Ground Rules

by Masters, Cate

  Extracting his arm, he guided her to a reclining position.

  If he had any honor, he’d resign from this assignment.

  Too late now. Redemption might never be possible, but if it cost him everything, he’d help her however he could.

  Chapter Four

  Alice willed herself to stay awake. Sleep would rob her of time with Luke, precious moments she’d never again have. Nuzzling closer, his presence comforted her with a sense of peace. Her body fit so well against his. So cruel to find someone like him, who challenged and excited her, but only allotted a short time to spend. Every moment became precious, fleeting as a snowflake, threatening to melt the instant it touched the warm earth.

  Stay adrift. But she didn’t want that either. She wanted him here, both feet on the ground, no crazy motorcycle that would lift him into the clouds. A haze enveloped her.

  The flicker of candlelight danced with the soft strains of the piano. Alice’s eyes fluttered open. Afraid to disturb the song, she listened as jazz melded to classical, to rock, to wonderfully intricate compositions she couldn’t quite place. So irresistible, they drew her up to see who created such amazing sounds.

  Luke sat at the upright piano, hunched over the keyboard, bending his shoulder toward the ivories. Alice could never coax such wondrous chords from it, and had given up. The piano had belonged to her mother, who’d played with abandon in Alice’s childhood.

  Glancing over, he rested his hands atop his thighs. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Please don’t stop. It’s beautiful.”

  He smiled. “Bach? Or the Beatles?”

  “All of it, but especially the last bit. What was that?”

  His smile turned rueful. “My own.”

  “It’s incredible.”

  “I’ve only been composing it for two hundred years.”

  “Is that how long you’ve been…” She couldn’t say dead; even thinking the word raised goosebumps on her skin.

  His fingers caressed the keys lovingly. The mournful notes struck a chord in her heart. Was he remembering his past?

  She rose and crept beside him, easing onto the bench.

  Surprise crossed his face, but he played on without hesitating. The music swelled, rising to a crest that suspended her breathless, waiting for the next note. The chords crashed downward, vibrating to their end, drawing tears from her.

  He angled toward her. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s so beautiful. Who did you write it for?” Someone he loved? If so, she must have meant everything to him; he obviously put all of himself into the song.

  So many moments passed before he answered, she thought he’d ignored the question.

  His soft voice caught in his throat. “My fiancée.”

  Tensing, she waited for more. He wouldn’t offer it voluntarily. “You loved her very much.”

  A wry smile turned bitter. “Yes. Such love is dangerous.”

  “No. It’s a wonderful gift.”

  The hard look he shot her turned her veins to ice.

  “Not when the gift is a lie.” His lip curled when he said gift, and his tone made it sound more like a curse.

  Of course. She’d broken his heart. That’s why the song was so sad. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

  Right. He blamed her entire gender, not her. “I meant, if she caused you to suffer. No one should have to go through such heartbreak.”

  “You did, didn’t you?”

  How much of her past did he know? He’d only mentioned the wishing, the general circumstances of her life. “Everyone has, I suppose.”

  “Yet you’re willing to set your heart on the sacrificial altar again?”

  “The only way to get love is to give it.”

  A venomous chuckle burst forth. Eyes narrowed, he stared ahead at nothing.

  “You don’t believe it? What do you believe?” How could an angel be so incredibly cynical?

  Urgency rushed out his words. “I believe…” He searched her face, and his own softened. “I believe you need a good breakfast, so you can get back to work.” Easing upward, he glided toward the kitchen. “I make a mean omelet. Do you have any eggs?”

  Purposely, he’d ruined the moment. Why? “Are you in such a hurry to get back?”

  “You’re not hungry?”

  Damn him. Deflecting her questions with his own. “What time is it?”

  He shrugged. “What time did I arrive?”

  Days ago, wasn’t it? Hadn’t time advanced at all? “Is it still Christmas morning?”

  “About three? Three thirty? I can’t recall exactly.”

  Things began to make sense. “So it will remain Christmas day until your assignment’s over?” Christmas every day never sounded so good.

  “That’s the general idea.”

  She brightened. “Theoretically, it could stay Christmas infinitely?”

  “No. My superiors would step in. I’m surprised they haven’t already. It’s taking somewhat longer than even they anticipated, I’m sure.”

  “Oh.” So her delays could land him in trouble. Maybe in a worse position than before. Then he’d really regret this assignment. “I could tell them it’s all my fault, if you need me to.”

  “No, I doubt it will come to that. I’ll make you a nice omelet, one that will fortify you to get on with your work.”

  “Right.” Might as well. She’d get nowhere with him, obviously. An idea struck. “I’d like to make something for Michael. Something to cheer him up.”

  “Illustrations?”

  Don’t remind me. “I was thinking more along the lines of baked goods. Cookies, maybe. Everyone loves Christmas cookies, don’t they?”

  Luke gave a noncommittal shrug.

  Good enough for her. “My mom used to bake wonderful gingerbread cookies.” Shaped like angels. Funny, she hadn’t thought of that in years.

  “You’re not doing this to shirk your true duties, are you?”

  “Of course not. Didn’t you say you wanted me to help Michael?”

  Cocking his jaw, he asked, “Should I have been more specific?”

  Frustration nearly choked her. “Must you fault everything I do?”

  Genuine surprise registered in his face. “I’m only attempting to guide you. Do as you wish.”

  “As I wish,” she muttered. Wishes had gotten her into this ridiculous predicament. Now she wished she could revoke her wishes, all seven days’ worth.

  Glancing over, Luke’s strange expression calmed her. He watched with concern and disappointment, as if he’d heard her thought. No, she didn’t regret wishing. If she hadn’t, he wouldn’t have crash-landed into her life.

  If she accomplished nothing else, she wanted to find out why Luke was so unhappy. Maybe then, she could help him, if no one else.

  *~*~*

  Nudging snow with his boot, Luke leaned against the Harley. No angel could wish and expect it to be granted, but if he could, he’d wish she hadn’t asked him to bring her here. Though it should be physically impossible, the thought of her in Michael Goodman’s house turned his stomach.

  Tugging her scarf straight, Alice glanced down the street toward Michael’s front walkway. “Do I look all right?”

  Beautiful, with the cold air tingeing her cheeks a rosy hue and her long hair wisping across her face. “You spent a full hour primping. Why wouldn’t you?”

  Pain flicked across her face. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment. I only want to be sure I look presentable.”

  Guilt flooded him. Before he could apologize, she whirled to face him.

  “Wish me luck.”

  With a noncommittal grunt, he crossed his arms over his chest. With any luck, the author wouldn’t be receptive to company, today of all days. Then Luke could take her for a long ride through the skies.

  Frowning, she cradled the container of cookies. “You’re not waiting here, are you?”

  “Why ever not?” Was she afraid he’d w
itness something?

  She heaved a frustrated sigh. “I simply asked as a courtesy. Never mind then. I’ll call a taxi if I need one.”

  An uncomfortable twist in his gut forced his words out harshly. “If you need one? Are you planning on staying long, then?”

  “No. I don’t know. I can’t hand him the cookies and run off, can I? I’m hoping he’ll invite me inside awhile.”

  In a knowing, condescending tone, he said, “Oh. I see.” Though he had no clue.

  “To talk,” she stressed. “He needs someone to share his problems with, doesn’t he?”

  His only answer was a sharp arch of his brow. Anything else risked a scene, even if no one would remember.

  “Wait, or don’t wait. It’s up to you. I’ll walk home if I have to.” Stomping away, she called over her shoulder, “It not as if you have any other plans, now is it?”

  Unable to sit still one more moment, he straddled the Harley and kick-started it. The familiar rumble of the cycle’s engine had once served as his sole comfort. No longer.

  Alice halted, staring.

  Thinking she might come back, he hesitated. When she didn’t, Luke steered it in the opposite direction, and blasted off into the low-hanging clouds.

  Stupid fool. He’d violated the first Ground Rule. It would take a millennium to clear his head of her. He'd have to ride to distant galaxies, but suspected he’d still feel her warmth, hear her speaking softly, calling him.

  Well, she hadn’t called him back now. After the assignment, she’d go back to her life, and he’d return to his humdrum existence in the world beyond, like it or not.

  *~*~*

  Grumbling, Alice trudged on. “I’ve never met anyone so infuriating.” How could Luke be so kind one moment and so aggravating the next? She didn’t realize she’d rung the bell until the evergreen wreath jerked as the door opened.

  “Yes?” Looking her up and down, Michael frowned.

  Startled, she clutched the container of cookies to her chest. “Mr. Goodman. Hello. I mean, Merry Christmas.”

  Brows furrowed, he tilted back his head, a movement suggesting he considered running for the phone to dial 911.

  Words tumbled out in hopes of reassuring him. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Alice Garner. The illustrator of your book. We met through my agent, Penny Nester, but—”

  He held a finger to his temple. “Right, yes. What can I do for you?”

  How sweet. He wanted to help her. If only Luke did. “Nothing. I noticed your lights on. I simply dropped by to wish you happy holidays.” Another wish likely to remain unfulfilled, but she held out the bow-topped container anyway.

  “Happy?” he asked dully.

  Oh no. Probably should have toned down the merriment, given his circumstances. “I apologize for dropping by last-minute. I didn’t mean to intrude. You must be very busy.”

  A short laugh burst from him, and for a moment, he actually appeared amused. “No. I have no plans. Other than to celebrate the holiday in my own… special way.” Bitterness edged his tone.

  Drink himself silly, he meant. The poor man. He appeared so gaunt. “Have you eaten? I’d be happy to cook you something.”

  Shoulders slumped, he appeared deflated. “That’s very kind of you. But no, I wouldn’t hold you up.”

  “It’s no trouble. I have nowhere else to be today.” She stopped herself from saying, either, punctuating it instead with a short smile. “In fact, I hoped to get some ideas from you, if possible. About the illustrations.”

  With the look of a cornered man with no other option, he stepped aside. “All right then. Come in.”

  Before stepping over the threshold, she glanced back. No trace of Luke. Something twisted in her chest, and she silenced it. Michael needed her. It felt good to be needed by someone.

  The wrong someone.

  She forced that thought away and insisted on making Michael Goodman something to eat. As time stretched on, impatience set in. Michael had perked up somewhat, and though he’d served them both wine, the meager meal she’d cooked had kept him from self-induced alcoholic oblivion. The longer she stayed here, the more time she could have spent with Luke. But time was of no concern. Luke had stopped it, hadn’t he? Still, she couldn’t help wonder where he’d gone. What was he doing right now? Would he know when to come for her? Somehow he seemed to know without asking.

  From the kitchen, Michael called, “Alice?”

  Now she reacted like the cornered one. How much longer would she have to stay? How would she know when it was all right to leave him? “Yes?”

  He re-entered the front room. “You were off in another world.”

  “Sorry.” She’d like to be, instead of here.

  “I asked if you wanted a refill.” He held up his empty glass.

  More wine? A margarita would be better. Luke made incredible margaritas. “No thank you.” Standing, she wandered to the baby grand, crowded with family photos. Noelle at every age, happy as any child could be. “Your daughter’s beautiful.”

  “Was.” The sharpness of Michael’s tone sounded like a warning.

  “I’m so sorry. How old was she?”

  Clutching his glass, his mouth gaped open. Blinking, he stammered, “When it happened? She was only six years old. That was seven years ago.”

  Her directness had surprised him. Maybe he’d forbidden anyone to speak about it. But how else would he work through his grief? “She’d be thirteen now.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Today. Yes.” He gulped back his scotch and lifted a framed photo. “She’ll never marry. Never know the joy of her first love. Never have her own children to love.”

  Softly, Alice said, “She knew how much you loved her. You were a wonderful father.”

  Face twisting in agony, tears welled. His lips quivered several moments before he croaked, “I’m not feeling well. I’ll see you out.”

  Great. Now she’d done it. Made his Christmas more horrible, though she hadn’t thought it possible. “I’m sorry. I wanted you to know I’m here, if you need to talk.”

  Pinning his chin to his chest, he shuffled to the door and opened it.

  Horrified, she grabbed her coat, hurried to his side, and halted, stumped for anything to say. Merry Christmas? Yeah right. Enjoy the cookies? He’d wash them down with eighty proof.

  “Thank you,” she blurted.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “For allowing me inside your home.” Not likely he ever would again. The way he stared, he thought her insane. She hurried down the walkway, past the unkempt hedge. Once out of his view, she released a breath. What a mess she’d made. Luke would be furious.

  Where was Luke, anyway? Up and down the street, a steady snowfall provided the only interruption to the strange twilight. The world sat in a hush, waiting.

  Her breath billowed in a frosty cloud as she said on a sigh, “Luke.” She’d thought sure he’d be here, sitting astride his motorcycle, his steady gaze aimed at her. Quashing the pricking disappointment, she punched her arms into her coat. “Fine. I’ll walk.” She loved walking in the snow. Usually. But then, she usually knew where the hell she was. Where had Penny said Michael lived? If memory served, nowhere near her own house.

  Damn you, Luke. He’s probably having a good laugh somewhere. “Go ahead,” she called to the sky. “Laugh your ass off. Fall off your damn bike, for all I care. Leaving me stranded.” How could snow have fallen all this time, but not accumulated?

  A distant rumble sounded. Rounding the corner, a motorcycle headed in her direction.

  Luke! No one else would ride a cycle in the snow.

  She hurried to the curb. No need to flag him down; no one else walked these streets, or even looked out the window. How had she visited Michael, if everyone else’s lives stood suspended in history?

  Too many questions. Answers would wait. For now, she wanted only to be with Luke.

  *~*~*

  The empty seat behind Luke made riding seem to last an eternity.
He could have materialized inside Michael’s at any time to watch the two of them. It was his duty, after all, as a Watcher Angel. Somehow the thought left a bad aftertaste, as if he’d eaten something tainted with poison. He wouldn’t betray her trust.

  Still, when she called for him, he veered the bike toward her and gunned it. Slow down, fool. He didn’t want her to think him too anxious, so set it down on the street around the corner from Goodman’s home.

  Approaching her, he walked the Harley to a stop. “Need a lift?”

  Her giggle infected him with giddiness. A sudden happiness as she climbed behind him and wrapped her arms tight around his waist.

  Her breath tickled his ear. “I thought you forgot me.”

  He glanced back, and gave voice to his thought. “Never.” His smile faded and he couldn’t hide the glimmer of sincerity.

  To take her home might rush the conclusion to this assignment. Instead, he steered the cycle up and away over the city. Christmas lights glowed softly in nearly every window below.

  She snuggled closer against him. “It’s so peaceful, like a snow globe come to life.”

  He slowed the cycle until they seemed to float on the breeze. “Yes, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “I envy you, being able to ride through the night skies whenever you want. If I had that ability, I’d do it every night.”

  He’d do it more often, if she’d accompany him. “I could take the long way home.”

  “Yes, let’s ride awhile. Please?”

  He hovered a moment, then steered toward the outer edge of town.

  She didn’t try to hide her delight. “Oh, look! Aren’t they beautiful? And over there.” She sighed. “My parents used to drive me through the city to see all the decorations. I still love it.”

  “Things were much simpler in my time—mostly greenery and candles, but no less festive. I quite enjoy it too.” Especially sharing it with Alice. Her enthusiasm brought new life to everything.

  When they’d toured every road and avenue, he reluctantly headed for her place.