Under the Mistletoe

by Magdalena Scott

  He put his hand along the seat back. “Oh yeah? What better places?”

  “If you don’t remember, I’m not going to tell you.”

  “Miss Robbins! I’m shocked!”

  She wished she could watch his face while he was being silly like this, instead of having to watch the road. “You are not.”

  “I absolutely am. I thought you were this fine, upstanding young woman, a chaperone, after all...”

  “And you thought I’d never made out in a car? Come on, Charles McClain.” She adjusted the heat down some. It had gotten warm in here quickly.

  As expected, the lodge parking lot was empty.

  She shut off the car and looked at him. “You want to sit in here and talk, or freeze to death on the veranda?”

  “If you’re shutting off the engine, we’d just as well be outside.”

  “Must conserve fuel. Oil crisis, you know.”

  “I believe I have heard something about that. Okay then, walk with me.” He opened his door and got out, and was quick enough this time to reach Dorothy’s door before she emerged. He held out his hand, and she put a dark pink mittened hand into it.

  His hand was bare, and its warmth through the heavy crochet mitten felt good. He didn’t let go when he’d helped her out of the car and shut the door, but squeezed her hand just a little as he led her around to the lakeside veranda. This was nice. What did he want to talk about, if anything? Was he going to try to kiss her? And if he did try, would she let him?

  He chuckled. “I guess it was too much to hope for chairs. Okay to sit on the floor here?”

  “Sure. Jeans’ll wash.” They sat in a little alcove created by a bay window. It offered some protection from the breeze, but they could still see the lake.

  He breathed deep. “Man, it’s nice here! I’d forgotten how pretty the lake is at night.”

  “You don’t have anything like this in Los Angeles, I take it?”

  He looked hard into the distance. “Nothing there is like anything here, really. Not a lake, not a mountain, not a little street full of shops run by people you know. I love L.A.—don’t get me wrong—and I miss the warm weather, the excitement, and a reasonable drive to the beach.”

  “So it’s nothing like here. Did you want it to be like Legend?”

  “No. I wanted anything but Legend.”

  “Just like me.”

  “Yes. Just like you.”

  “When do you go back there?”

  “Huh?” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Oh, sorry, I was drifting a bit. I’ll go back soon after Christmas.”

  “That’s a long vacation.”

  “Yeah.” He sighed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t. What?”

  He turned to her, no teasing in his eyes for the moment. “I don’t have a job back there. Nothing. My bank branch closed and I’m out of work. Something will come along, I guess, but for now...it’s a concern.” He took both of her hands. “I haven’t told my parents because Mom’ll worry and Dad will get boisterous, at the very least. Telling them would ruin the holiday for everybody. So I’m here trying to be cheerful, and doing a lousy job of it because this thing is constantly in the back of my mind.”

  “The basketball game was a nice break from worrying, I bet.”

  “Yeah. The game was great. So was the dance.”

  The look in his eyes almost made her lost her train of thought. “Don’t get too down about the job. Who knows what might come along for you? Maybe something better than you’ve ever had before. Maybe it was meant to happen, so you’d be available for this new thing that will be just what you need.”

  The wind pulled at her hair and Charles pushed tendrils out of her face, touching her skin gently. Her breath caught for a moment before she could go on. “Cheer up, Charles McClain. This could be the beginning of something marvelous for you.”

  As she said the words, she wondered at their meaning. Then she lowered her eyelids, watching as he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. It was the lightest of kisses, but sent tingles all through her body. She wasn’t sure she was still able to breathe. After a moment he slid his lips along hers, gently teasing, tugging. Dorothy ran her hands up the arms of his leather jacket to his neck, wishing she didn’t have mittens on, so she could feel his thick, dark hair. He cupped her face in his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. She couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried, but she managed to tug her mittens off and drop them to the floor.

  She ran her hands through his hair then, and gently traced the shape of his face with trembling fingertips. Thank goodness for the moon, or she’d have to go entirely by feel. Well...maybe thank goodness for the moon.

  Mmm. Could this please go on forever?

  Chapter Five

  Charles walked down Main Street, adjusting the black wool scarf his mother had wrapped around his neck as he left the house a few minutes earlier. He had protested then, but was glad for it now. Almost wished for one of those dorky plaid caps with the flip-down ear warmers.

  To warm up, he remembered being with Dorothy the other night at the lodge. Watching her beautiful mouth as she lectured him. He wanted to believe what she said made sense. That his job had ended so he could move on to something better. He found himself wondering if that something better was returning to Legend. Coming home so he could meet this beautiful young woman who made him lose his temper and gladly apologize afterward. She was full of fire and spunk, and way sexier than she probably realized. He hadn’t wanted to stop the other night. He’d wanted to make love to her right there on the frozen veranda of Lake Lodge, or in the back seat of her big old car.

  But Dorothy deserved better than that. She deserved time, for one thing, which was something he had in short supply. It drove him crazy to think of what would happen after he left to go back to L.A. She’d be working in that saloon, being hit on by Ed and Fred and whoever else. Not that she couldn’t handle herself. He knew she could. But one of these days she’d tire of all of it, wouldn’t she? Then what—she’d just drive that big old car out of town and find a job somewhere else? He wanted her to be able to finish college. He wanted to see her finish, and see her working as a pharmacist. He could picture the glow on her face as she put on the white coat in her first pharmacy job. Yes, he wanted to see all of that. He wanted to be part of it—making it happen, and watching the results.

  Dorothy Robbins wasn’t just under his skin. She was sashaying her way into his heart.

  He shook his head, surprised how sentimental he’d become. Now he’d been in Legend for a few weeks and reconnected with his family—even his obnoxious teenage siblings—it seemed like home to him again. He didn’t miss L.A. much at all—not the traffic, the pollution, or the noise. In comparison, the verdant green mountains, Lake Legend and smaller lakes around seemed almost like the Garden of Eden.

  And maybe for him they were. Well, if Legend was his Garden of Eden, then he wanted Dorothy Robbins as his Eve. He couldn’t help picturing her, slender and lovely, her long straight blonde hair hanging down her back, over her shoulders...and not even wearing a fig leaf. Hey—it was his version of Eden, right? He’d thought fleetingly of asking Dorothy to return with him to the west coast, but except for some ugly furniture and the rest of his clothes, there was literally nothing for him there. He didn’t have a way to support her, and he knew her independent streak wasn’t fake. She needed and wanted to work, have her own career. If he tried standing in the way of that she’d run him over, he knew.

  So instead of standing in the way of it, he wanted to help her make it happen. But without any income, what could he do?

  Charles opened the door to his brother’s office and closed it quickly behind him so the cold air wouldn’t freeze patients in the waiting room. They both looked familiar and spoke to him, but he couldn’t put names with the faces. Stepping over to the sliding glass window, he leaned down and
smiled at the receptionist.

  “Dan left something here for me?”

  “Yes, Mr. McClain.” She handed him a thick envelope. “Dr. McClain asked that you take this as soon as you can. He’s with a patient.”

  “Will do.” He gave her a little salute, waved to the unknown Legendarians, and stepped back into the cold, with the envelope in hand. Dan had called the house a while ago, and asked if Charles would pick up an envelope and deliver it as soon as possible. Sounded mysterious, but since their mother had taken the message and delivered it to Charles, he hadn’t had a chance to grill his brother about it.

  A few blocks later he opened a glass and metal door and stepped onto the polished granite floor of Legend Bank & Trust. Mom had told him to deliver the thing directly to old Mr. Finley, not leave it with the receptionist or a teller. The elderly banker was at his desk, in his glass-walled office, and whoever was with him was getting up to leave. Charles told the receptionist his name and asked to see Mr. Finley.

  “Certainly. Just wait a moment.”

  The fellow who’d been meeting with Finley came out.

  “How you doin’, Chuck?” The man grabbed his hand and shook it.

  “Doing great. How are you these days?”

  “Pretty good, considerin’.” He gave Charles a gap-toothed grin. “Well, gotta go. You know how the missus is when I’m late. Catch you later, Chuck!”

  “Yeah. Later!” No idea who that was. He’d sure forgotten a lot of people over the years.

  “He’ll see you now.”

  Charles had been following the progress of the guy he’d been talking to, as he walked out the doors. Kind of hoping the way he walked, or maybe the sudden appearance of “the missus” would jar his memory. Oh well. He brought his focus back to the receptionist.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  Smiling, he walked into the bank president’s office, a place he’d never seen the inside of before. It reminded him of an old movie—dark wood, green shade on the desk lamp, ancient bespectacled man looking at him. The two shook hands and Mr. Finley waved Charles into one of the black leather chairs.

  “Good to see you, Charles.”

  Finally, somebody who called him by his real name.

  “Good to see you too, sir.” Charles slid the thick envelope along the glass top of the mahogany desk. “My brother Dan asked me to bring you this.”

  “Ah yes.” The older man picked up the envelope and put it into his desk drawer. “Now tell me how you are doing, Charles.”

  “Um. Fine. Just doing fine.” Whoa—smooth.

  “You enjoy banking?”

  When I was doing it, yeah. “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Good, good. Do you consider it your calling?”

  “Calling, sir?”

  “Yes, it is for some of us. The job gives us a certain amount of power, and carries a huge responsibility. Those who consider it a calling concentrate on the responsibility and are ever vigilant not to be caught up in the power.” He looked at Charles searchingly for a moment, then at his watch. “It’s time for me to go to lunch. Will you walk with me?”

  Having nothing else to do with his day, Charles gladly obliged. Mr. Finley wrapped a thick black muffler around his neck, shrugged into a heavy black wool overcoat, and pulled on lined leather gloves.

  “Back in an hour or so, Rachel,” he said to the receptionist as they passed her desk.

  The next forty-five minutes Charles had a lesson in banking he would never forget. The two of them walked one side of Main Street and then the other, often stopping in to chat with store owners. In between, Mr. Finley gave Charles a short history of the ups and downs of each business’s financial condition, and the owner’s family. Finley seemed to know everything about everybody, and more than that, he cared what was happening in each person’s life as well as their business. He asked about the baby who’d had a bad cough last week, the mother-in-law who’d fallen off her favorite horse. And he answered questions about finances for the couple of people who asked them. At fifteen minutes before one o’clock, they stopped into the Piggly Wiggly and had a couple of sandwiches made, grabbed a bag of potato chips and returned to the bank.

  Finley smiled, and Charles saw a twinkle in his eye. “Join me in the executive dining room, Charles.”

  They went past the tellers’ cages and through a doorway into a back room. A couple of tellers and some people from bookkeeping were sitting at a long, well-worn oak table eating lunch and chatting.

  “Coffee?” Finley served Charles, topped up the mug of a white haired bookkeeper sitting next to him, then poured himself a cup. After some initial awkwardness, everyone began chatting again, and those who remembered Charles reminded him of their names, who they were related to, and where they lived. It all clicked into place. Of course he remembered the receptionist too, now that the white haired bookkeeper told him who her “people” were.

  The small group disbursed one by one and Charles and Finley were left in the room alone. The coffee pot was nearly empty. “Do you want more, sir, or should I shut it off?”

  “No more coffee for me, Charles. But dump the dregs and make a new pot, will you? Afternoon breaks will start soon.” He rose and retrieved his coat and muffler from the coat rack. “I’ll be in my office when you’re done.”

  ****

  When Charles left Legend Bank & Trust, he possessed three things he hadn’t had when he entered a couple of hours earlier—a changed outlook on banking, a job offer, and a renewed appreciation for his brother’s devious nature.

  Never had he imagined coming home to Legend to continue his career. And Finley had been supremely clear about the fact that the job offer was his only if he looked at banking the same way Finley did—not the big city way. As for the deviousness, Charles wasn’t sure how to reward Dan for sending him to the bank with an envelope full of last year’s Timmy the Tooth wall calendars. It was just a way to get him into Finley’s office, to have the conversation Dan had set up with the bank president. Had their mother been in on the set-up, too? Probably. That was McClains, and that was Legend. Everybody looking out for each other. It sure wasn’t something he felt like fighting, though.

  When he was younger, that kind of interference drove him nuts. Now he recognized it for what it was. Love. Concern. Neighborliness. Yeah, he could get behind that. He could see how his career as a banker could benefit his hometown in a thousand ways, not just benefit his own bottom line. Isn’t that what he wanted when he left—to make a difference, and do it his way?

  Turned out the best way was to come home. He wondered if Dorothy would think this was the reason he’d lost his job, so he could come here and settle back into their hometown.

  His smile wavered. Suddenly he and Dorothy didn’t have Leaving Legend in common anymore.

  ****

  Saturday afternoon, Dorothy pulled up in front of Ray and Wilma McClain’s house.

  “Why we’re stoppin’ here?”

  Dorothy turned around and looked at her brother Tully. “Why are we stopping here.”

  “I dunno. You’re drivin’ the car!” Tully laughed and elbowed their sister Justine, who punched him in the stomach.

  Dorothy glared at both of them. “Stop that. You know what I mean. Use correct English, Tullis Addison Robbins. And both of you behave yourselves! You’re going to be the big kids this afternoon. Little Martin will look up to you. So act like you’re ten and eleven, instead of two and three.”

  They stuck out their tongues at her, crossed their arms, and stared out their respective side windows. For the most part they were good kids. She knew they were being difficult now because they picked up on the fact she wanted them on their best behavior.

  Her palms were sweating. Why had Mom dumped them on her this afternoon? She’d already been nervous knowing she and Charles were taking his nephew to the park so Dr. McClain and his wife Sharon could have some time alone. She’d seen the two together, still very affectionate after several years’ marriage. She and
Charles were baby-sitting Martin so his parents could...

  She shut the heater’s blower off completely. When had it started behaving so erratically? This car used to take forever to warm up.

  She looked up at the house. The outside Christmas lights were on. The day was overcast, but the lights were cheerful. Clicking on the radio, she hoped for a song that hadn’t been ruined for her by Jim Bob’s jukebox.

  “Blow the horn,” Tully suggested helpfully.

  “No thanks. They’ll be out in a minute.”

  “You want me to go knock on the door?”

  “We’ll wait a minute.”

  But Tully had already scrambled out the door and was sprinting to the house.

  “He never listens.” Justine crossed her legs demurely and began to chew her fingernails.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Debbie chews hers all the time. You don’t yell at her.”

  “I wasn’t yelling at you. I just said don’t do that. I say the same thing to Debbie.”

  “Well, you’re not our mom. We don’t have to do what you say.”

  Dorothy sighed. “When you’re with me, I’m in charge. You do have to do what I say. If I need to remind you of that again, Justine, you’ll regret it. Understand?”

  Justine crossed her arms over her skinny chest and looked at the house. Dorothy followed her gaze—the three guys were headed toward the car. Tully had Martin’s red-mittened hand in his, and both of them were laughing. Martin was practically running to keep up with the ten year old’s stride. Charles followed along, shaking his head and smiling.

  Thank goodness for the park. All three kids piled out of the car as soon as she shut off the engine. The boys headed for the sand pile first thing, of course. Tully had brought some little cars and trucks with him, and he and Martin delighted in making roads for the cars to run and crash on. Justine saw a friend and they went to the swings, to twirl around and probably gossip about classmates. It was chilly, but the air was still—quite pleasant for this time of year.

  Dorothy and Charles sat on a picnic table with their feet on the benches.