much taller than when she was sitting. “And I could really hurt them if I wanted to.”

  “Tiffany, are you threatening me?”

  “No, ma’am.” The girl shook her head and smiled, sweet and cute like any little girl her age. “I’m just telling you.”

  “You and Dubber are much too young to be so serious.”

  “A good man is hard to find,” Tiffany said, looking Casey straight in the eyes. “I’ve found mine, Miss Crawford. And like any woman worth her salt, I’m willing to fight for him.”

  Casey just stared as the little girl marched out of the diner. Life was becoming too bizarre. Maybe Casey should just go on back to Mike’s house and work on her research. Ghosts were rapidly becoming the sanest part of her life.

  Mike pulled his cruiser into the parking lot, then hurried into the old courthouse that now housed the historical society. The smell of chocolate mingled with the scent of pine needles, but that was all. The pickles here were all the ceramic kind.

  “Mikey!” His half brother, Brad, came charging across the lobby and hugged Mike around the knees.

  “Hi, squirt.” Mike hoisted the five-year-old into his arms. “You see me in the parade?”

  “Yeah. Can I ride in your car?”

  “I’ll have to arrest you,” Mike said. “Only prisoners get to ride in it with me.”

  “Okay.” He squirmed so that Mike put him down, then raced into the old courtroom, where the Christmas-tree exhibit was housed. “Mommy! Mikey’s gonna ‘rest me!”

  Mike exchanged grins with the woman behind the pickleornament counter. “You’ve got a real fan there,” she said to him.

  “He’s a good kid,” Mike replied, and went into the exhibit room.

  At times, Brad made him long for a son of his own. Someone to play with, to watch grow, to guide, to see life through his eyes. But that was just a dream and not likely to come true. Mike wasn’t going to marry, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to have a kid outside marriage, so he just enjoyed Brad and Monica as they were growing up.

  He spotted Stephen and his family across the old courtroom, by a Victorian Christmas tree, and started over. Casey wasn’t there, though, he realized with a frown. Maybe she was looking at one of the other trees. He glanced around, but didn’t see her.

  “Hi, Mike,” Joy said, giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. “Nice parade.”

  “All due to my great leading, no doubt. Where’s Casey?” he asked her.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. She went off to have pickles with some little girl. I thought she was going to meet us here, but maybe something else came along.”

  Damn. How the hell was he supposed to protect her if she was always running off? “I thought she was going to stay with you all,” he said.

  “We invited her to come, but we could hardly hog-tie her and carry her with us,” his stepmother explained, then frowned at him. “Is something wrong?”

  He glanced around, conscious of the sudden tight knot of worry in his stomach. Monica was watching him. “Hey, kiddo,” he said to the girl, making his voice light. “Did you see Santa Claus’s pickle farm under that tree over there? He’s got his elves picking the pickles and his reindeer putting bows on them.”

  “Reindeer can’t tie bows,” Monica said, but she skipped over to see it anyway.

  “Mike?” Joy put her hand on his arm as she asked the question with her eyes.

  Mike led her over to the old jury box, where they wouldn’t be overheard. “Aunt Myrna sent her here because she was in danger,” he told Joy as they sat on the hard narrow benches.

  “In danger?”

  He nodded. “Her boyfriend sounds like a nutcase,” he said. “There’s been no sign of him around, but I’ve been trying to keep a close eye on her.”

  Joy just shook her head. “Myrna didn’t say a word about it to us.”

  That caught Mike by surprise. “She told you about Casey? When?”

  “Oh, it was just in passing,” she said quickly. “You know Myrna. Once she starts talking, she tells you her life story.”

  “She never tells me anything.”

  “No? It’s probably a female thing. You know, woman to woman. Who’s this boyfriend?”

  Mike shrugged. “Some nerdy, whiney, wimpy guy.”

  “Melvin?” Joy sounded disbelieving.

  “So she did mention him?”

  “Uh, yeah. I guess she did.” She bit her lip and glanced away for a minute, but her eyes were serious when she looked back. “And that he was a real threat to someone like Casey. Maybe you’d better go look for her. It seems for once Myrna knew what she was doing.”

  Mike got to his feet. “I’m probably worrying for nothing. She’ll be at the pickle tasting.”

  “Better be sure,” Joy said, and gave him a quick hug before sending him back toward the door.

  Mike hurried out, then told himself he was overreacting. Casey would be around.

  But she wasn’t at the pickle tasting downtown. She wasn’t anywhere around the samples of gherkins, dills and sweet pickles.

  Mrs. Kinder stopped slicing up more pickles. “I haven’t seen her since the parade. She was with your dad’s family.”

  “You sure she didn’t go with them?” another woman asked. “Maybe she’s at the blacksmith demonstration.”

  She wasn’t there, either. The forge was pleasantly warm, but had only a handful of people standing about.

  “Your new young lady?” Dubber’s grandfather asked. He was working the blacksm
ith exhibit, making bent-nail hooks for the visitors.

  “She’s just staying with me for a while,” Mike said, “We’re not dating.”

  “‘Bout time you started going out again,” the old man continued, as if Mike hadn’t spoken. “No reason to be a hermit ‘cause you had a false start.”

  Mike just sighed. “Have you seen her?”

  “Yesterday,” he said. “Mighty fine looker. Good thing I’m not forty years younger, I’d give you a run for your money.”

  Mike just waved and went back to his car. She wasn’t at the arts-and-crafts fair or at the community garage sale. He tried the library, the grocery store and the pet-food store. No one had seen her. He finally just drove home, not sure where to go next. Worry was eating a hole in his stomach.

  And there she was, out in the backyard with Gus!

  “What are you doing here?” he snapped. She was in her jeans and sweatshirt, looking all relaxed and comfortable in the wintery air and so damn sexy that it took his breath away.

  “Haven’t we gone through this already?”

  Gus dropped a tennis ball in the small patch of snow by her feet. She reached down for it and Mike’s eyes followed the tightened curve of her jeans. It didn’t do his blood pressure much good.

  “I’ve been looking all over town for you.”

  She tossed the ball and Gus raced after it. “Why? Were we supposed to meet someplace?”

  Gus came charging back, tail wagging and ears flying and breath making little clouds around his mouth. He dropped the ball at Casey’s feet and sat down, looking adoringly up at her. She laughed and, bending down, scratched his ears until he seemed ready to collapse in ecstasy. Mike just looked away.

  The yard was all brown and bare, deep in its winter sleep. It should look dreary and dismal and ugly, but with her here, it looked like it was ready for spring. Like it was just about to burst into flower and song and warmth. How could she cast a spell on the yard?

  “I just wondered where you were,” he stated. “You are new to town, after all.”

  “What did you think? That I got lost?” Her laughter flowed over him, tugging at his black mood. “I don’t think even I would be able to get lost in a town this size.”

  “Well, how was I supposed to know?” How could she mesmerize everyone and everything and not seem to care?

  She threw the ball for Gus again, letting it roll into the dead leaves under the lilac bushes by the back fence. “You really are a worrywart, aren’t you?”

  “And you’re never serious,” he snapped. “Unless it’s about a stupid ghost.”

  “Maybe you could learn something from that ‘stupid ghost,’“ she said. “You want to wander around for all eternity, looking for your lost love?”

  He’d been working himself up into a good irritation, on edge and ready to be annoyed, but he found himself just staring at her, at a total loss for words. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Simon and Priscilla,” she said. “You and Darcy.”

  “Me and Darcy?” He frowned at her. “There is no me and Darcy.”

  “That doesn’t mean that you don’t wish there was.”

  He did not believe they were having this conversation. “I don’t wish anything,” he said. “Except that people would stop jumping to conclusions about me.”

  “You expect me to believe that you aren’t still in love with her?”

  “I don’t expect anything,” he said, as Gus brought the ball back, dropping it at her feet. “But no, I am not still in love with her.”

  Casey appeared not to notice the dog. “You won’t even admit it to yourself.”

  “I’d admit it to anybody who asked, if it was the truth,” he said.

  “You aren’t dating.”

  Gus was wagging his tail a mile a minute, looking from Mike to Casey. “How do you know I’m not dating?” Mike reached down for the ball. It was filthy, with bits of ice and snow and dead leaves clinging to it.

  “You said you don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Maybe I’ve got several. Hundreds. Too many to count.” He tossed the ball for Gus, but the dog didn’t move. He just kept watching Mike, then Casey. Mike, then Casey.

  “Maybe you’ve got none,” she said. Gus got up and started to stroll around behind her.

  “Maybe this isn’t any of your business,” Mike said.

  “Maybe—”

  He had a sudden glimpse of Gus jumping against Casey’s back, and then she lurched forward, falling right into his arms. For a split second, Mike hoped she was all right. He was ready to curse out Gus for his clumsiness. But then the chilly air of winter turned to summer and his hands felt heat searing through her sweatshirt. Heat raced over him like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought in its way. There was nothing he could do but pull her in closer, to feel her softness pressed against him, and lean in to taste those lips.

  But then she was out of his arms.

  “Sorry about that,” she said with a laugh as she stepped back. “I don’t know what Gus was doing.”

  Or him, for that matter. “You okay?”

  “Sure. Fine.” Her voice sounded hoarse and her cheeks were bright. “I think I’ll get back to my research, though. I found some fascinating letters from your great-greatgrandfather.”

  “I should…” Hell, what was he supposed to be doing? “I should check on some things at the station.”

  “Those Mr. March calendars?”

  “No, real stuff,” he said, then thought how lame that sounded. “Gus, you stay here with Casey. I’ll be back in a little while.”

  Gus just gave him that stupid grin.

  * * *

  Mike flicked through the television channels, but nothing caught his eye. Nothing that is, quite as strongly as Casey, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, talking on the phone. She was talking to a guy; Mike knew that much, since he had answered the phone. Melvin, he suspected.

  Obviously she was engrossed in her conversation. Her head was bent over the phone, her only movement her right hand, idly running through her hair. Damn, but she’d felt good in his arms this morning.

  He should have gone out tonight. Single guys were supposed to do that on Saturday evenings. He could have gone to the Pickle Festival concert and then the Pickle Festival square dance. Or to the movies, or even out for a beer. He should have sabotaged Stephen’s car so that they’d spend the night.

  Mike forced his eyes back to the television. No, he had to stay home with nothing to do but watch stupid ads for exercise bikes. He needed a life.

  “So what’re you watching?” Casey asked.

  He looked up to find she had sat down at the other end of the sofa. Her black jeans and white blouse covered a lot of skin, but did nothing to hide her curves. He took a deep, steadying breath. “How’s Melvin?”

  Casey gave him a look that questioned his sincerity. “He’s fine.”

  “Managing to survive without you?”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’ve never even met Melvin. What do you have against him?”

  Good question. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” Mike turned back to the television. They were giving an in-depth description of the workings of the exercise bike, complete with a shapely female to point at the various parts in case someone didn’t know what handlebars or pedals were.

  Casey settled into the sofa, leaning back and putting her feet up on the hassock next to his as she frowned at the TV. “What is this?” she asked. “Some infomercial?”

  “The secrets of a good body, a great social life and unlimited wealth,” he said. “I’m thinking of getting one for Melvin so he’ll stop bugging you.”

  She sat back up, obviously annoyed. “What is it with you and-Melvin? Why should you care if he calls me? He didn’t call collect.”

  “He whines.”

  “He does not,” she protested. “Besides, how would you know if he does or not?”

  “You feel sorry for him.”

  “
Where are you getting all this from?” she snapped.

  “You didn’t look like you were glad to hear from him,” he said. “No rosy glow of love in your cheeks after you hung up.”

  “Since when are you some expert on rosy glows?”

  “I’m a cop. We’re trained to be observant.”

  “Well, you aren’t very good at it. I was quite glad to hear from him.” She plopped back against the sofa, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at the television.

  Mike’s irritation doubled and tripled at her stupid defense of the guy. “He wanted something from you, didn’t he? Let me guess. No one understands him. He’s got a social function to attend, and with you gone, he doesn’t have anyone to take.”

  Her glare told him that he’d struck close to home. “I’ll have you know that I was happy to hear from him because I wanted his advice.”

  “On what, whining?”

  She scowled again, then turned back to the television. “You aren’t really watching this, are you?” she asked. “There’s got to be something better on.”

  “Answer my question and you can change the channel.”

  The look she turned on him was one of pure anger. Sparks looked ready to shoot from her eyes, but he didn’t care. He wanted to know why she’d turned to Melvin for help instead of him.

  “Answer your question and I can change the channel?” she repeated in astonishment. “I don’t have to answer anything and I can still change the channel if I want.”

  Before he had a chance to figure out what she was talking about, she dove across the sofa toward him. In that split second, he realized she was going for the remote control on the arm of the sofa next to him, and he grabbed for it himself. A slight battle followed. She reached across him. He reached around her. But the device found its way into Mike’s hands and he held it up above his head.

  “Tell me what you asked him about,” he said.

  “I don’t have to tell you anything,” she snapped, and reached again for the remote.

  Her hands closed over his hands, but then she came down on the edge of the sofa pillow and lost her balance. Her chest leaned against his arm, and sirens went off inside his head. She was all around him—her scent, her softness, the fire of her hair. He wanted to pull her against him, wanted to hold that sweetness close to him. Closer than it was possible to do and still breathe.