That Maddening Man
Debrah Morris
Ellin Bennett had a daughter to raise, a career to save and a newspaper to run. Rescuing a stranded Santa Claus from the roadside was not on her To-Do list. Worse yet, "Santa" was none other than sexy Jack Madden, schoolteacher and part-time writer for Ellin's paper. The man's smile could stop traffic…dangerous for a single mom temporarily stuck in Smallsville!A wife and daughter were not tops on Jack's Christmas list. He'd been a content bachelor until he met Ellin. Getting her to settle down would be no easy task, but this small-town hunk was about to give his sophisticated editor a crash course on love…and family.
“You’re making fun of me, Jack Madden,” Ellin accused.
“I’d never do that, Ellin Bennett.”
His words were spoken as softly as a lover’s caress. For a crazy moment, she longed for his touch on her skin, the brush of his full lips against hers. She was mesmerized by a need so intense, it caused a physical ache.
Holy guacamole! What was she thinking? “It’s getting late. I need to put Lizzie to bed.”
She stood up and leaned over to lift her sleeping daughter from his arms. She heard his sharp intake of breath when her hair swung down and brushed his cheek.
Her eyes met his. For one heart-stopping minute she knew he meant to kiss her. And she was stunned to realize how much she wanted him to….
Dear Reader,
Summer’s finally here! Whether you’ll be lounging poolside, at the beach, or simply in your home this season, we have great reads packed with everything you enjoy from Silhouette Romance—tenderness, emotion, fun and, of course, heart-pounding romance—plus some very special surprises.
First, don’t miss the exciting conclusion to the thrilling ROYALLY WED: THE MISSING HEIR miniseries with Cathie Linz’s A Prince at Last! Then be swept off your feet—just like the heroine herself!—in Hayley Gardner’s Kidnapping His Bride.
Romance favorite Raye Morgan is back with A Little Moonlighting, about a tycoon set way off track by his beguiling associate who wants a family to call her own. And in Debrah Morris’s That Maddening Man, can a traffic-stopping smile convince a career woman—and single mom—to slow down…?
Then laugh, cry and fall in love all over again with two incredibly tender love stories. Vivienne Wallington’s Kindergarten Cupids is a very different, highly emotional story about scandal, survival and second chances. Then dive right into Jackie Braun’s True Love, Inc., about a professional matchmaker who’s challenged to find her very sexy, very cynical client his perfect woman. Can she convince him that she already has?
Here’s to a wonderful, relaxing summer filled with happiness and romance.
Happy reading!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
That Maddening Man
Debrah Morris
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Books by Debrah Morris
Silhouette Romance
A Girl, a Guy and a Lullaby #1549
That Maddening Man #1597
DEBRAH MORRIS
Before embarking on a solo writing career, Debrah Morris coauthored over twenty romance novels as one half of the Pepper Adams/Joanna Jordan writing team. She’s been married for twenty-four years, and between them, she and her husband have five children. She’s changed careers several times in her life, but finds she much prefers writing to working. She loves to hear from readers. Please contact her at P.O. Box 522, Norman, OK 73070-0522. If you would like an autographed bookmark, please send a SASE with your request.
Contents
Chapter One (#u240f73da-bb6b-5dc9-bf6b-063a8d5a57fa)
Chapter Two (#u20a0b55f-1de4-5869-a7a9-16b9890f487b)
Chapter Three (#u51f2b6f3-e74d-5aa7-a5c8-383e7a128d62)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Ellin Bennett was a risk-taker by nature, but not quite reckless enough to drive these hills at the posted speed limit. Her gloved hands tightened on the wheel as she steered the sleek Japanese import along the narrow two-lane highway. There were moments when daring was the way to go, but this was not one of them.
She passed another Watch For Deer sign. Was it a warning? Or an invitation to enjoy the local wildlife? Should she be wary of big-eyed creatures blundering into her path? Or look out for friendly loiterers in the woods? After eleven years in Chicago, living in the Ozarks would take some getting used to.
“But, Mommy, Santa Claus won’t know where to find me.”
“Sure he will, Lizzie.” Ellin glanced in the rearview mirror and smiled. Strapped into a state-of-the-art booster seat, her four-year-old daughter wore a fuzzy pink coat, a gaudy rhinestone tiara and a worried frown.
“I told you, Mommy. I’m not Lizzie today.”
“So sorry, Your Highness. I meant Princess Lizzie, of course.” She atoned for the breach of protocol like a chastened vassal. After all, it was her fourth reminder.
“But how will he find me?” the child persisted. “He doesn’t know we moved in with Grammy.”
“Sure he does, honey. Santa Claus knows everything.” Ellin wasn’t exactly filled with Christmas spirit this year, but she couldn’t let her cynicism spoil her little girl’s illusions.
“But Grammy doesn’t have a chimbly.” Normally sunny and easygoing, Lizzie had developed an alarming number of worries since the move. Most of which involved the coming holiday.
“That won’t stop Santa.”
“He can’t leave presents if there’s no chimbly to come down.”
“Of course he can,” Ellin assured with a sigh. “He’s magic.”
“When are we getting a Christmas tree?” Lizzie twirled her princess wand absently.
“Soon, baby, soon.” Ellin watched the twisting road and the ditch looming close beside it.
“Today?”
“Maybe.” The absence of a propped-up conifer in the living room was a big source of preschool anxiety.
“Don’t say maybe.” Lizzie’s little pink lips puckered into a pout. “Say yes.”
“We’ll see.” The phrase was straight out of Lesson One of the Mommy Handbook and usually had the desired pacification effect. But not today.
“Santa won’t like it if we don’t have a Christmas tree,” Lizzie warned with arch authority. “He’ll be all mad.”
“No, he won’t. Santa can’t get mad at princesses. The tooth fairy won’t allow it.” Hearing a slurping sound, Ellin glanced at the useless pile of hair on the seat beside her. Pudgy, her grandmother’s aptly named Yorkie-Pomeranian was idly gumming the strap of her leather handbag.
“Give me that.” She yanked her Kate Spade original out of harm’s way. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, she plucked a clump of fawn-colored fur off the upholstery, hit the window button and flicked it onto the gray winter landscape. Not only was Pudgy missing several important teeth, he was going bald.
Her grandmother actually missed the quivering mass of canine nerves and had requested Pudgy’s presence at the nursing home’s Christmas party today. If neurotic shedding was any indication, Ida Faye’s longtime companion missed her, too. Mrs. Polk, the forward-thinking administrator of Shady Acres Care Center and a vocal proponent of pet therapy, thought the visit might hasten the eighty-year-old’s recovery from hip surgery.
“Do you know where the angel is, Mommy? The one with the shiny dress that goes on top of the tree?”
“She’s safe in a box in Grammy’s garage.”
“The twinkle lights, too? And the sparkly snowmen?”
“Yes, dear. They’re all safe.” Giving up the town house on Lake Michigan had been difficult, but it was especially traumatic for Lizzie. She’d cried when the movers crated their belongings for storage and wouldn’t stop until Ellin agreed to haul a box of favorite holiday decorations all the way to Arkansas. Her daughter had Christmas on the brain and was convinced that moving had somehow upset universal order at the North Pole.
“Can I see ’em when we get home?” she asked suspiciously.
“Sure, no problem.” Despite her reassuring mommy-face, Ellin wasn’t too happy about being uprooted either. Although temporary, her new job was a good example of an old axiom.
Be careful what you wish for.
Journalism dreams born during her stint on the Whitman Junior High Tattler had evolved into a do-or-die goal in college. Determined to be a managing editor before age thirty-five, Ellin had sacrificed. Struggled. Run the fast track in sensible two-inch heels and leaped over the limp bodies of the less dedicated. Along the way, she’d slowed down enough to marry, have a baby and get divorced, never taking her eyes off the prize.
She’d advanced quickly. The past six months she’d worked as an assignment editor at a respected Chicago newspaper. Her career had been right on track—until the whole thing derailed onto an unexpected siding. In a rush to make deadline and Lizzie’s first dance recital, she violated a basic law of journalism. She approved a reporter’s story without verifying it. Any first-year journalism student would have known better.
“Mommy, is Rudolph a boy or a girl?”
“I’m sure Rudolph is a girl, princess.” Surely, only a female with a superwoman complex would attempt to zip around the world in one night, dragging an overweight elf and a sleigh full of toys.
“What about Olive?”
“Olive?” Ellin’s brow furrowed.
“You know. Like in the song. Olive the other reindeer.”
Lizzie sang it for emphasis. “Is Olive a girl or boy?”
“All the reindeer are girls.” Had to be. Poor misguided things thought they could have it all.
Ellin had taken responsibility for her mistake, had even tried to point out the irony of the situation to her superiors. A master nitpicker, for once she’d failed to pick enough nit. But they had not been amused. After the public stoning of the overzealous reporter, she’d been called up on the slate-gray Berber and stripped of her parking pass and card key like a court-martialed soldier. Slinking out of the city room in professional disgrace, her first thought was to change her name and move to a third world country.
“Mommy, why doesn’t Mrs. Claus help give out the toys?”
“She doesn’t like to steal Santa’s thunder.” Or she was smart enough to stay home with a cup of hot tea while her old man froze his tail off buzzing around the stratosphere.
She had to stop being so cynical. After all, she’d stepped in a colossal pile of doo-doo and had come out smelling like a nosegay, hadn’t she? Her career had taken a hit, but her life-long dream was coming true. For the next three months she would be acting editor of the Washington Post. And it was still several weeks before her thirty-fifth birthday.
Problem was, it wasn’t The Washington Post, the grand-daddy of all newspapers. Nor was her new home in the nation’s fast-paced capital. It was in Washington, Arkansas, where life moved at the speed of a stroked-out snail. The Washington Post-Ette was a dinky little weekly with a circulation of less than eight thousand that boasted of keeping its fourth estate finger firmly on the pulse of the chicken-raising industry.
According to the owner, its original name was the Post-Gazette, but the “Gaz” had been dropped at some point in its illustrious history. The shortened form was better suited to a toaster snack than to a hard-hitting shaper of public opinion.
For the time being, she could pretty much forget about a Pulitzer.
“Is Christmas really Jesus’ birthday?” Lizzie asked.
“Yes, dear. At least that’s when we celebrate it.”
“So why do I get presents?” Her small forehead wrinkled in confusion. “It’s not my birthday.”
“Remember? It’s one of those tradition things I told you about.” Vague perhaps, but the experts advised against giving children more information than they could handle.
“Oh, yeah.” Keeping the beat with her beribboned princess wand, Lizzie hummed an odd mix of “Jingle Bells” and “Mary Had a Little Lamb.”
Pudgy wheezed. Ellin glanced down in alarm, concerned that he might have begun the bucket-kicking process on her watch.
“Mommy! Stop! Stop!” Lizzie shrieked. “It’s Santa.”
Ellin looked back at the road, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Well, I’ll be a partridge in a pear tree.”
It was Santa. Or his body double. Decked out in full St. Nicholas regalia and looking like a Yuletide figment of her little girl’s imagination.
“Stop, Mommy! Santa needs help!” Lizzie was squirming and swinging her wand and issuing directives, all at once. Pudgy had recovered from his coughing fit and bounced up and down on the seat, adding his yip-yappy opinion to the excitement.
Stop? For some guy waving his arms in the middle of the road? No way. Ellin was a city girl and stuck to a strict “No Hitchhikers” policy. She didn’t brake for strangers, not even the jolly old elf himself.
“I don’t think so, princess.” She wouldn’t stop, but she didn’t want to run the guy down. She slowed to give him a chance to get his velvet-covered butt out of the road and noticed a shiny crimson pickup truck angled off the shoulder.
“Maybe Santa needs our help because Rudolph got hurt.” In view of the Watch For Deer signs, Lizzie’s explanation had a certain preschool logic. “Or maybe the sleigh broke down. Stop, Mommy, stop!”
She had to. He gave no indication of moving out of the way. Suspicious, Ellin punched the door locks and lowered the window an inch. Hmm. Given his elfin-based gene structure, Santa was much taller than one might expect. He stepped up to the car and smiled. At least she thought he smiled. It was hard to tell exactly what was going on under that curling white beard.
“I’m sorry to trouble you, ma’am.” His drawl was soft and articulate, a little too down-south for an inhabitant of the polar regions. “But I wonder if you might have a cell phone I could use?”
“No, I don’t.” Then she realized how vulnerable her admission made her. “But I have a black belt in karate and an attack dog trained to kill on command.” Pudgy’s yip would pierce armor-plated eardrums. “Drowning in dog slobber is an unpleasant way to go.”
He might have smiled again as he peered in at the toy-sized dog. “Thanks for the warning. I ran out of gas. I’ve been meaning to get the gas gauge fixed, but I put it off a little too long.” He shrugged and grinned. Quite disarm-ingly. “Looks like I’m stuck.”
“Sorry. I don’t have any gas, either.”
“Where’s your sleigh, Santa?” Born verbal, Lizzie had no qualms about jumping into adult conversation.
“Can’t drive the sleigh without snow, darlin.’ I had to use the truck today.”
“Does it fly?”
“Nope. That’s why I need gas.” He turned to Ellin. “I’m running behind schedule. I’m due at Shady Acres in a few minutes. Big Christmas party for the residents. The old folks are really looking forward to it, and I’d hate to disappoint them. It’s just up the road. Could you give me a lift?”
Not hardly. A deserted road. Stranger. Unarmed female with small child and wheezy dog. It had all the makings of a late-breaking news story. But, she reminded herself, this was not Chicago. Washington, Arkansas, wasn’t exactly a teeming hotbed of criminal activity. Besides, would the roadside strangler go to the trouble of donning a beautifully made, fur-trimmed, ruby-red crushed velvet Santa suit, complete with shiny black knee boots, wide silver-buckle and jaunty cap?
She thought not.
“Mommy!”
Ellin looked back at Lizzie and wondered if the callous treatment of a childhood icon might someday propel her daughter into therapy. “What, honey?”
“Give Santa a ride so I can tell him where my new house is.”
Like she’d let that happen. “Actually, I’m headed for Shady Acres myself,” she told the man behind the fake beard and pillow-stuffed tummy. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, a shoulder-length white wig that curled on unelfishly wide shoulders and a big, droopy mustache that twitched when he smiled.
She lowered the window another inch. “I’ll give you a ride. If you can tell me the administrator’s name.”
“Is this some kind of test?”
He might not be Santa, but his brown eyes definitely twinkled. “Not as in ACT, but I need proof you’re telling the truth.”
“Mommy! Santa Claus wouldn’t fib.” Lizzie was scandalized.
The man in the Santa suit laughed. The rich sound was like aged brandy, and made Ellin feel flushed and warm all over. “I need to be careful.”
“I appreciate your caution. The administrator’s name is Lorella Polk. She’s fifty-eight years old. Married to Henry Polk, mother of Bobby, Tracy and Paul. She has four grandchildren. Allen, Lindsey, Derrick and Ty. She belongs to the First Baptist Church and sings alto in the choir. She’s been running the nursing home for twelve years. Before that, she had a home decor party business and before that, she sold cosmetics door-to-door. She had her gall bladder removed last year and has to watch her cholesterol. Recently, she developed an annoying rash on her—”
“That’ll do,” Ellin said briskly. “What are you? The local operative for the North Pole CIA?”
He leaned down and smiled through the window at Lizzie. “Santa Claus knows everything. Right, princess?”
Lizzie beamed and waved her wand, clearly gratified to meet someone who recognized royalty when he saw it.
“Right.” With a sigh, Ellin unlocked the door. Father Christmas fetched a big canvas bag full of brightly wrapped presents from his truck and placed it in the back seat. Then he slid in beside her and Pudgy, and arranged his long legs.
Wow, she thought as she accelerated. Who would have guessed a guy who hung out with reindeer would smell so nice?
“Do you gots a surprise for me in your sack, Santa?” Lizzie asked hopefully.
He turned and gave the little girl a solemn look. “I just might. But you’ll have to wait until the party to find out.”
“Goody! Mommy says you don’t need a chimbly to get into my house on Christmas Eve. Is that true?” Apparently, even four-year-olds knew to verify questionable data.
“Your mommy’s right about that.”
“Let me hear you go ho, ho, ho,” the princess commanded.
“Okay.” He gathered a deep, dramatic breath, clamped both hands on his sizable tummy, and let loose a rumbling trio of hos.
Ellin frowned, then smiled at her daughter’s obvious delight. Who was this man?
“Hey, Pudgy, how ya doin’ old buddy?” He ruffled the dog’s fur, and the beast crawled into his ample lap.
“How do you know my grandmother’s dog?”
“Santa knows everything, Mommy.” The princess had long since perfected a tone of superiority when dealing with her subjects. “He sees you when you’re sleeping. He knows when you’re awake.”
The man didn’t miss a beat. “He knows when you’ve been bad or good,” he sang in an ingenuous baritone that rumbled through the car’s interior.
“So be good for good’ess sake.” Lizzie finished with a reprimanding shake of her tiny finger. At least all the hours they’d spent on the trip listening to the same two Christmas CDs over and over had paid off.
“I probably don’t need to tell you this,” Ellin said with a sidelong glance at her mysterious passenger. “But my name is Ellin Bennett and that’s Princess Lizzie.”
He patted the dog with his white-gloved hand. “I know who you are. I’m—”
“Santa Claus, of course.” Ellin cocked her head in Lizzie’s direction, warning him with a look not to destroy the little girl’s illusions.
“That’s right. Santa Claus. Ho, ho, ho.”
Jack Madden knew exactly who Ellin Bennett was, but the dark-eyed brunette was not the hard-driving piranha he’d expected. He’d heard all about the big city journalist in town to take over the paper while Jig Baker was in Peru living his dream of participating in a full-scale university-sponsored archaeological dig.
Jig had said she was a career-minded divorcée with a young daughter. He warned Jack she was used to doing things differently in Chicago and might make some changes during her tenure. So be prepared.
But nothing could have prepared him for these two. Even Mrs. Boswell had failed to mention that the granddaughter she’d recommended for the job was a striking beauty. She’d bragged about her great-granddaughter, but never said she was such a precocious little angel.
Jack moonlighted as the paper’s sports editor and roving reporter, so he was curious about the new boss. He satisfied that curiosity by watching her openly as she maneuvered the winding road. Word around town, she was a hard-nosed newspaperwoman. But from where he sat, her nose looked anything but hard.
In fact, everything about the big city hotshot looked enticingly soft. Touch-me-and-see-for-yourself-soft. She had peachy pale skin and thick-lashed golden brown eyes. Full lips the color of his mother’s coral tea roses. Her long brown hair was twisted into a gravity-defying arrangement skewered by two ebony chopsticks.
Jack was thrown off balance by the sudden urge to reach over and slip out those silly sticks, just to watch the whiskey-colored mass tumble down. He managed to resist temptation but had an unbidden image of classy Ellin Bennett wearing her little girl’s endearingly fake tiara. And nothing else.
The Santa suit suddenly became too warm for comfort. A master of restraint, he didn’t usually have such inappropriate thoughts about a woman he’d just met. But this one was having a profound effect on him…a very pleasant effect.
He couldn’t take his gaze off her. She looked more like a delicate old-fashioned cameo than the competitive workaholic Jig had described. Maybe the softness was part of her ensemble, to be shrugged on and off as occasion demanded. Like the creamy angora turtleneck and brown woolen slacks, the camel coat and expensive boots. He noted the delicate gold watch on her wrist and the little diamond studs in her earlobes. Tasteful, understated. And utterly feminine.
Jack smiled. They were definitely in for some changes. Watching this urbane beauty adapt to small-town living might very well be the most entertaining thing to happen in Washington for years. The thought of getting to know her better filled him with a sense of anticipation he hadn’t felt since he was a kid waiting for Christmas himself.
“So, how’s Ida Faye doing?” Ellin’s feisty old grandmother was one of his favorite people. He’d visited her several times since her discharge from the hospital and knew she wasn’t happy being “incarcerated” in the nursing home. His Aunt Lorella made sure she received the best of care.
“You know my grandmother?” Ellin’s puzzled look was replaced by a smug knowing one. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. Santa knows—”
“Everything!” Jack and Lizzie called out in unison.
“Right.” Ellin flipped on the turn signal and pulled into the nursing home drive.
“I warned her not to shovel snow at her age.” Jack hoped he would be as spry as Mrs. Boswell in his eightieth winter. “But you know Ida. Always helping everyone.”
Ellin parked near the door and switched off the engine. “Well, this time she helped herself to a broken hip and a doctor-ordered stay at Shady Acres.”
She dropped the car keys in her coat pocket, opened the back door, unsnapped the child restraint and lifted the little girl out. Pudgy bounced around their feet.
Jack hoisted the big sack of presents over his shoulder in true Santa style. He looked down when he felt a small mittened hand clutch his fingers. Lizzie held on tightly, her mouth curved in an impish grin, the phony crown askew atop her long blond curls. Those blue eyes could melt the frostiest snowman’s heart.
Jack squeezed her hand. Reaching into his pack, he produced a large brass schoolhouse bell and knelt to her level. “Can you help me, Lizzie?”
“You need my help?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes, I do. Can you ring this special bell to let everyone know Santa Claus is coming?”
Her face lit up at the prospect. “I sure can.”
Holding the bell reverently in one small hand, she clutched his fingers with the other. Jack suspected this would be a day little Lizzie Bennett would remember forever.
Maybe he would, too.
Together, they walked up the sidewalk to Shady Acres Care Center. Ellin held the door open by leaning against it, her arms folded across her chest.
He winked at her as he passed, enjoying her startled response. But she played it cool. Clearly not a woman who backed down from a challenge, she didn’t blush or glance away or look flustered. He liked the idea that she would give as good as she got. Staring boldly back at him, she wore the bemused expression of a smart, savvy woman who has been there, done everything, but had finally encountered something she simply could not understand.
Jack Madden had never been so intrigued.
Chapter Two
Ellin and Lizzie entered the winter-bright dayroom ahead of Santa, whose arrival was heralded by the little girl’s enthusiastic bell-ringing. A fragrant Douglas fir in the corner was as laden with ornaments, tinsel and lights as the red-draped refreshment table was with treats. Elderly residents wearing holly corsages and expectant expressions sat in easy chairs and wheelchairs arranged in a circle around the perimeter.
Ellin smiled and waved when she spotted her grandmother. Ida Faye sat in a wheelchair on the far side of the room, her knobby, arthritic hands clutched in her lap. She had a red scarf around her neck and a colorful afghan over her legs. Her thin white hair was carefully parted, held in place by plastic barrettes like Lizzie’s.
Ellin was struck anew by how small and frail she’d become since the accident. Celebrating her eightieth Christmas this year, she wouldn’t have many more. Due to her parents’ divorce, Ellin hadn’t spent much time with her paternal grandmother over the years and hoped it wasn’t too late to make up for lost time. It was important for Lizzie to know her great-grandmother, to feel connected to her family. But it might never have happened if circumstances had been different.
Ellin worried that by leaving Chicago she’d taken the coward’s way out. That coming to this remote little town meant she was running away from her problems instead of solving them. But then she saw how Ida Faye’s face lit up when they walked in, and she knew there were things more important than her career. What had seemed like a fall from grace now seemed more like a blessing in disguise. Only a fool would turn down a sudden, if undeserved, gift of fate.
She and Lizzie lavished Ida Faye with big hugs and damp kisses. Then Ellin deposited Pudgy in his mistress’s lap. He stood on his hind legs to lick her pale, wrinkled cheek.
“I’m so glad ya’ll could come. And thank you for bringing this old rascal to see me. I’ve missed him so.”
“He’s missed you, too.” Ellin helped Lizzie out of her coat and mittens, noting the smiles her outfit generated.
When it came to fashion statements, her only child believed individuality was the way to go. Today she’d insisted on wearing her pink ballet slippers and a puffy-sleeved, full-length princess dress constructed of frilled layers of pink and purple chiffon. According to Lizzie, it wasn’t just a Halloween costume. It was appropriate party attire.
“Okay now, that’s enough, Pudge.” Ida Faye settled the dog down for a petting session. Then she gave Ellin a wide, denture-baring grin. She whispered behind her hand so Lizzie wouldn’t hear. “Ain’t that Jack a honey?”
“Who?” Someone brought a chair and Ellin scooted it close. Lizzie settled on the floor at her feet, Santa’s bell in her lap.
“Jack Madden,” Ida Faye said. “The young fella playin’ Santy Claus. You oughta know him, you came in with him.”
“Oh, so that’s his name.” It sounded familiar. Where had she heard it before? Ah, yes. The owner of the newspaper had mentioned him. “He works for the paper, right?”
Ida Faye nodded. “Yep. But that’s just a sideline. His main profession is schoolteaching. He’s good as gold, our Jack is.”
“Hmm.” Ellin settled back and watched the ersatz Santa work the room while an old lady in a bright red dress pounded “Here Comes Santa Claus” from an out-of-tune piano.
He belted out several rounds of hearty ho, ho, hos, clasping his king-size belly until it shook like the proverbial bowl full of jelly. Then he swung his heavy sack to the floor and strode around the dayroom, greeting the old folks by name and inquiring if they’d been good boys and girls. He shook their blue-veined hands, kissed their blushing cheeks and wiped their sentimental tears.
Then he passed out the gifts Ida Faye said he’d inspired his high school students to collect and wrap. Volunteers and family members helped the elderly residents open them to find the warm socks, slippers, stuffed animals, colorful posters, and bottles of lotion and aftershave inside. Then they passed out sweets and diabetic treats along with cups of holiday punch.
Lizzie tugged on Ellin’s slacks. “What is it, honey?”
Her little face scrunched up. “I didn’t get a present.”
“That’s okay. We’re just guests at this party.”
“But Santa said.”
“I know, but—”
“Hey, princess. Did you think I’d forgotten about you?” Santa Claus, alias Jack Madden, handed Lizzie a small bundle wrapped in red tissue paper.
“Oh, no,” she denied. “I knew you would never forget me. I’m your helper, right?”
“You sure are. Aren’t you going to open your present?”
She eagerly ripped off the paper to find a floppy dog with droopy ears and large button eyes. “Oh, my very own puppy,” she squealed.
“Do you like him?” Jack asked.
She hugged the toy to her chest. “I love him. I’ve been needing a doggie just like this.”
Ellin shook her head. Yeah, right. Lizzie’s stuffed animal collection easily filled three or four packing boxes.
“I’m glad to hear that. See that nice lady over there?” Jack pointed discreetly to a sad-looking old woman perched alone on a vinyl-coated sofa.
“Yeah.”
“Doesn’t she look like she needs to see your doggie? I bet it would make her smile if you went over there and showed it to her.”
“Okay.” Eager to do Santa’s bidding, Lizzie scampered off. Sure enough, the woman’s expression was transformed from sadness to delight at the sight of the little girl in the froufrou dress and tiara. Lizzie smiled shyly as a trembling hand reached out to caress her golden curls.
“That was quite a performance, Mr. Madden,” Ellin said with a grudging smile. “You make an entirely credible Santa Claus.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bennett.” A well-brought-up Southern gentleman, he turned solicitously to his elder. “You’re looking lovely today, Mrs. Boswell. And how are you feeling?”
“As right as an eighty-year-old cripple with a pin in her hip can feel, I reckon. Jack, I want you to tell that aunt of yours to make them nurses let me stay up and watch Jeopardy. They put a body to bed way too early around here.”
He patted her hand. “I’ll talk to Aunt Lorella and see what I can do.”
Ellin looked at him sharply. Aunt Lorella? No wonder he’d known the administrator’s life story. “So Mrs. Polk is related to you, is she, Mr. Madden?”
His eyes glinted with what would have been called mischief in a ten-year-old. “My mother’s sister. But please, call me Jack. After all, we’re going to be working together.”
“So I hear. What is it exactly you do at the paper?” Ellin had not survived in a difficult profession by being indecisive. She trusted her instincts, made snap judgments and found her first impressions were usually right on target.
But this time she was baffled. She couldn’t quite put the Jack Madden puzzle together.
He shrugged. “Whatever needs doing. Jig calls me the sports editor, but the title’s just an excuse to attend all the high school football and basketball games in the area.”
“I understand you’re a teacher.”
“Yes, ma’am. High school English.”
“I want to thank you for being so nice to Lizzie today. The move was hard on her. Meeting you, I mean Santa Claus, really made her day.”
“I was happy to do it,” he said with a shrug. “She’s a real cutie pie.”
“Thanks for playing along with her fantasies. I hope you don’t mind staying in character a bit longer. She isn’t up to speed on St. Nick mythology.”
“Not a problem,” he told her. “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to call a friend to come and haul me to a gas station so I can retrieve my truck and go home.” He turned to walk away.
“Mr. Madden? Wait.” It was out of character for Ellin to extend herself in such a way. Normally, she managed her problems and expected others to do the same.
But thoughts of fate and its unexpected gifts lingered in her mind. Combined with her under-exercised conscience it tweaked her into action. Here was a chance to help a man who’d gone out of his way to be nice to her daughter, her grandmother and a whole crowd of old people.
“You can call me Jack when Lizzie’s not around,” he said.
She tried to ignore his comment, but that sexy, Rhett Butler accent did some tweaking of its own. “I’ll drive you to the gas station.” It wasn’t so much an offer as it was a revelation of fact. Once Ellin made up her mind to do something, it was a done deal. “Then I’ll take you to your truck.”
“That’s very generous, but I wouldn’t want to put you out in any way.”
His tone of voice, along with the look in his eyes, let her know that he was well aware of being bossed around. Apparently, it amused him.
“Nonsense. I said I’d drive you. So I’ll drive.” Her words were a bit crisper around the edges than she intended.
“Well, if you’re sure.”
The man had to have the most intriguing eyes Ellin had ever seen. Because the rest of his face was concealed beneath the curly white beard, her attention focused on the intelligence and humor sparking behind those wire-rims. Something in their depths made her want to know him better.
And figure out just what made him tick.
It might be interesting to discover this paragon’s faults. Surely, the guy had some of those. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go.” She used her best managerial voice.
“Okay, then.” His gaze swept the room, lighting on several residents who appeared to need a bit more cheer. “I want to mingle a little longer. How’s half an hour sound?”
“Fine.”
“Don’t forget to talk to Lorella,” Ida Faye called after him as he walked away.
The old woman smiled and reached out to squeeze Ellin’s hand. “You’re in Arkansas now, Ellie.”
“I know that.” She was still wondering what had possessed her to offer to help Jack Madden. Ordinarily, it would never have crossed her mind to reach out like that. But given the lengths he was willing to go to, just to bring a little happiness to others, it would have taken a harder heart than hers to refuse the call.
“Well, seems to me, you’re still acting like Chicago.” Her grandmother gave her a knowing look.
“What do you mean?”
“Around here, honey, folks are more friendly-like than maybe you’re used to in the city.”
“I was friendly,” she protested. “I said I’d help him.”
“It weren’t what you said, Ellie.” Ida Faye cackled. “It were the way you said it.”
Jack made good on his promise and remained firmly in Santa mode. After seeing Ida Faye back to her room and helping her into bed for a nap, Ellin drove him to the nearest station where he borrowed a gas can and filled it at the pump. Several people spoke to him in the process, calling him by name. She was amazed so many seemed to recognize him beneath the disguise. Granted, Washington wasn’t that big, but he couldn’t know everyone in town, could he? She hadn’t even met the people who lived next door to her in Chicago.
Excited by the party and fueled by high-octane sugar cookies and candy canes, Lizzie monopolized the conversation on the drive back to the stranded truck.
“We don’t gots a Christmas tree yet, Santa.” The can-you-believe-the-injustice-of-that was implied in her tone.
“What with the move and all, we haven’t had time to buy one yet,” Ellin said defensively. How could she admit to a man in a red velvet suit that she couldn’t muster enough holiday spirit to provide her child the most basic of Christmas traditions?
“You don’t buy Christmas trees around here,” Jack scoffed.
“You don’t? Where do you get ’em then?” Lizzie was always willing to learn something new.
“Why, you go out to the woods and chop one down. Don’t tell me you’ve never chopped down your own Christmas tree?” he asked with mock disbelief.
Lizzie shook her head solemnly. “Nope. Can you help us chop a tree, Santa?”
“Well, I have to get back to the North Pole and make sure those elves make enough toys for the children.” Her little face fell, so he added, “But I have a special friend named Jack who would be happy to take you and your mommy out to the woods.”
“I just bet he would,” Ellin muttered. What was he thinking? Didn’t he know how dangerous it was to plant an idea like that in the fertile imagination of a four-year-old?
“Can we, Mommy? I never been to Christmas tree woods before. Oh, no! We don’t have somethin’ to chop with.”
“My buddy Jack has an ax.” He smiled at Ellin. “A big one.”
Ellin raised one brow. “Oh? He should be careful. A guy who doesn’t know what he’s doing could get hurt.”
Santa Jack winced. “I’ll warn him.”
“Can we go today?” Lizzie was all atwitter at the prospect of not only chopping down a tree, but meeting one of Santa’s special friends.
“That’s up to your mother.” Jack shot Ellin a look that was pure challenge.
“Can we, Mommy? Plee-e-se?”
Ellin decided Jack Madden knew exactly what he was doing. He’d set her up to score major villain points if she vetoed the plan now.
“Maybe.”
Lizzie pushed out her bottom lip and folded her arms on the padded restraint. “You say maybe, but that just means no.”
“It does not.” Ellin didn’t like being put in the hot seat. She was used to getting what she wanted and it wasn’t often someone turned the tables on her. Jack Madden might be good as gold, but he was also sly as a fox.
“Say yes!” Lizzie whacked the back of Ellin’s seat with her wand, either to get her attention or magically change her mind.
“Okay!” Wow. She’d just been suckered by Santa Claus. She eased on the brakes when she spotted Jack’s truck.
Lizzie went from pouty to perky in ten seconds flat. “We’re gonna chop a Christmas tree.”
Santa grinned. “I’ll tell my old buddy Jack to swing by your place later this afternoon. Around four o’clock?”
Ellin shoved the gearshift into Park with more force than was needed and popped open the trunk. “Fine. We’re staying at Ida Faye’s.”
“Oh, he knows where you live.” He sounded like a character in a cheesy horror movie. “Dress warmly. It gets cold out in the woods.”
Ellin answered his gotcha grin with a frosty glare. He shivered. “Oooh. It’s getting a little chilly in here. He turned to Lizzie. “You stay good, princess.”
“I will,” she promised. “Tell your friend Jack to help us chop down a big tree.”
“I’ll do it. Will you put out some cookies before you go to bed on Christmas Eve?”
“Yep. You like chocat chip? Or peanut butter?”
He appeared to think it over. “Chocolate chip, I think.” He gave Ellin a smart little salute as he got out to retrieve the gas can. “You have yourself a merry little Christmas, Ms. Bennett.”
“Yeah, yeah. You, too.” What an exasperating man. She’d like to deck Kriss Kringle’s halls for him.
“So, what’s she like?” Jana McGovern folded her arms on her desk and leaned forward in the classic pose of one who is all ears.
“She’s nice enough.” After changing out of the Santa suit, Jack had stopped by his twin sister’s small accounting office to get permission to cut a tree on the wooded property she owned with her husband Ted. As usual, he could not escape her evil clutches without first being grilled like a slab of sirloin.
“You sure about that? Because I heard she was a real pain in the butt.” Jana poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of her brother. “I believe ‘stuck up’ was the sobriquet of choice.”
“I think she’s just—”
“Aloof?” Jana supplied helpfully. “Arrogant?”
“I was going to say self-assured and outspoken.”
“You’re too nice, little brother,” she dismissed. “Poor Jig had to kick his blood pressure medicine up a notch after one brief meeting with the lady in question. Owen wouldn’t come out of the men’s room for an hour.”
Jack smiled. Owen Larsen, the newspaper’s layout artist and town’s oldest bachelor, was notoriously shy. “She’s not so bad.”
“Looking?”
“What?”
“Is she as attractive as I’ve heard?”
“Depends on what you call attractive.” Jack couldn’t afford to give her any encouragement. Minding her own business was not a life skill Jana had mastered.
She was always after him, nipping at his heels like a determined cattle dog. According to her, he’d needed to get back out in the world, take another chance, have another adventure. Use his God-given writing talent, and most importantly, fall in love. Apparently, being older by seven minutes entitled her to tell him what to do.
She just didn’t get it. He liked waking up every morning knowing exactly what the day would bring. Predictability was highly underrated, in his opinion. He knew all too well what the rest of the world had to offer and liked this part of it better. She accused him of being an underachiever, but he was just an old-fashioned guy trying to make a difference right where he was. He enjoyed both his jobs. He couldn’t imagine leaving his many friends to live among strangers.
And adventures? They were more often misadventures with ugly consequences.
“Attractive may be a subjective term,” Jana said. “But most of us agree on its basic meaning. So how good-looking is she?”
“Somewhere between mud fence and Mona Lisa.”
She gave him a knowing look. “Oh! You like her. I can tell.”
“You can’t tell anything.”
“Hah! Of course, I can. You’re not talking about her, so therefore, you think she’s hot.”
“Remind me again,” he drawled. “Is it Aristotelian or Ramistic logic that enables you to reach such truly cockamamie conclusions?”
“Jack, you little devil.” Jana reached out and patted his cheek. “You’re spouting big words. You are definitely working on a serious crush here.”
He gave her a concerned look. “Will you be visiting our planet much longer? Or do you plan to catch the mothership next time it’s in town?”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with you getting a little action, for a change.”
“For your information, twisted sister, I happen to get plenty of action.” He dated. Some. He was waiting for the right woman to come along. The woman his father assured him he would “know” when he met her. The one who’d “turn him inside out and five ways to Sunday.” He wanted happily ever after and the kind of relationship his parents had. Up until today, he hadn’t met anyone who even remotely filled the bill.
Jana laughed. “Sure you do. Like I get plenty of chances to dance on MTV. Just be careful, little brother. She’s older than you, and she’s from the big wicked city. A woman like Ellin Bennett will chew you up and spit you out like an Arkansas hairball.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “What colorful imagery, Jana. Maybe you should be a writer.”
“Nah, I’ll leave it to you. So how’s the book coming?”
“On its own terms.” Jack had long since stopped trying to explain right-brained activities to his left-brained sister. “Writing isn’t like bookkeeping.”
“When was the last time you worked on it?” she demanded.
“What are you, my conscience?” He finished his coffee. “I didn’t come in here to be pecked to death. You don’t understand the creative process.”
She snorted in derision. “What do you mean? I’m creative.”
“You’re an accountant,” he reminded dryly. “Being creative could land you in the slammer. Now, are you going to let me cut the damn tree or not?”
She fished the key to the property gate out of her purse with a big grin. “Here you go, Don Hemingway Juan. Knock yourself out.”
Ellin was poking Lizzie’s arms and legs into her purple snowsuit when someone knocked on the door. She glanced at Ida Faye’s weird clock that burst into birdsong every hour, on the hour. Madden was right on time.
“Just a minute!” She zipped Lizzie up and tucked her hair into her stocking cap. “There. Run and open the door for Santa’s friend.”
She collected her parka and purse. She had changed into a heavy sweater, jeans and thick-soled boots. She snugged a wide knit headband over her ears and dashed into the living room.
If she had been one of Lizzie’s Saturday morning cartoon characters, the rug would have accordioned as she plowed to a stop and her eyes would have popped out on springs. The man standing by the door, his hands clasped behind his back, could not be Santa Jack.
He was younger than she’d expected. Way younger. A good four or five years her junior, for sure. And taller than she remembered. Without the extra pillow padding, his slim, well-built physique was even more impressive. Wide shoulders. Trim waist. Narrow hips. And, unless she was completely out of touch with reality, which was possible considering she’d agreed to this rendezvous, that heavy seaman’s coat concealed a nicely developed chest and biceps.
His brown hair was cut in a short, messy-trendy style that he must have combed with his hand. With his eyes closed. His bottom lip was fuller than the top and high cheekbones lent his face an interesting angularity. The arching brows were brown, not white. And without the beard, well, you really had to admire the strong chin.
He wasn’t soap-opera handsome. His features weren’t quite perfect enough. But damn, he was cute. Adorable. Like a great big, cuddly, overgrown elf. He still wore the wire-rims, which were obviously not part of the costume, and the smug look in the merry eyes behind the lenses indicated just how much he was enjoying her discomfort. He opened the door with a lopsided grin and dramatic flourish.
“Mommy, this is Santa’s friend Jack.” Lizzie performed the necessary introductions as they walked to the street. “And guess what? He gots a truck just like Santa’s.”
“What a coincidence.”
He grinned. “So. Ellin Bennett. How’re you this fine day?”
It took her a moment to respond. Jack Madden was just full of surprises. “Fine.”
“Are you ladies ready to chop down a Christmas tree?” He opened the truck door, and she and Lizzie climbed inside.
“Yeah!” Lizzie submitted to being buckled into a regular lap belt on the seat between them but couldn’t sit still.
Ellin pulled on her gloves as though her composure were perfectly intact. Jack gallantly ignored her as he drove out of town. By directing his comments to Lizzie, he gave her time to get over her initial shock.
What had happened to her internal alarm? It was supposed to warn her when she was about to do something really stupid, but it seemed to be malfunctioning today. She considered bailing out and running back to the house. She didn’t trust that instant spark of attraction that had cranked up her heart rate and interfered with her objectivity. She knew how dangerous desire could be.
Something was happening here, chemistry-wise. It might feel good, but it was bad. It was beyond bad. The man aroused feelings she’d hadn’t felt in a long time. They would only complicate things, and her life was plenty complicated enough. If she were to research “Bad Idea” on the Internet, Jack Madden’s name would definitely pop up.
Then she looked at Lizzie’s excited little face. How could she deny her only child a much-anticipated experience?
It wasn’t like this was a date, she told herself. It didn’t have to be the start of anything. In fact, she was probably reading far more into it than she should. The man was just being neighborly. Wasn’t that what people did in Arkansas? What was she so worried about? They would get the stupid Christmas tree to make Lizzie happy, and that would be the end of it. It was up to her to keep their relationship strictly professional. She could do that. She wasn’t known as the Ice Queen of Chicago for nothing.
So what was the problem?
Him. Her. The situation. Spending time alone in the woods with a charmer who didn’t even know how appealing he was. Letting herself get close to someone she’d have to leave behind in a few months. The list could go on and on, but the point was Jack Madden would be nothing but trouble. And it was her policy to not go out looking for trouble. It found her often enough on its own.
Jack looked at her over Lizzie’s head, and his grin sent a rush of heat through her. Why did she feel he could actually read her thoughts? This was not good. As Ida Faye would put it, she was poking a wildcat with a short stick.
Chapter Three
While Jack steered the truck in and out of winding hairpin curves with practiced ease, Ellin fielded Lizzie’s questions and faked intense interest in the country landscape. Having spent her entire life within city limits, she was not accustomed to seeing nature as it was in northwestern Arkansas. Trees and gnarled underbrush flourished with in-your-face abandon just beyond the reach of highway brush-cutting crews.
Brown and russet leaves carpeted the ground beneath winter-bare trees. Oaks, hickories and bois d’arcs stretched gray limbs toward the pale, cloudless sky. Tall pines and squat cedars splashed the drab hillsides with waves of green.
Across the valley, the land rolled to the horizon in a crazy quilt of muted colors. Here and there, wispy columns of smoke spiraled from chimneys and flues and drifted lazily above the treetops.
“How much longer?” Lizzie bounced on the seat, unable to contain her excitement.
“Nearly there.” Jack flipped on the turn signal and angled off the highway onto a rocky track that wound through the trees. When they came to a heavy gate secured with a looped chain, he stopped, set the brake, and jumped out to release the padlock. The gate swung wide.
“Holy-moley! Is this a road?” Ellin asked skeptically as the truck began its bone-jarring climb up the hill.
“Actually it’s an old dry stream bed.” He explained the property belonged to his sister and brother-in-law who’d given him permission to cut a tree from an upland meadow. “They had the bed leveled to make it easier to get in and out.”
“You call this level?” Ellin braced her hand against the dash. “And easier?”
“For these parts, it is.” Jack drove carefully. He didn’t want to blow a tire or knock the front wheels out of alignment. “Jana and Ted drive SUVs,” he said. “They don’t have any trouble getting up to Crazy Bear Holler.”
“Crazy Bear Holler?” Lizzie giggled. “That’s a silly name.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Jack grinned down at the little girl. “But back in the 1800s a mean old bear terrorized the homesteads around here. The men tried tracking it down with dogs, but they couldn’t find his trail.”
“’Cause it was a crazy bear,” Lizzie put in.
“That’s right.” Jack went on in his storyteller voice. “That bear caused a lot of trouble. Then one morning, a settler’s wife caught him raiding her chicken coop.”
“What did she do?” Lizzie’s eyes widened.
“Well, she didn’t like it one bit that he was stealing her chickens. So she grabbed up the shotgun and filled his ornery old hide full of buckshot. He ran off and no one ever saw him again.”
“Good for her.” Ellin smiled at him over Lizzie’s head. “Never underestimate the wrath of a ticked-off pioneer woman.”
Jack laughed. “Or any woman, for that matter. That’s always been my policy.”
“Oh, I get it,” Lizzie said. “It’s called Crazy Bear Holler ’cause the lady made the crazy bear holler.”
Careful not to discount the little girl’s conclusion, he explained that in Arkansas, the valleys between hills were known as hollows, but most people called them hollers.
“Does your sister’s family live out here?” Ellin’s tone clearly expressed her opinion of extreme living.
“No. They have a place in town. They plan to build a house here later, when the kids are older. Laurel’s just a year old and they have a boy almost five.”
“What’s his name?” Lizzie asked.
“Colton. Maybe you’d like to play with him sometime.”
“I might,” she allowed. “Does he like princesses?”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Does your sister work?” asked Ellin.
Jack nodded. “According to Jana, all mothers work. Besides taking care of the kids and the house, she has a bookkeeping and accounting business.”
“Are her children in day care?”
“She leaves them with a lady in town. Mrs. Kendall.”
“I’ll need a sitter for Lizzie,” Ellin said. “Ida Faye was planning to watch her, but that’s out of the question for the time being. Do you think your sister would recommend someone?”
“I’ll ask her. Or better yet, I’ll introduce you, and you can ask her yourself.” Jack wanted the two women to meet so his twin would see how wrong she was about Ellin. He had no doubt the self-assured woman beside him could be a pain if the occasion demanded, but he didn’t think she actually was one. A small, but important, distinction.
“You’ve always lived in Washington?”
She gave the question an accusatory spin, like a cross-examining prosecutor. So, Mr. Madden, you would have this court believe vanilla is the only ice cream flavor you’ve ever tasted?
“Born and raised,” he said with a sly challenge.
“I suppose you went to school locally, as well?”
Come now, Mr. Madden, have you never been tempted to try chocolate? Or strawberry? What about Rocky Road?
Objection, Your Honor. Pressuring the witness. “I earned a bachelor’s degree at the University of Arkansas. I traveled a bit before completing postgraduate work at Stanford.”
She looked skeptical, like she could produce DNA evidence to the contrary. “You have an advanced degree? From Stanford?”
Jack nodded solemnly. A less secure man might be affronted by her surprise, but he rather enjoyed it. “You’d be amazed at the number of closet educated people in Arkansas. Gotta protect that possum-eating hillbilly image Hollywood gave us.”
“I intended no offense.” Her pretty flush assured him she meant it.
“None taken.” Jack had to watch the rugged road, but he glanced in her direction often. He enjoyed looking at Ellin Bennett, making little discoveries about her. Like the dimple that appeared at one corner of her mouth when she smiled a certain way. The tiny white scar that bisected the tip of her left brow. The canine that lapped ever so slightly over its neighbor. Getting to know her was akin to opening a brightly wrapped gift box and finding another one inside—a never-ending surprise. The suspense was killing him.
He’d already learned some interesting things about her. She was an attentive mother. She actually said “holy-moley.” She was city-bred but knew how to dress for a trip to the woods. And she was trying hard to conceal her nervousness. He suspected she was not often ill at ease, and it pleased him to think he made her fidget like a four-year-old.
He would have been sorely disappointed if she hadn’t been tipped a little off-balance when she met him sans Santa suit. She needed to have her strong opinions challenged once in a while, and he believed he was just the man to do it.
He liked her hair down. Restrained by a skier’s headband, it tumbled to her shoulders in glorious brown waves, as soft as he imagined and smelling of wildflowers. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. Even on such a short acquaintance, he understood her well enough to know she would not appreciate him reaching over and sifting his fingers through the silky strands. But that was exactly what he wanted to do.
“You said you traveled after college. Any place in particular?”
“Africa.” He didn’t elaborate and hoped she wouldn’t press for details.
“Really? And you decided to live here?”
You claim you actually tried Rocky Road, Mr. Madden, and prefer vanilla? Yes, prosecutor. Guilty as charged. “I like Washington. My friends are here, my family’s here. I love my work. Why wouldn’t I want to stay?”
She shrugged. “There’s a whole world out there.”
“Yep, and I’ll stick with Washington. You sound like Jana. It’s okay for her to settle down here, but she thinks I’m a slacker because I want to.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t think that.”
Jack laughed. “She not only thinks it, she broadcasts it to the public on a regular basis. I’m surprised she hasn’t taken out an ad.” He drew a banner headline in the air with one hand. “Jack Madden Is Not Fulfilling His Potential. Do you have brothers or sisters?”
She shook her head. “I’m an only child, born before mom realized how time-consuming motherhood would be. My parents divorced when I was ten.”
Insight based on teaching experience and intuition gave Jack a glimpse of Ellin as a little girl, lonely and desperate for parental attention. He’d seen it before. When the acceptance they craved wasn’t forthcoming, some kids acted out. Others withdrew. The smart ones, the survivors, found comfort in achievement.
“Jana and I are twins,” he said. “She thinks sharing a womb and being born first gives her squatter’s rights on my destiny.”
“You two must be very close.”
He nodded. “Yeah, we are.” It would be hard to explain twinship to someone without a sibling. He liked to complain about Jana’s well-intentioned meddling, it was part of the game they played. But he couldn’t imagine living without her or the other noisy, nosy members of his extended family.
“Your parents are here, I take it?”
“Yep. Hal and Mary. They run a chicken farm a few miles south of town. I’ll have to show you two their operation sometime. It’s all automated. Up to date. Very impressive.”
“I don’t know.” Ellin inclined her head in Lizzie’s direction. “I’m afraid if she finds out where drumsticks and chicken nuggets really come from, she won’t want to eat them.”
“They don’t raise chickens for the packing plant,” he said. “They sell eggs.”
“Oh, that’s different. A trip to a real egg farm might be very educational.”
“I recall Ida Faye saying your dad passed away a few years back, but what about your mother?”
“She finally left Chicago for Phoenix. Said she was tired of snow. She sells commercial real estate.”
Interesting that she described her mother by occupation, as though what a person did for a living revealed the most about them. But that fit with what he’d heard about Ellin. She was more than just career-minded; getting ahead was more important to her than getting along.
Had her drive to succeed undermined her marriage? According to Ida Faye, it had ended more than two years ago. Before he could ask about it, Lizzie interrupted with another question.
“Do deers live in these woods?” She looked around hopefully.
“Sure, they do. Lots of them.” Jack parked the truck in a small meadow dotted with young cedars. In the summertime the grass fairly glowed with yellow wildflowers, but now, a week before Christmas, it was dry and brown, limned by frost.
“Reindeers?”
“No. Just little whitetails.”
“Can we see some?”
“Maybe. They come down to drink at the creek in the evening. We might see some there.”
“Goody.” Lizzie clapped her mittened hands at the prospect.
Ellin picked up the thread of their conversation as though trying to settle something in her mind. “You say you like it here and all, but haven’t you ever just wanted, well, more?”
Jack switched off the engine. She seemed to think not wanting more meant settling for less. He’d have to set her straight about that. He smiled as he turned to face her and cocked his elbow on the seat behind Lizzie.
“I never said I didn’t want more.” He caught her gaze and held it. “I do. I just don’t happen to think I have to go somewhere else to find it.”
Ellin watched fondly as Lizzie ran around the meadow like a puppy kept too long in a box. She flitted from one tree to the next, crying “How about this one?”
Jack had a way with her little girl. Carrying his ax Paul Bunyan-style over his sturdy shoulder, he followed her around, making a show of seriously considering each of her ill-advised choices. Even a twenty-foot-tall pine. He didn’t talk down to her or discount her childish opinions. He asked questions that made her think. Then he guided her to logical conclusions.
And he made it all look effortless. Maybe his skill was a result of his teacher’s training or dealing with children on a daily basis. Or maybe he was just a nice guy with a good heart. Whatever it was, it was certainly refreshing. She’d dated very little since her divorce, having finally decided she was not marriage material. The child-friendly men she met considered her too career-focused, and fellow workaholics resented the time she spent with her daughter.
Her ex-husband, Andrew, fell into the latter category. If he could relate to his only child as this stranger did, things might have turned out differently for their dysfunctional little family. If he had found joy in his daughter instead of viewing her as a noisome distraction, they might have overcome their other problems. If they’d found common ground as Lizzie’s parents, maybe they wouldn’t have had to compete in every other aspect of their lives.
Visitation was part of the divorce agreement, but her ex-husband expressed little interest in exercising that right. She’d called him on it last year when he announced his move to Seattle. He’d shrugged it off, saying, “maybe in a few years when she’s older and not so much bother.” The selfish fool didn’t seem to understand, or maybe he didn’t care, that unlike having the tires rotated, bonding with a child wasn’t something he could postpone until a more convenient time.
The tree hunters interrupted her thoughts. “And we have a winner!” Jack called out with game show host enthusiasm. He indicated their choice with a sweeping Vannaesque gesture.
Lizzie danced around the little cedar, setting the pom pom on the end of her stocking cap into motion. “Isn’t it pretty, Mommy?”
“Yes, very,” Ellin agreed. “Smells good, too.”
“Yep. I picked it out all by myself.” Lizzie turned to Jack who was waiting with ax in hand and issued one of her royal edicts. “Okay, you can start choppin’ now.”
He winked at Ellin. Then pretending to spit in his hands, he rubbed them together and swung the ax dramatically. After a few solid whacks, he yelled “Timber!” and the four-foot-tall tree toppled to the ground.
“This is my bestest Christmas tree ever,” Lizzie pronounced over the fallen evergreen. She insisted on helping Jack carry it to the truck.
Ellin brought up the rear. She’d been right to come on this little jaunt, even if Jack’s startling transformation from jolly old gentleman to sexy young hunk had rattled her. Lizzie was having the time of her life. The discomfort of her own reluctant physical awareness was a small price to pay for her little girl’s giggles.
Besides, she was probably making too much of it. So what if Jack Madden lifted her spirits and made her heart beat a little faster? She hadn’t been in a serious relationship for over two years. What felt like chemistry might just be hungry hormones yearning for action. Instant attraction wasn’t reliable, nor was it always mutual.
Jack had been more attentive to Lizzie than to her. He hadn’t said or done anything to make her think his interest was anything other than neighborly. And that was just the way she wanted it.
Right?
The expedition was a resounding success. Not only did they locate the perfect Christmas tree, Jack paused on the trip down the hill to point out a family of deer browsing in the brush. The wildlife sighting propelled Lizzie over the top, and her heartfelt declaration of “I love this place” gave Ellin something else to worry about: how her daughter would react in three months when it was time to leave.
It was dark by the time they returned to Ida Faye’s. Jack carried the tree inside and clamped it into a metal stand while Ellin peeled Lizzie out of her snowsuit. Pudgy greeted them by bouncing around the living room, his yapper on full throttle.
Jack set the tree up in front of the picture window and Lizzie helped him fluff out the lacy branches. The scent of cedar soon filled the room.
“Can we decorate it now, Mommy? Can I put the angel on top? Can Jack help?”
“Oh, I think we’ve imposed long enough.” Ellin stood behind her daughter, her hands on the thin shoulders as though using the child as a buffer between them. “We can’t ask him to give up his entire evening. I’m sure he has other things to do.”
Lizzie’s upturned face swiveled from Ellin to Jack. “Do ya?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I’m free as a bird.”
Lizzie turned back to her mother. “See. He can stay and help me put the angel on top. I’m hungry. Can you cook some pasketti? Can Jack eat wif us? Huh, Mommy?”
Ellin groaned inwardly. This was not good. Jack was easy to talk to, and she’d been so lonely these past weeks. But the tree quest was taking on definite datelike dimensions, something she’d vowed to avoid. She didn’t want him to stay but was even more reluctant to see him go. A dilemma if ever there was one.
Lizzie did not share her reservations. “Don’t you want to eat wif us, Jack? Aren’t ya hungry?”
“Well,” he admitted, “I worked up quite an appetite with all that chopping.”
Lizzie beamed with satisfaction. “See? That means he’s hungry, too. Go make pasketti now.”
Jack laughed. Ellin sighed in exasperation and made a rolling gesture of obeisance. “Yes, your Royal Munchkinness. Your wish is my command.”
“Okay.” Lizzie ducked behind Ellin and pushed her into Ida Faye’s little kitchen. Jack started to follow, but she latched on to his hand and pulled him toward the couch. “You stay in here and read me a story.”
“Yes, ma’am, princess.”
Ellin gave him an apologetic look. “Can you tell she’s used to getting her way?”
“I’d say she comes by it naturally.”
“Can I take your coat?”
He slipped out of the dark blue seaman’s jacket and handed it to her. Her heart thumped with another little thrill of appreciation. Just as she’d feared. There was a nice broad chest under the cable-knit sweater. And firm biceps. With his cold-burnished cheeks and wayward hair, he looked like that virile Old Spice sailor, home from the stormy sea. After a long voyage without female companionship and rife with desire.
Holey-moley. What was her problem? The guy was just being himself. Maybe that was the trouble. “I’ll just be a little while.” She headed for the kitchen before he could see how her own imagination affected her.
He glanced up from the couch where Lizzie had heaped her favorite picture books and smiled. Darn. Now he looked like a kindly Father Goose. Bad Ellin. She had to get those errant, needy thoughts under control.
“Take your time,” he told her. “We have plenty to keep us busy out here.”
She put pasta on to boil, then peeked into the living room. Jack sat with Lizzie snuggled comfortably in the crook of his arm, an open book on his lap. He was in the middle of a dramatic reading of The Story of the Three Little Pigs in which he somehow managed to make the Big Bad Wolf sound like a regular guy. How the heck did he do it?
After a simple dinner of spaghetti and salad, Jack helped Ellin carry the box of Christmas ornaments in from the garage. He sat in Ida Faye’s recliner with a cup of coffee in his hand and Pudgy in his lap and watched the Bennett girls decorate their tree. He imagined Jana’s reaction when she called for a full report of the day’s events and found he still wasn’t home. It would drive her nuts and serve her right.
Funny, he’d only known Ellin and Lizzie a few hours, and yet he felt strangely at ease. Being here with them gave him that familiar, déjà vu feeling that thrilled and frightened at the same time. He knew there was something right and logical about meeting them. Something fateful. As though the sequence of events that led them out of Chicago and into his life had been carefully orchestrated for his benefit.
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