Holiday Magic

by Fern Michaels

  “You’re a wonderful sister, Sarah. Kind and giving.” Logan turned to Jacob. “You’re going to play in the Christmas concert, aren’t you?”

  I had already told him that Jacob had refused.

  “No.” He looked down at his clasped hands. “If I played at the concert all the kids would see me.”

  “What would be wrong with that?”

  “They already think I’m a nerd. They call me that and other names. They call me sissy and girly and wimp.”

  “What do you say back?” Logan asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing. I tried at first but they made fun of me. It got worse.”

  There was a loaded silence, and I knew that Logan was thinking this through. Maybe he could help here. The only thing I could think to do was to teach Jacob how to fight better, but the kid was a lover not a fighter, and that had not worked.

  “Come with us to dinner, Jacob,” Logan said. “Sarah, you can tell me more about the things you make, and school, and what you like to do besides sneak out at night which you’re not going to do anymore.”

  She humpfed at him.

  “Would you like to go to dinner with us?” I asked. I saw hope rise in Jacob’s eyes, but he peeked up at Logan, trying to figure out if Logan really wanted him to go, or was faking it.

  “I’d like you to come, Jacob,” Logan said.

  Jacob didn’t need further encouragement. He ran to get his coat.

  “Sarah,” Logan said, “I want you to go, too, but you’re going to have to take off that makeup and pull a sweater on.”

  “Gee whiz. That’s a nice idea,” I drawled, noting again Sarah’s clothes, inappropriate, and makeup, inappropriate.

  She opened her mouth to argue, then got a sulky expression on her face to which Logan said, “Sulky expressions don’t work with me, and they’ll also give you wrinkles. We’re leaving in five minutes. Want to come or not?”

  She did.

  And, unbelievably, amazingly, the four of us had a wonderful time in a restaurant decked out in red, green, and gold for Christmas after an old-fashioned carriage ride.

  In the middle of dinner, Sarah actually smiled at me with no makeup on her face and wearing a pretty purple sweater.

  I wiped my tears with my napkin. I was touched. Logan had heard about a problem in my life and had taken action to help me. What a man.

  Logan patted my knee under the table.

  What a man.

  My dishwasher blew, along with a rush of water. I called the plumber. He pulled the dishwasher out.

  “Groan,” I sighed.

  “Yep, Meredith. This is definitely a groan sort of project. We’ll be here tomorrow. I’ll take the dishwasher out with me.”

  I peered into the hole left by the dishwasher. What was that? Was there a cutout in the wood? I tapped at it and it moved. I drew my finger around the edges. It was about twelve inches by twelve inches. I moved part of it, then another part, which seemed to be clinging to each other more from years of decay and water damage than by anything man-made. I pulled on an edge, and it opened like a door.

  A hidden door.

  I scrambled out and grabbed a flashlight, then scrambled back in. Inside the hole I saw it.

  Shiny and tall.

  It was a menorah. I held it up in wonder.

  A hidden menorah.

  If only this house would talk to me.

  “I am the size of a dump truck,” Mary said. “I feel like I have a St. Bernard strapped to my waist. Wait. I don’t have a waist anymore. I can hardly see my feet. Do I have feet anymore? I had no idea skin could stretch this much. My boobs are so big I don’t know what to do with them.”

  “Leave them where they are,” Martha said, whizzing around the kitchen, as usual. She was whipping cream, rolling a cinnamon roll, and mixing eggs, seemingly all at once. “You’ll need those suckers in a few weeks.”

  “I am a crazy pregnant woman, aren’t I?” Mary asked. “I’ll be a crazy mother, a terrible mother, and my baby will write papers in first grade about how crazy I am!”

  She burst into tears.

  Hormones. Those hormones.

  “Can I walk you home, Meredith?” Logan asked.

  We were both standing outside the Community Center at the end of a long rehearsal. Christmas carols were ringing incessantly in my head.

  “If I said no, you’d do it anyhow, wouldn’t you?”

  “Probably.” He grinned. “It’s dark, it’s late, I don’t want you walking home by yourself.”

  We said good-bye to a few people. Logan was thanked by all, who were duly impressed with his stage building. We started up toward my house, the cathedral shining in the distance.

  “Meredith, I’ve been thinking.”

  “You seem to do that way too much, Logan.” I pushed my black cowgirl hat with silver trim down on my head.

  “I’m thinking that you and I should officially begin dating. Both fly fishermen, both horseback riders, we love everything you cook, and we love our cowboy boots. We’re a fine pair.”

  I felt like crying. I felt like raging. “Logan, listen,” I said, as we passed by the lit up Christmas tree in the middle of the square, so calm and peaceful under a light snowfall. “I don’t want…” I stared into those green eyes, steady on mine, serious, listening. “I don’t want to date you.”

  “You don’t?” He stopped and put his hands on his hips.

  Oh yes, I do! Desperately! “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have room in my life for you or anyone else.” But you could make room! “My business is struggling, I have two kids living with me who are grieving and difficult, I don’t even know how to be a mother, I have a concert to plan, and I’m not looking for a date.”

  He studied the sky for a second, as if pondering it for answers. “What about a boyfriend?”

  That sounded yummy! “No, not a boyfriend…”

  “A suitor, then?”

  That sounded romantic! “No, not a suitor.”

  “Then I’ll be your escort.”

  An escort! That sounded kinky. Immediately visions of a heart-shaped bed with heart-shaped chocolates piled up around it came to mind. “I don’t need an escort. I can take care of myself.” I started walking, his shoulder brushing mine.

  “Meredith,” his voice grew low, “give me a chance. Give us a chance.”

  Okay! Sure! You’re on! “No. I don’t deal in chance; I deal in reality. But, thank you.” I so wanted to cry heaving, shaking sobs.

  “Sometimes you have to jump, Meredith.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, sometimes you have to jump and dare and trust.”

  “Trust?”

  “Trust yourself. Trust me.”

  “I don’t know you enough to trust you.”

  “I trust you.”

  “You do?” I asked.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “But we’ve hardly been together at all.”

  “We’ve been together enough, Meredith. We’re not teenagers. We’ve both seen the world, been through the good and the bad. We have experience with life, we know ourselves, and we know what we want.”

  I want you, Logan. To keep my tears hidden behind my eyes where they should be, I admired all the Christmas lights people had decorated their homes with. Lights around trees, bushes, house trim. Santa Clauses and sleighs and presents and a Rudolph with three legs.

  “I know you sacrificed your life in New York for two kids. That was honorable and selfless. I know you’re smart and competent because you’re running your own business. I know you’ll volunteer your time to help an entire town. I know you’re funny, that you like to laugh, but you also have had sadness in your life that you seem to be dealing with still. I know you’re a deep person, who’s sincere and genuine, and I could spend a lifetime trying to figure out who you are, and there would still be mystery there, but I’m okay with it.”

  I shook my head. This man with the tough
face, who towered over me, never ceased to amaze me. I had never met a man who honestly wanted to know anything more than the basics of a woman, starting with her bra size. That’s as far as they went.

  I put my hands to my eyes so I wouldn’t spurt tears. “Do you always analyze people this closely, Logan?”

  “Only ladies who wear fancy cowboy hats which, by the way, I like about you, too. I like the color, the style. Every day a new surprise hat. Meredith, I’ve got a deal for you. Call it a Christmas deal.”

  “I don’t think I want to take your Christmas deal.”

  “Meredith, I told you that I would kiss you when you asked me to. I want you to ask me to kiss you.”

  Please kiss me, please! “I am not going to ask you to kiss me.”

  He took a step closer. “Please.”

  That sounds delicious! Terrific! Can we lie down? “I’m not going to do this.”

  “I have been wanting to kiss you since I saw you deck that jerk at Barry Lynn’s. Something about a woman who has perfected her right hook gets to me, but you need to ask me to kiss you, like I promised.”

  You have gotten to me since the second I saw you. You have tugged at my heart until I couldn’t breathe. We have this unbelievable sexual attraction and a friendship attraction and a talking attraction, not to mention fly fishing, and I can hardly think around you. “Have you been listening to me at all, Logan? I’m not looking to date. I’m not looking to kiss you or hug you or kiss your neck or do any hugging or getting close to your chest or your legs…” Oh, I squished my lips closed at that.

  He chuckled. “One kiss, Meredith. Ask me. I dare you.”

  Take the dare! Could I? I could kiss him and remember it my whole life. I could enjoy the moment, this once. I took a deep breath. He took a step closer. He smelled like a Christmas tree, fishing on a warm day, a gold and pink sunset, and the mountains.

  “Ask me, Meredith.” He took off my black cowgirl hat. “I want to kiss you, honey.” He took off his cowboy hat.

  Was I his “honey”?

  He hooked an arm around my waist, placed his warm hand on my cheek, and I was up against his strong body, inches away from that mouth, those green eyes soft and inviting and promising a kiss that would blow my cowgirl boots off.

  “Okay, cowboy,” I said, my voice trembling. “I’ll take your Christmas deal. Kiss me.”

  He pulled me right on in, his lips on mine, soft and warm and demanding, and it was so glorious and passionate and wonderful I could not even think. I could not get enough of those yummy lips, and he could not get enough of mine, and the whole time my body was lit on fire for him, but I felt…safe, too, and secure…like he was there now and always would be.

  Logan pulled back for a second, and I am embarrassed to say that I groaned, I so didn’t want that kiss to end, and I leaned forward again, and the he-man took control, like a real man should. I linked my arms around his neck, to bring him closer, and because, exactly like in those sappy movies, my knees went to mush. Oh, mush! We were pressed tightly together, chest to knee, and I felt like I was making love to the man by my mouth.

  He was the one who pulled away. I was lost in this sweet, boiling hot desire, where all I wanted was more, and I leaned against his chest, which was heaving, and my own breath was coming in embarrassing gasps, as if I was dying. Logan said, voice breathless, “Thank you for asking me to kiss you, Meredith. It’s been a pleasure. Trust me on that one.”

  “Trust me,” I stuttered out. “I think I can’t stand yet, so don’t let go.”

  He hugged me closer and murmured low in my ear, “Hon, letting go of you was never in the plan.”

  I took a deep breath. Letting go wasn’t in your plan, yet. Not yet. But wait until you knew.

  Wait until you knew. Then I would see you letting go hard and fast.

  I scrunched up even tighter in my yellow comforter that night and cried my eyes out. Why do men make us ladies cry so much?

  The next morning, as I was cutting up kiwis, strawberries, blueberries, and pineapple to form a Christmas wreath for a woman customer who was celebrating being free of cancer for five years on that very day, I thought about people.

  How is it that you can be friends with someone, dating a person, having lunch with a member of your family you’ve known for years, and sometimes, or often, you don’t feel close to that person, and then you meet someone and instantly it’s like you’ve met your other half? You’ve met the person you’ve been supposed to meet your entire life, and your other relationships seem hollow now, soulless. You’ve met your heart and your future. Or your new very best friend. How is that?

  How many women, living in this house, wearing corsets, long layers of undergarments, tight bodices, short twenties dresses, jaunty hats, poodle skirts, hippy shirts, conservative sweaters, or slinky negligees had had the same thoughts? Any of them? None?

  I heard the distinct sound of wine glasses clinking together.

  “I heard that,” I called out.

  I would definitely come back and haunt this house as a chef.

  Chapter 9

  I met with the Three Wise Women at Barry Lynn’s bar, but only for a half hour because we all had to get to rehearsal.

  “Get out those Grateful Journals, ladies,” Vicki said to us. “I wrote that I’m grateful I was able to find my steers, Little Todd and Little Todd’s Brother, when they escaped and headed to town. Last time they got near to town Little Todd’s Brother followed snooty Ava. She about had a cow herself. What’s in your Grateful Journal, Hannah?”

  “I’m grateful for partial differential equations, variational calculus, and linear algebra.”

  “I need a drink,” Vicki sighed. “What’d you write, Meredith?”

  “I wrote that I’m grateful for Jacob and Sarah and for my antique claw foot tub. When I’m crying my eyes out in it, I know other women have cried in it over the years, too, and it makes me feel less alone.”

  “Crying alone isn’t good,” Hannah said. “Better to cry with others. When I’m upset I focus on basic algebra. It’s soothing.”

  “Sometimes I don’t understand you, Hannah,” Katie said, perplexed.

  “What did you write, Katie?” I asked, not wanting to dwell.

  Katie whipped her journal out and pushed her brown waves off her face. “I am grateful that when the paramedics came to our house last night because Mel pulled his back out when we tried the Korindike position, they didn’t laugh when I said that making love made mash of my Mel’s back.”

  Well, I’ll be. Such alliteration.

  “One of them said, ‘What’s the Korindike position?’ and I showed them the photo and they all stared at it, and then they looked at me with these shocked expressions, and one of them said, ‘Ma’am, you can actually get in that position?’ and the other said, ‘Don’t you all have four kids?’ and Mel, who was still lying on the kitchen table in pain said, ‘So what? I’m not allowed to swing wild with my wife?’ But I’m grateful that Mel is not permanently hurt. Still, the doctor said he needs to lie still and be careful. Hopefully I’ll get a break.” She closed her journal. “It gets so tedious swinging like a monkey from that rope in our bedroom in my Jane outfit.”

  There was silence for a bit.

  “I hardly know what to say, Katie,” I said.

  “I know what to say,” Katie huffed. “I’m sick of being exhausted in church on Sunday mornings after our Saturday night whoo-haw-haw, so now I’ll be able to listen to the message without falling asleep, thank God.”

  Yes, thank God.

  “Why do you keep pulling back from us, Meredith?”

  I threw my hands up, layered in two pairs of mittens, then pulled on my white cowgirl hat with the silver medallion. “Do you ever, ever engage in small talk, Logan? Light exchanges? Banter? Do you know how to have a shallow conversation, because now and then I’d like to have one with you. A conversation about nothing. Chat. You always go right for the heart of everything. Your conversation is like an arro
w.”

  He stopped by the grass in front of the cathedral, the lit-up golden deer behind him, the cross standing tall. “I like arrows. Bows, too. Next time you come to my ranch, say, tomorrow, we’ll have bow and arrow practice. You’ll love it. You’re a very complex person. I like complex, but I wouldn’t mind if you trusted me a little more. You’re also difficult, Meredith. Very difficult.”

  “I am not!”

  “Yep. You are. Dance with me.”

  “What? I’m not going to dance with you.”

  “Sure you are. Right here, in front of the cathedral. We can practice for later.”

  “Later? What do you mean?”

  “Later.” He brought me in close with one arm, my hand in his with the other. He started singing Christmas songs. “Jingle Bell Rock,” “I Saw Momma Kissing Santa Claus,” “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer”…I was laughing, and singing, too, the moon luminescent, the stars shining, the North Star beaming, and having the most beautiful time of my life.

  Darn the man, darn Logan, who I hadn’t known that long, who I knew I should stay clear of. I could feel myself falling in love, swirling around, tumbling straight in, like an elf jumping into a pile of fudge from a diving board.

  Yes, I was falling in love with Logan.

  He kissed me until I couldn’t think a single thought.

  All good Christmas tales come to an end. Mine came on a Thursday, about 1:00, when the snow was falling, light, quiet, pure, the kids in school, the guests out the door, the kitchen cleaned up.

  I was drinking peppermint tea and eating a candy cane. I had about twenty minutes of break time before I had to work on stuff for the concert, but I’d had a vision of being on horseback with Logan, my arms wrapped around his waist, and we were being followed by white chocolate doves holding sprigs of thyme, and I was indulging it.

  The phone rang. I shouldn’t have answered it; I should have at least looked at caller ID. I did not.