Holiday Magic

by Fern Michaels

  “Rules?” I pondered that. “Well, it’s a Christmas concert so your skit should have Christmas in it somehow. And keep it clean.”

  “I think I have an idea,” Katie whispered, then giggled. She stared into space. She chuckled. She tapped her fingers. She laughed. “Ha! Ha ha! I’ve got it.”

  “Good.”

  “Put us down. We’ll do it.”

  “Well, at least there will be one act,” I said.

  Katie laughed, huge and rollicking. “Yes indeedy. There will be an act. I’ll invite the gals from my Bible study to come. They have a warped sense of humor, so they’ll like it.” She motioned for Vicki and Hannah to put their heads near hers, then started whispering.

  They kept whispering. They giggled. They chuckled. They laughed.

  “Hey!” I protested. “I’m sitting right here, ladies! Hello!”

  Hannah hissed, “We need math in there to inspire our young people to become mathematicians, the greatest occupation.”

  “You’re gonna love our Christmas skit, sugar bell,” Vicki said. “We Three Wise Women know exactly what to do.”

  I had no plans to go horseback riding with Logan. None. I would say no when he arrived.

  On Monday I watched the clock hit 11:30, then 12:00, then 12:30. I took a shower, washed my hair. Not for Logan, for myself, put on my cutest jeans and sweater, not for Logan, for myself, and added a bit of makeup, not for Logan, for myself.

  By the time the doorbell rang, exactly at 1:00, I was happy that I looked nice, for myself, and ignored the trembling in my hands and how sizzly I felt in those special secret spots.

  He smiled when I opened the door and handed me a beautiful Christmas bouquet tucked into a wicker basket with red roses, white lilies, baby’s breath, and greens. “I’m hoping, Meredith, that you’ve changed your mind and will come horseback riding with me.”

  “No.” I smelled the flowers, couldn’t help it, tried not to bawl. I couldn’t remember the last time I got flowers….

  “For three hours, total, that’s it.”

  “No.” I reminded myself that the hulking he-man with the sharp emerald eyes could cause me calamitous heartbreak. “You would have to carry me off by force before I would go horseback riding with you.”

  He stepped closer to me and, before I knew it, he had swung me up into his arms. I almost dropped my Christmas flowers! “Darn it! What are you doing?”

  “I would like to take you horseback riding, Meredith, but I won’t carry you off by force, so let’s stand here and chat for a while. I’m comfortable. Are you?”

  “Put me down.” My voice sounded shrieky. “We’re not going to chat, we’re not going horseback riding, you can’t give me Christmas flowers like this and sweep me off my feet….” I stopped. How stupid could I have sounded?

  “Then let’s talk for a while.”

  “Talk? I’m in your arms. I can’t talk, I can’t even think!”

  Logan grinned at me. I thought of cupcakes, I don’t know why. Pink and blue ones. I wanted to lick the cupcakes.

  Three older ladies, all neighbors, gaped at us from the end of my pathway. I heard one of them say, none too quiet because she is a loud person, “That’s Logan Taylor. He saved Meredith the other night at Barry Lynn’s. He’s come for Christmas. He has nice hips, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. Firm. Not too thin. Enough to grip,” her companion added.

  “My Sherman had nice hips. I miss his hips. I do not miss him. He was a cross between a lizard and the devil,” the third lady said.

  I didn’t ponder that confusing statement for too long. “Please, Logan,” I whispered, furious. “Put me down. The neighbors are going to talk….”

  “Young man, what are your intentions?” one of the ladies demanded.

  “My intentions for today are to take Meredith horseback riding.”

  “Oh my stars and sex! Isn’t that romantic!”

  “Go, Meredith, go! Take it while you can; get it while you can get it!”

  “I’ll go and ride your horse.” One of the ladies poked her cane in Logan’s direction. “I’ll ride you all night.”

  My mouth dropped open. Is that what would happen when I was older? I would still be thinking about…that!

  “Meredith, if you don’t say yes, I’ll go in your place. I’m a she-lion.”

  The ladies continued to have their fun while I hissed, “Put me down, you giant giant. Let go of me, you obstinate boar.”

  “Meredith, we can stand here all day,” Logan drawled. “Believe me, you don’t weigh more than a shovel full of feathers, you should eat more, but I think it would be easier if you agreed to go horseback riding with me.”

  My face was inches from his. I saw the way his hair was ruffled by the wind, the slant of that full mouth, the humor in those eyes.

  “Okay,” I whispered, knowing, knowing, I was signing up my heart for brokenness. “I’ll ride you this once.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I meant, I’ll ride with you this once.”

  His eyes, no kidding, they twinkled again. His mouth tilted. He held me closer for a second, then gently put me on my feet.

  “Thank you, ladies,” he said, waving. “Meredith has agreed that a horseback ride is exactly what she wants to do this afternoon.”

  “How come Meredith gets all the fun! Excitement is wasted on the youth!”

  “I’d still like to ride you, young man. I’d have to bring my cane…. Do you mind canes?”

  “You can ride my horse any day….”

  I rolled my eyes and slammed into the house, stomping up to my bedroom to get a jacket and my gray cowgirl hat with a black ribbon. I pretended that I didn’t care that the Christmas flowers Logan had brought me were so lush and beautiful and that he was lush and beautiful.

  “You’re on, macho cowboy, tell me more about yourself.”

  Logan moved his horse closer to mine, both horses panting, the two of us panting, too, after we’d galloped them across his property. It had been so much fun, I had laughed, and laughed again, for the first time in a long, long time.

  “I’m a man from Montana.” He grinned.

  “And?”

  “A businessman.”

  “Ah. You’re mysterious.”

  “Not at all. I’ll tell you everything if you want, but can I get away with saying that I’m a professional fly fisherman?”

  “You could, but I already knew that. It was the glint you got in your eye when I asked you about your fishing rods at your cabin.”

  Logan had a new log cabin, about fifteen minutes outside of Telena, on a hill. I knew at night his view of the town lights would be pure magic. As it was, during the day, he had a full-on sweeping view of the town and the Elk Horn mountains.

  The “log cabin” definition should not be misunderstood here. His home was sprawling, with a pitched roof and high ceilings. The logs were a golden color on the inside that seemed to glow. A modern kitchen had all the cool, new appliances; there was a breakfast nook, a great room, and a den. We’d had lunch in the breakfast nook, bought by Logan, from my favorite Greek restaurant, which was delicious.

  Upstairs there were three bedrooms, with a master bedroom that faced west so, as Logan explained, “I can see all the sunsets I’ve been missing out on all my life because all I’ve done is work so far.”

  I about choked on that one. I had this thing, this incessant interest in and excitement about sunsets. Every night they were different, radically, utterly different, like a gift, and I wanted to see each and every one of them, too.

  I scooted out of that bedroom fast, so fast that Logan laughed. I had imagined him, sleeping on that bed, naked, and for some reason there was a pile of talking lemon meringue cookies on the nightstand, a glorious sunset lighting up that room like gold and pink fire.

  “Do you happen to like fly fishing, Meredith?” He was relaxed in his saddle; he’d obviously spent a lot of time on horses, like me.

  Should I tell him? Would that link us too strongly, fly fis
hing pole to fly fishing pole?

  “Have you ever been?” he asked.

  We already loved charging horses over wide open spaces.

  “It’s a great experience. Beautiful,” he said.

  We loved sunsets. We did not like drunken sea urchins.

  “I think you might like it.”

  We both wore cowboy boots.

  “Logan,” I said, turning toward him, “I live for fly fishing. I live for it.”

  Now, men should not get that excited about women who fly fish. It’s a bit too carnal, but he could not stop that easy grin from spreading across his face. He looked up briefly to the sky as if saying, “God, thank you.”

  At the same time, I was almost quivering. He loved fly fishing, too!

  Our horses neighed to each other. He didn’t say anything for a second, and I knew he was in a state of fish-bliss, like me. The wind ruffled that blondish hair of his. He had the kind of face you get when you spend much of your life outside, which made him look like a man, not a pretty boy. “Tell me how you came to love fly fishing, Meredith.”

  Well, first off, I loved it because I did not have to be with my sister. Could I say that this early in the relationship? No, I would sound like an unforgiving, mean loon.

  “I loved it because I had my mom and dad to myself.” That was the utter truth. My sister didn’t like it, so she and her temper tantrums and mood swings didn’t come. “We’d get up early and take our drift boat down the Missouri or Smith Rivers.”

  “I’ve been on both rivers many times.”

  “All good fly fishermen and women have,” I said, pushing my gray cowgirl hat back. Logan was a fly fishing dude. Of course he’d been on those rivers, and many more.

  “What else did you love about it?”

  “I loved being outside with my parents, being on the water, watching the wildlife, not seeing it from behind a glass window. I loved catching the fish, of course, the challenge, the techniques, but more than that I liked the peace. I liked being in natural beauty. I still do. My mother always said, ‘Rivers are a gift, Meredith. Fly fishing is a gift. It is a gift that I always catch more fish than your father.’”

  Logan laughed.

  “And my father said that fly fishing is like having one foot into heaven. So, you see, loving fly fishing is in my genes.”

  Incredibly, Logan asked me questions after that, about my parents and my childhood in Telena, and hung on every word. I say, “incredibly,” because in my experience men ask women one or two questions, as if they need to check it off their lists, then they launch off on themselves again, addicted to their own lives, their voice a song to their shriveled brains. He asked about my sister. “Can we talk about her another time?”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  He was a smart man. I had told him earlier that her kids were living with me, but I had the feeling that he already knew. Clearly there was a problem there, but he let it go.

  “How did you come to love fly fishing?” I asked him.

  “I had a coach named Bill Rotowsky who literally collared me into every sport my school offered. Football, basketball, track, wrestling. I think he saw my home life, how my mother and I struggled financially, saw my rebellious, anti-authority streak, and he came right for me. Sometimes, when I was younger, Mr. Rotowsky used to take me out fishing. His son, Caleb, who is still my best friend, always came, too. They would pick me up early in the morning, we’d drive to the river, and we’d fish all day. Mrs. Rotowsky always made a lunch, and snacks for us, and put everything in a wicker picnic basket. At the time, I didn’t know what I was more excited about: fishing or what was inside that picnic basket. But the best thing about those fishing trips was that I felt I belonged. I was part of a family. I had a father figure in Mr. Rotowsky, a mother figure in Mrs. Rotowsky, and a brother in Caleb. That picnic basket was a microcosm of what family love looked like to me.”

  A wind picked up and blew by, and I huddled into my coat. I wanted to huddle into Logan’s and hug him. It was hard to see a young, hurt, lonely kid in Logan now, but it was there, and it made me hurt. I thought of Jacob and Sarah, how lost they were, how lonely for a mother who had never acted like a mother.

  “I’m sorry, Logan,” I said. “I’m sorry that your childhood was…such a struggle, a challenge.”

  “I didn’t tell you so you could feel sorry for me, Meredith; I told you because I wanted you to know about it. I wanted you to know what was behind my love of fly fishing. If I’d had a different childhood, with less bumps in it, less trauma, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I wouldn’t be the person I am now. I understand people better because of what I went through. I know what it’s like to be poor. I know what it’s like to be scared. I know how people can morph into someone they’re not when they’re struggling. I get it. The river, for me, was the great equalizer. It’s you and nature and fish.”

  “Fly fishing isn’t only about fly fishing, is it?” I said, and smiled at him.

  He smiled back, and for a second I realized that my anger, such a constant for years since my accident, was gone. At least temporarily.

  “You’re right. Fly fishing is not only about fly fishing. But I still cannot truly explain how thrilling it is each and every time to actually hook one.”

  I laughed. “There’s nothing like it, is there? Nothing.”

  “Well, there is something like it, only it’s better.”

  “Something is better than fly fishing?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “Falling in love.”

  I swallowed hard. Yes, that would be better. I sneaked a peek at Logan. He smiled back.

  “Even though you look so macho and male and testosterone practically oozes out of you, I think you’ve got a romantic side, don’t you?” I said.

  “Now you know my secret.”

  “You hide it.”

  “Yep. I do. But I’m showing you it’s there. Only you.”

  “Thanks, Logan, I’ll take note of that.”

  “You do that.”

  I thought my heart would flip.

  “Want to race?” he asked.

  I did. I had to, or I would probably lean over and kiss that Montana man.

  I kicked my heels, and our horses thundered off.

  I won.

  Chapter 5

  That night, alone in bed, scrunched up in my yellow comforter, I admired the manger I’d set up on my dresser. I took it out every Christmas season, the day after Thanksgiving, as my parents had. My grandma, the first owner of the manger, always said to me, often with a whiskey tonic swirling in one hand and a cigar in the other, “Gifts are great, but don’t forget the ultimate gift.” Then she’d give Jesus a kiss.

  The manger had seen better days, but then so had the barn where Jesus was born, so I figured it was authentic. There was fake hay, a pitched roof with a tilted star on it, the back wall painted blue. One of the wise men had no head. A lamb was missing a leg. A shepherd had lost an arm. The drummer boy’s face was mostly gone, I don’t know how that happened. But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph were in good shape.

  I thought of my grandma then, long gone. Her thoughts on love? “Love big, sweetie. Love the right man. Love love.” Then she’d kiss me and say, “And don’t forget the bedroom. That’s a man’s favorite place to be.”

  I thought of Logan in my yellow bed. I groaned.

  With those tantalizing images dancing through my head I thought about this impossible situation. Logan has a house here. He would be in and out of Telena. I live here full time, therefore I could not get involved with him, be rejected when he knew more about me, end up emotionally shredded, and then have to see him all the time and pretend everything was fine.

  I couldn’t do it.

  I wrapped my arms around myself and rocked back and forth. The problem with getting older, as a woman, and losing all innocence and naïveté, is that you have lost all innocence and naïveté. You know things don’t always work out. You know wh
at’s coming down the pike in terms of pain. You know that your heart could get pummeled.

  And, you know when you meet a man, like Logan Taylor, whom you are connecting with on every level, that he’s the one who’s gonna do it to you.

  He’s the one who’s going to send you under the covers, crying your eyes out for days, sniffling into tissues, your face a blotchy mess, as you contemplate joining a nunnery in rural Iowa.

  I can’t do it.

  I won’t do it.

  I should have been able to do it. I felt that anger creep on in again.

  “We have to get our numbers back up again for the concert,” I told the board of the Telena Christmas Concert Series the next night. I had brought my No-Flour Freak Out Frozen Chocolate Pie.

  “This is exquisite,” Norm said. “A sensory slice of heaven.”

  “My goodness it tastes like romance!” Becky Nutt sighed.

  “By cannons and guns,” Howard said, “This is the best pie I’ve ever had.”

  “Here’s what I’m thinking,” I said, and leaned forward. “We need something new, something different…”

  They nodded.

  “We need a concert with energy, originality, spark. We need to make the audience laugh, sing, and most important remember what Christmas is all about. We’ve got a terrible economy here, and bringing people in from all over will add money to Telena’s businesses, with all our profits going to the children’s hospital wing.”

  “Can’t do what Ava the Hun did last year,” Barry Lynn said.

  “She picked only a few people to be in the concert! Excluded so many people.”

  “That’s right. People who had been in the concert for years were knocked out so she could have the perfect, boring choir up there.”

  “She hurt people’s feelings by kicking them out.”

  I thought of Telena, the people I’d known as a kid, the ones I knew now. I thought of the mix of people who came into my bed and breakfast every day.

  “I have it,” I whispered, the idea forming in my head, gaining speed by the second. “I think I’ve got it…How does this sound…”