Silent Night, Sinful Night

by Sharon Page

  Or did he just seem to possess magical, mystical powers? Was his mystique a result of his after-hours habit, rather than any pull he had on unseen strings?

  It was more than she cared to know right now. She owed Johnny a huge favor for warning her about the reality behind the pretty stained-glass panels he’d created here.

  Tess wrote a few last lines, sealed the letter in an envelope, and put it beside her elf costume to mail in the morning. Better to be in bed, at least pretending to sleep, if Edgar came to check on her. As she slipped between the fresh sheets, she wondered if Johnny was already dreaming . . . of her?

  “Oh, my! That’s the biggest bouquet of roses I’ve ever seen!” Blythe exclaimed. She left the table where they were filling stockings to greet the deliveryman. “Are you in the right room, sir? We’re preparing for the Penney Candy charity event—”

  “You happen to be Tess Bennett?” the old fellow demanded. “Heavy as this is, I gotta set it down, ’fore I drops it.”

  Tess glanced up, her hand full of sparkly lollipops. “I’m Mrs. Bennett. But who’d be sending me roses?”

  “That’s what the note in the envelope’ll tell ya, I’ll wager. Afternoon to ya!” After he deftly plucked a red Licorice Lizard from the stocking in Tess’s hand, the deliveryman headed for the doors across the large ballroom. “What with a piece of my favorite Penney Candy and the tip from the gent who sent those, I’m ready for Christmas, I can tell ya!”

  “Who sent you flowers, Tess?” Daphne had recovered from her previous evening’s activities, and her eyes shone bright with curiosity.

  Who, indeed? Tess sent a questioning glance to Johnny, who carried more crates of candy in from their coach, but he seemed genuinely surprised—and maybe a little bemused—when he saw the enormous vase of perfect red roses. Surely Edgar hadn’t sent her such a gift after only two days on the job....

  And what if it came from Reed? What if Warren Coates had to tell him where you’d gone, at the risk of being dismissed?

  Heart pounding, Tess slipped a fingernail beneath the red wax seal. The note was brief, written in a meticulous male hand: Again, my sincerest apologies for speaking out of turn, dear Tess. Gorgeous as these roses are, they wither in comparison to your lovely light. Welcome to my hotel!

  “Spencer Penrose,” she breathed. She looked up to find Daphne, Blythe, and Johnny admiring the huge bouquet of velvety, wine-red roses. At least two dozen of them filled the vase, and having them shipped in from the coast had cost a small fortune. “He’s apologizing again for remarking about how my elf costume, uh, wiggles when I walk.”

  “It’s designed to wiggle, silly!” Daphne playfully tugged at the hem of her short green overalls. “Who’d order so much of our candy if we were little old men in beards, wearing pointy hats and shoes?”

  “Who indeed?” Johnny queried, watching her face with that edgy expression she now recognized as envy. “Penrose could buy and sell us all—including Edgar—if he chose to. There’s more to this story than Mrs. Bennett’s telling us.”

  “Johnny, really! Not every man has ulterior motives for sending such a gift.” Blythe drew one exquisite long-stemmed rose from the vase. After she inhaled its delicate fragrance, she placed it playfully between her teeth and batted her eyes at him.

  “That’s right!” Daphne slung her arm around Tess’s shoulders. “Some men send presents just because we girls deserve them. Just because they like to watch our eyes light up.”

  “Or watch your legs spread.” Johnny’s expression remained suspicious, almost hard, as his eyes lingered on the fit of Tess’s tights and formfitting overalls. “We’d best fill the rest of these stockings. The urchins shall arrive soon.”

  Tess’s heart withered. Mere hours ago, this man had rhapsodized about how their lovemaking had taken him to newfound heights, yet now his attitude scraped the bottom of the barrel—a barrel of sour pickles. All because of a bouquet of roses from a man who could afford anything he wanted? She rejoined Blythe and Daphne at their candy-covered table, but she’d lost her sparkle. It was for damn sure she’d go to her room alone after today’s event. No sense in getting more involved with a man whose back got up every time someone flashed money, was there?

  Her mood improved when the children arrived to gaze wide-eyed at their surroundings. The Broadmoor’s ballroom had been transformed into a fairyland of twinkling Christmas trees and huge, glittery snowflakes that hung from the ceiling. A gingerbread cottage sat in one corner, where a kindly Saint Nicholas—who looked suspiciously like Edgar, hidden beneath a beard like white cotton candy—greeted the orphans and listened to their Christmas wishes after they’d received their candy from Tess and Daphne.

  Blythe took orders from the local merchants in the bar area while uniformed waiters passed among them trays of pastries, cheeses, fruits, and flutes of champagne. A string quartet played carols, and the event came to a high point when Spencer Penrose arrived in a special sleigh fitted with wheels and pulled by a matched pair of sled dogs.

  After he invited Tess, Daphne, and Blythe to ride around the huge room with him, tossing loose candy to their delighted young guests, he treated Johnny and the other men to imported cigars and brandy, which Blythe poured for them. By the time Daphne and Tess gave the children final hugs and the biggest candy canes she had ever seen, the adults were enjoying the event even more than the children.

  As the last of those earnest little faces left the ballroom, Tess sighed deeply. So much poverty and yearning in the world, even here where the Cripple Creek gold mines had made overnight millionaires of several. Her heart ached for those little boys and girls who returned to an institution rather than a home.

  When something tapped her shoulder, Tess turned to find Johnny Gazara smiling wryly, with an oversize candy cane in his hand. “I did it again, didn’t I? Let my aversion to wealth spoil your day with these children.” He brought his other hand from behind his back, offering her a familiar red satin box filled with wrapped candies. “I’m not a very lovable man sometimes. Our little candy game won’t make up for my moods, but maybe it’ll make you smile.”

  Tess glanced at the shiny wrappers of red, green, and gold. She almost told him about being a wealthy man’s widow, yet something warned her not to derail this moment of apology. “The Naughty or Nice game?” she asked quietly. “Right now I’m feeling confused and sorry instead, Johnny. You claim I’m the best ever, yet Francine DuPont still has her invisible claws in you. Why should I compete with your bitter memories of her?”

  When he opened his mouth to protest, Tess turned away. While Blythe calculated the afternoon’s orders, Daphne packed the remaining candy. The glorious, decorated trees, the elaborate cottage made of spicy, fragrant gingerbread, a sparkling sleigh and children eagerly speaking to Santa: These things had reminded her of Christmas mornings with Claire, more than she cared to admit. Even if her little girl would never again awaken to these trappings of happiness, Tess felt a sudden pang of homesickness.

  Would Margaret and George go on holiday, as she’d asked them to? The house would echo with silence, yet she craved its familiarity. No one would be chatty or pie-eyed; she could walk to church or meet friends for luncheon without bundling up in furs to be trundled for miles through the drifted snow. A favorite crimson gown hung in the back of her armoire, and even if she didn’t attend any holiday parties, Tess had a sudden yearning to wear her own clothes rather than this elf costume or the dresses Blythe and Daphne shared with her.

  “I’ve work to do.” She handed the scarlet box back to Johnny. Funny, how a phrase once so foreign to her sounded rather inviting now . . . a way to keep from thinking too much about what she was missing, during this adventure where Johnny’s magic had fallen short today.

  11

  “This is absurd! Tess might return at any moment—from wherever the hell she ran off to—and you’re leaving? For two weeks?” Reed Mahaffey’s eyes flashed with disdain. “What are you not telling me?”

  M
argaret Delaney now realized why Tess had never liked this man: He behaved like a spoiled child. Little Claire, with her flights of fancy and ways of cajoling her daddy, had never spoken with such a tone. Margaret’s hand closed over the note she’d stuffed into her apron pocket when the doorbell had rung repeatedly. No need for Mr. Mahaffey to see the details of Tess’s adventure, nor the address on her letter.

  “Mr. Coates assured me he’d seen to Tess’s safety, and I have since received word from her that she’s having the time of her life,” the housekeeper replied staunchly. The thump-thump of a trunk on the carpeted stairway assured her George was on his way, should Mr. Mahaffey require firmer words.

  “That’s a lie and you know it. Tess was devoted to Henry, so lost without her daughter—”

  “That you can take neither of their places in this home. Nor in Tess’s heart,” Margaret finished boldly. She subtly escorted him out the door, step by backward step. “So if you please, Mr. Mahaffey, we’ll be on our way. Should you require assistance with settling your business affairs, Mr. Bennett’s attorney can provide—”

  “I cannot believe Tess ran off to parts unknown rather than settle down with me,” he spouted. “You know I could provide the finer things she’s become accustomed to—”

  “Things have nothing to do with where she’s gone, sir. I assure you.”

  He lowered his glittering eyes to the same level as hers. Then he grabbed the hand she kept in her pocket. “Don’t play games with me, Mrs. Delaney!” he snarled. “I have every right to—”

  “George!” she cried out, gripping the letter. Her heart pounded frantically. What a bully he was. “George! Please come speak with Mr. Mahaffey about—Unhand me, sir! It’s none of your—” Her howl rang in the vestibule when Reed twisted her wrist to pry Tess’s letter from her fingers.

  “Let me see this—”

  “Get out!” George ordered. In his agitation, he released the trunk handle and then had to grab the stairway railing when the heavy luggage nearly bowled him over.

  As the trunk clattered down the last few steps to skid onto the foyer floor, Reed gleefully read the page he’d torn away from her. “The Penney Candy Factory? What the hell is Tess doing in Cascade, Colorado, handing out sweets to orphans?” he scoffed. “Good God, wasn’t she on enough charity committees that she could’ve done that here?”

  Fighting tears as she rubbed her throbbing wrist, Margaret nearly spat on him. “Are you happy now? Was it worth overpowering a woman your mother’s age to find out—”

  “Yes. It was.” He tossed aside the torn letter. “You go ahead and take your little vacation, you and old George, for Tess won’t require your services any longer.”

  The windows rattled with the force of the slamming door.

  Margaret doubled over with the pain in her wrist, and when her husband wrapped his arm around her, she felt him trembling with rage and fear. “We . . . we might as well be on our way,” she said between sobs. “If Mr. Mahaffey finds our Tess, she’ll think we’ve betrayed her. I was such a fool to believe that awful man—”

  “He won’t get away with this,” George snapped. “I’m informing the Memphis police of this incident, and I’ll send a telegram to the candy factory. Much as he loves children, surely Mr. Penney will protect our Tess!”

  At the chiming and jangling and tolling of the bells in his vestibule, Edgar Penney looked up from his ledger. The happy racket of his doorbell made him laugh—not just because it was such an outrageous chorus of sounds, but because it matched his triumphant mood: Candy sales at his charity events had tripled. He attributed this to Tess Bennett’s presence, because it left his other two girls free to flirt with familiar merchants, who in turn noted the way Tess truly adored the orphans they supported at these events.

  Spec Penrose had referred to her as a Madonna whose radiance warmed everyone she met. Edgar thought this might be an exaggeration, but there was no exaggerating the amount of specialty candy the Broadmoor’s owner had ordered for use at his hotel. Not to mention the generous donation he’d made to the local orphanages.

  As he ascended the winding hallway to the front door, however, Edgar sensed a different sort of urgency awaiting him. Indeed, the young messenger was panting as though he’d sprinted from the telegraph office. Edgar reached into the tip box and picked up a stuffed stocking left from the Broadmoor event. “You must’ve hurried,” he remarked as the lad latched on to the candy.

  “Mr. Campbell, he said it were important, seein’ as how both of these messages come across the wire one right after t’other!” The kid’s freckles glistened beneath the fringe of cinnamon hair sticking out of his hat. “He told me to wait for a reply.”

  “Good lad. Enjoy a Pinwheel Pop while I read.” Edgar chuckled when the boy spun the turquoise, pink, and yellow sucker with his finger. The colors whirled like a kaleidoscope, and inside the hard candy coating, a core of fudge waited to be savored, smeared on the tongues and lips of those who nibbled their way around the coiled layers. Pinwheel Pops had been one of his earliest creations, and it remained a favorite.

  But something more serious—potentially more exciting—demanded his attention now. Edgar first opened a message from a Reed Mahaffey, Esquire, who announced his impending arrival to escort Tess Bennett back to Memphis, where she belonged.

  Edgar’s lips twitched. Mr. Mahaffey had quite a surprise awaiting him, didn’t he? As he slipped a finger beneath the wax seal of the second envelope, Edgar grinned at the delivery boy. The outer inch of the lollipop had disappeared, and he was crunching happily on a mouthful of candy-coated fudge while he spun the sucker again. “If I were to improve on that—new flavor combinations, perhaps—what would you suggest, my man?”

  The kid’s eyebrows shot up. “How ’bout a rainbow, where the seven colors blend into each other around the coils? And each color is a different flavor—like purple for grape and red for cherry, and then orange and lemon and lime?” he replied eagerly before nibbling another inch of the coil. “That sounds pretty complicated, though.”

  “It’s ingenious! And what flavor would blue be?”

  The boy stopped crunching to ponder this. “Nothing so ordinary as blueberry. It would have to sparkle like a sunlit sky, so you’d have to keep eating to get to the blue parts, to figure out just what it does taste like.”

  “What’s your name, boy?” Edgar asked, reaching for paper and pen. “I might just be looking for a bright fellow like you to assist with my new creations.”

  His face glowed like a Christmas tree. “Patrick O’Grady, sir! I couldn’t think of a finer—sweeter—place to work, Mr. Penney.”

  “Write your name and address, then.” He noted the boy’s quick, decisive strokes and well-formed letters. Teachable, that one. A worker, too, with an imagination that took nothing for granted.

  Unfortunately, the second telegram wasn’t nearly as inspiring as this conversation with Patrick: If a Reed Mahaffey finds his way to your factory, Mr. Penney, we beg your protection for Miss Tess! He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing with fangs lurking behind his pretty words. Tell Tess that Margaret and I are ever at her service. George Delaney.

  His eyebrows rose. The delectable Tess Bennett created a stir wherever she went, it seemed. He glanced at the messenger boy, whose eyes were closed as he chewed a huge mouthful of the crunchy fudge sucker. “No replies, Patrick. I thank you for waiting, and I’ll contact you come first of the new year. Merry Christmas to you!”

  “Merry Christmas to you—Santa!”

  Edgar’s heart skipped happily as the boy bounded up and over the drifts rather than taking the cleared walkway. He himself had once been so full of eager energy. And while he was doing extremely well, he . . . well, he had the world’s largest candy factory to run. A reputation to maintain. And there was no hiding from such responsibility.

  And he had a conflict simmering like a vat of syrup, too. Tess remained blissfully unaware of being its catalyst. The flame two men flew toward like moths. />
  Moths with their antennae between their legs, he mused. Edgar ripped the telegrams into shreds. Best to let nature take its course, to see whether Johnny Gazara came out the victor or if this Mr. Mahaffey took home his prize. Survival of the fittest, as Mr. Darwin had theorized.

  He headed back to his suite, where Blythe and Daphne would distract him from such serious matters. Given the unruly ways of Mother Nature here in Cascade, he had two, maybe three days before the train delivered Johnny’s competition. By then, they’d be on their way to the charity event in Denver.

  And may the best moth win!

  12

  Tess quickly realized that while the leisurely rich in Colorado Springs sported tweeds and ties, Denver’s movers and shakers swaggered into the Brown Palace wearing tooled boots and wide-brimmed Western hats. These fellows, whether cattlemen or railroad barons, eyed her with unflinching adoration as they smoked their stogies and tossed back their whiskey.

  “Little lady, you ever get tired of handin’ out candy, I got a place for ya on my spread,” one fellow intimated, not five minutes after he’d arrived. He glanced at a page he’d torn from a newspaper and then ogled her again. “This here pitcher, it’s cute but it don’t do ya justice, honey.”

  Tess gaped. Right there in the Rocky Mountain News, in a full-page advertisement listing their charity appearances, was a sketch of her wearing her elf costume! “Where’d you get this? I had no idea—”

  “Oh, it’s all over the West, I reckon,” the rancher replied with a boozy chuckle. “Not the first time I’ve come to one of these here charity shindigs, but today I came to attention. If ya know what I mean.”

  “Tess is our newest Penney Candy girl,” Johnny Gazara joined in, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “And, like Blythe and Daphne, she’s lovely to look at, but she’s not on the menu. If ya know what I mean.”