The coach ride back to Cascade was painfully quiet. Edgar had elected to sit up with the driver, which left Tess to sit on the seat between Daphne and Blythe, who held their questions for later. Johnny slouched across from them, his arms crossed tightly as he stared out the window to avoid looking at her.
Tess regretted using her money to put Reed Mahaffey in his place, but it was a language he understood. Johnny Gazara understood it, too. How ironic that he’d left his former lover because she was well married and duplicitous—and today she had acted much the same, hadn’t she? She had no husband coming home, but her dark-haired lover was leaving her because he associated moneyed women with desertion and betrayal, and she’d given him no reason to believe differently.
When they arrived at the candy factory, Johnny hopped down from the carriage to carry in the boxes of extra candy and their orders from the day’s event. No whispered hints of meeting in his room, no exchange of heated glances or enticement to spend the next several hours with him. Tess’s heart thudded. She stepped down first and then helped Daphne and Blythe to the snow-lined walkway.
“Tessie, can we do anything to help?” Daphne whispered, glancing toward the carriage’s boot, where Johnny talked tersely with their driver. “That was the most awful scene in the hotel hallway.”
“Thank goodness Johnny sent that other fellow packing,” Blythe remarked. “But now he’s acting as if—”
“It was my doing that Reed left, after I delivered an ultimatum about dissolving my partnership with him. Then our Denver benefactors ushered him to the train station,” Tess corrected. She sighed as the three of them started for the door. “Johnny found out about my money and watched me use it as a weapon—like his former lover did—so he wants nothing more to do with me.”
“But it was self-defense against that . . . that self-serving bully!” Blythe protested. “I suspected you weren’t telling us everything, but we all have our secrets. I . . . I hope you and Johnny can patch this up.”
“If either of you leaves, well”—Daphne’s face withered and she sniffled loudly—“it’ll be so deadly dull around here, won’t it, Blythe? Edgar treats us wonderfully, but . . . it’s been so nice to have Johnny here making his stained-glass murals and to have you for a new friend, too, Tessie! After Christmas, the factory remains busy, but we Penney Candy girls . . .”
“We must make our own entertainment, that’s for sure.” Blythe sighed. “Maybe I can convince Johnny you deserve another chance, Tess. The moment you arrived, it was love at first sight for him. We all saw that. Only a man would mess up such magic.”
That evening, Tess winced at the sound of shattering glass. In his studio, Johnny sorted sheets of colors into the open trunks around him. So engrossed in his packing he was, muttering that women were all lying bitches, he didn’t notice her standing sadly in his doorway. When a large piece of shiny green glass landed in the trunk with a loud whack! a cry escaped her.
He looked up. The section of cranberry glass in his hands shimmered like bright blood. “Don’t bother begging or trying Blythe’s provocative ploys to make me stay, Tess. I should’ve left long ago.”
Her brow furrowed with irritation. “So why didn’t you?”
“Beats the hell out of me!” The sheet of red glass shattered atop the other pieces in the trunk. “Maybe it was Penney’s peppermint incense fogging my mind. Or maybe I thought all these visions of sugarplums would provide a pleasant retreat from conniving women. But, no!” he exclaimed vehemently. “You had to come along, saying you were so alone. Pretending to be destitute, with only one black gown to your name!”
Tess stood straighter. She’d borrowed Blythe’s most conservative dress for this conversation so she’d be appropriately covered, but sex was not going to happen no matter what she wore. Johnny was wallowing. And in his way, he sounded every bit as spoiled and self-centered as Reed Mahaffey, didn’t he? Maybe it was best to state her case and be done with it.
“I am alone,” she pointed out in a low voice. “And, as I told Reed, I have no interest in marrying him. And yes, I am a wealthy woman, Johnny, but my husband’s money didn’t protect him or our little girl from yellow fever. And now it’s made me a target for fortune hunters.”
Johnny’s eyebrow rose like a raven’s wing. “No danger of me chasing after your money, my dear. I’ve always worked for my living, and I’m proud of it!”
“As well you should be. Your work is glorious. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, enjoy it to your heart’s content. I choose to move on.” He tossed another sheet of red glass into an open trunk. “Time to return to reality. Time to end these trips down Candy Cane Lane and take on serious projects. At cathedrals and museums.”
“Good for you! I sincerely hope you find what you’re searching for.” Tess refrained from sinking to his level, despite the despair that threatened to engulf her as he locked his big trunks. Where was that magic everyone else here believed in? It appeared she’d have to make her own, because everything she’d come to love these past few weeks was shattering like Gazara’s glass.
“For me, this job with Penney Candy has been the most fun I’ve had since Henry and Claire died. And you know what?” she challenged, her voice rising. “If my money bothers you, Johnny, well, that’s your problem, isn’t it? I have no intention of handing over my share of Henry’s business to Reed, just because he thinks I owe him—or to satisfy your starving artist’s ideals and temperament. If you can’t love me because we’re happy together, fine! Better to find out now rather than after I’ve lost my heart and soul to you.”
Despite her best efforts, a sob escaped her as she left his room.
Within the hour, Johnny informed Edgar Penney he was leaving. In the room next to Tess’s, the candy magnate wheedled and pleaded, appealing to Johnny’s sense of wonderment—displayed in every room of his home—but to no avail. Gazara seemed determined to make all of them as miserable as he was. After he’d hauled the last of his trunks outside to await the stagecoach, the slam of the door reverberated throughout the house. Like the closing of a crypt, Tess thought glumly.
The halls rang with silence as the evening stretched on. The potent aroma of peppermint seeped out of Edgar’s bedroom, accompanied by none of the usual sounds of sex play. Not wanting to think about how Blythe, Daphne, and Edgar were consoling each other, Tess wandered the house’s mazelike halls to drink in the details of Johnny’s artwork, the joy and childlike spirit that shone in each of his sparkly murals and friezes. While she understood his desire to stretch his abilities, to have his work seen rather than buried here beneath the Colorado snow, it saddened her that he’d left under such a cloud.
A cloud of his own making.
Tess fingered the curlicues of an ornate stained-glass ribbon tied around a Pinwheel Pop. The coils of candy seemed to spin as she watched, like a never-ending rainbow, even though reason told her the image wasn’t moving. It was Johnny’s mastery of blending colors and glass facets to create the illusion of movement. She could practically taste the grape, cherry, orange, lemon, and lime.
And what flavor would the blue be?
Tess blinked. She’d heard that question spoken quite plainly, yet no one stood anywhere near her.
A giggle bubbled up from deep inside her. This place was magical, and it had taught her something very valuable, too. Never in her life had she stepped outside the social expectations of the Memphis elite, yet she’d run away from a businessman who coveted her money, traveled to a place totally unknown, on a whim, and had fallen for an artist who’d seduced her with the rise of an eyebrow. And today she’d told both of them she didn’t need them.
What a liberating thought!
Tess realized then that her time and her future were her own. She missed Claire and Henry, yes, but she’d gotten beyond their loss, had shed her widow’s weeds for an outrageously revealing elf costume, to entertain children far needier than she. She’d blazed a new trail without a staff or a husband to direct her. And it felt good. It felt damn good.
Something primal shifted within her. Tears trickled, but this time it was sheer joy at her own accomplishments that made her swipe at her eyes and head for her room. Why remain here, in a house without windows, to endure the endless boredom Daphne and Blythe had described? She had a mansion in Memphis, sunny and comfortable even in December. And if she left tomorrow, she could be home for Christmas.
Home . . . I want a home where love lives again.
Well, what would that matter if she didn’t live there, too?
Edgar sat at his desk, already writing out her paycheck when she entered his office the next morning. He wore his red, furtrimmed Santa outfit, with the hat angled jauntily over his brow. “I’m well aware you don’t need this money, Tess—because I asked Spec Penrose to find out about you the day you arrived,” he added with a catlike grin. “But I insist on paying you for the wonderful way you’ve spread Christmas joy to our orphans. Godspeed, Tess. We’re going to miss you terribly.”
Tess took the check and then gaped. “You can’t be serious—”
“My generosity comes with an ulterior motive. And more than a little magic.” He leaned on his desk, fixing her in his gaze. “I also know, of course, that you and Johnny have been very, very naughty. But it’s so nice to see both of you happy.”
“Are you sure about that?” she countered. “The minute Johnny learned I had money, he turned tail! He didn’t like it when I told him it was his problem, either.”
“Precisely why I brought you here, my dear. Remember that magic I mentioned in my ad?” Edgar’s grin flickered. His flawless face had an ageless, childlike appeal, and she still had no idea how old he was. “Never stop believing in the magic of Santa, Tess—the goodness that comes of giving and receiving. Trust me, my dear. Johnny will come back to you, and it’ll all work out. Always does.”
Johnny’s handsome face flashed before her: his playful, dusky smile . . . that body made to fit against hers . . . kisses that drove her over the edge. Oh, how she wanted to believe in Santa’s magic! But if she was to make her train, she couldn’t let Edgar talk her into any more visions of sugarplums. “Thank you again for all—”
“Before you go,” he said, nodding toward her check, “might we discuss a bit of business?”