“Merry Christmas,” Tom said, and Beth opened her eyes to find him standing at the foot of her bed, holding a tray. On his head he wore a red Santa Claus cap, the one with the marabou trim that had come with her new teddy, and on the rest of him he wore—a white terry-cloth towel?
Remembering last night, Beth pushed herself to a sitting position and clutched at the sheet. Her teddy had somehow ended up on top of the lamp shade. His clothes were in a neat pile on a chair, and his boots were lined up beside the door.
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” she said, wrinkling her nose at the wonderfully intermingled fragrances of country ham and freshly brewed coffee.
He set the tray beside her on the bed, swooped down, and planted a kiss on her cheek. “I had an idea that you might enjoy a real Breakfast with Santa,” he said.
She smiled at him, finding the Santa cap and beard stubble combination oddly endearing.
“You should have awakened me,” she said. “I’d have cooked breakfast.”
“I didn’t have the heart to disturb you. Instead, I ducked into your shower, and afterward, I explored the refrigerator.”
“The hat looks good,” she told him.
“It would probably be more becoming to you. Want to wear it?”
“No, thanks, and would you mind handing me that robe on the back of the bathroom door?”
Tom tossed it to her. “What about breakfast in bed?”
She stood up and wrapped the robe around her. “I want to wash my face, that’s all.” She kissed him before going into the bathroom and closing the door.
For a moment, she stared at her reflection. Her face was devoid of makeup, her hair a tangled mess. No wonder, when you considered their impassioned lovemaking of the night before.
“Woman, you’re going to kill me,” Tom had moaned after the third time, or was it the fourth?
Now, as she struggled to tug a brush through her hair, she almost blushed at the way she had seduced him last night. Not that he had minded. In fact, her preparations had fascinated him, and he’d expressed delight that she was such a willing bed partner.
“You always seemed so cool and calm,” he’d said in amazement. “How could I have guessed that you’re a wild and crazy woman underneath? And on top, and every stuff?”
She’d laughed at that. “I’m not sure I was so uninhibited before you came along. Ever,” she’d told him.
When, after a shower and subduing her hair into some semblance of order, she emerged from the bathroom, Tom was propped up on pillows in her bed, the Santa hat tilted rakishly to one side, the tray on a pillow between his side of the bed and hers. She slid under the sheets.
“You’re amazing,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting breakfast in bed.”
“What exactly,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her, “did you expect? More of what we did last night?”
She felt her cheeks heat.
“Admit it,” he said. “You’ve figured out that I’m insatiable.”
“Now that you mention it,” she replied as primly as she could under the circumstances, “the possibility has crossed my mind.”
“And what about you? You’re no shrinking violet yourself.”
“Couldn’t we simply eat breakfast? And not dissect last night?”
“I’m only expressing appreciation for the woman you are.”
“I’m not that woman, really.”
“Last night liberated you,” Tom said. “Right?”
Beth stirred her coffee, sipped and found it too hot. She replaced the cup in its saucer and regarded him. The only answer that occurred to her was that she would revert to Mitchell’s mom once her son came home.
“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Tom said. “Let’s enjoy Christmas, okay?”
She took heart from the warm light in his eyes. “Good idea.”
“You’d better eat your eggs before they get cold.”
The eggs were delicious, and so was everything else. Because he had cooked, Beth insisted on cleaning up, and after that, Tom said he would go to his house to get the goose, which was thawing in his refrigerator.
“I’ll be back later,” he said, kissing her at the door.
She stood in her warm fleece bathrobe, collar upturned against the chill, and waved as he drove away.
Afterward she hummed as she made the bed, straightened the house, vacuumed the living room. She was hoping Mitchell would call.
When the phone rang, however, it was Chloe.
“You’re invited to eat Christmas dinner with my family,” she told Beth hurriedly. “I’ve been meaning to mention it.”
“Thanks, Chlo, but I have other plans.” Beth knew Chloe would automatically think that she was spending the afternoon with Leanne and her brood, as she had last year.
“You sound mighty cheerful.”
This would have been the time to mention to Chloe that she’d spent last night with Tom Collyer, but Beth was reluctant.
“It’s Christmas,” she said airily, “the season to be jolly, and all that.”
“Fa-la-la-la-la,” Chloe agreed. “I need to put the finishing touches on the salad I’m making for our family dinner. Merry Christmas, Beth, and we’ll get together soon.”
After they hung up, Beth wandered into the living room. The Christmas tree that Tom had brought dominated the living room, even with her new armoire against one wall. Maybe she could start a tradition of planting an Afghan pine every year. Mitchell would like that, and perhaps Tom would, as well.
She was caught up short by this thought. She had no cause to believe that Tom would be part of her life next Christmas, and she probably wouldn’t have the heart to buy and decorate a tree just for herself.
As she lit the fire in the fireplace, the phone rang again. She hurried to answer it.
“Merry Christmas, Mom!” cried Mitchell.
She carried the phone to the armchair, poked at the newly lit fire to make sure it was burning and sat down. “Hi, honey. Merry Christmas to you, too.” The familiar lump was rising in her throat again, and for a moment, the lights on the Christmas tree blurred.
“Mom, you’ll never guess what I got for Christmas!”
She blinked to clear the mist from her eyes. “No, I can’t. You’ll have to tell me.”
“Should I keep you in suspense?”
She smiled. “Please tell.”
“Santa brought me an electric scooter of my very own!” Mitchell said with glee. “It was under the tree this morning when I got up!”
“An—an electric scooter?” she repeated. She was stunned. Surely Richie didn’t believe that Mitchell was old enough to ride one.
“Yeah. It’s bright red. I love it, Mommy. Later, Daddy’s going to show me how to make it go.”
“Oh, dear. Maybe you’d better let me talk to your dad.” An electric scooter? For Mitchell, who was only five and still had to be cautioned not to run into the street when they were at the park? She’d give Richie a piece of her mind. She’d—
“Okay, Mommy, I’ll get him.” She heard footsteps running, then Mitchell calling, “Dad? Da-ad! Mom wants to talk to you.”
She waited impatiently, drumming her fingers on the table beside the chair.
“Beth?”
“Yes,” she said tightly. “Are you out of your mind, Richie?”
A pause. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Beth,” he said with more than a hint of irony.
“Never mind that. How on earth could you think that our son is ready to ride an electric scooter? He hasn’t even tried the kind you push with one foot yet. He’s barely ready for a bike with training wheels.”
“All the kids around here have them.”
“Five-year-olds?”
“I didn’t ask them for their birth certificates. Starla agreed that it would be a good gift, and Mitchell loves it.”
“Richie, don’t you worry that he might have an accident? Hurt himself?”
“Sure, that’s always a possibility, but a boy is a boy. Mitchell’s not some namby-pamby wuss. He’ll fall down and get scraped up like all kids do, and there’s not much we can do about it. He’ll be six in January and is big for his age. I don’t understand the problem.”
Beth shook her head to clear it. “Buying him a scooter wasn’t smart, Richie.”
Richie let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s Christmas morning, Beth. Couldn’t we call a truce?”
“I—I’m upset,” she admitted.
When Richie spoke again, he sounded calmer. “I bought him a helmet. I’ll make sure he understands safety rules. He can ride up and down the driveway and nowhere else. You’re making too much of this, Beth.”
She was silent, unwilling to back off. Mitchell wasn’t ready for an electric scooter. She knew it.
“Do you want to speak to my folks?” Richie asked. “They’re right here.”
“Of course,” she said. She loved his parents, and in a different scenario, the one she’d married into in the first place, she would have been with them every year at this time.
Corinne came on the line first, and she described the awe on Mitchell’s face when he first spotted the presents under the tree, related some of his clever remarks as he opened various gifts and ended by telling Beth how much she missed her.
“We’ll see you in a few weeks,” Beth promised her.
Then Allen took over, his voice gruff but energetic, asking her how she was bearing up during the holiday season and finally wishing her a merry Christmas.
“Thanks, Allen,” Beth told him warmly.
Her ex-father-in-law handed the phone to Mitchell, but her son was in too much of a hurry to talk for long. “I’m helping Grandpa put together a swing for Ava,” he said with an air of self-importance. “I’m supposed to hand him the bolts.”
“Okay, you’d better get back to work,” she told him, and then they hung up.
Beth sat for a pensive moment, picturing the scene at Richie’s house. She imagined the commotion and excitement, with tantalizing smells wafting from the kitchen and the two children playing with their new toys. But somehow, she couldn’t visualize it as well as she had on other Christmases. Maybe that was because she was looking forward to something else now. She had a life that Richie and Starla, Corinne and Allen, and most of all Mitchell, knew nothing about.
It struck her that no one at Richie’s house had indicated any interest in her plans for the day. Not even Mitchell. And if they had, she wouldn’t have wanted to tell them about Tom.
For now, he was a secret that she hugged to herself.
TOM ARRIVED about an hour later, red cheeked and hearty, carrying the defrosted goose in a brown paper bag. He’d also brought a bottle of chardonnay.
Beth tossed together the stuffing while Tom scouted up the proper pans and racks from her kitchen shelves, and after they’d consigned the bird to the oven, Beth dusted off her grandmother’s heirloom bone china and set the table. From the garage, she brought scraps of spruce and fir left over from the decorations she’d made for the pancake breakfast and arranged them down the middle of the lace tablecloth, placing some of the candles from last night among them. The evergreens’ fragrance scented the house and mingled with the aroma of the roasting goose.
When she stood back to admire the effect of the candles on the table, Tom came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “Is that all we have to do? For a while, at least?”
She leaned her head against his chest and closed her eyes. “There might be something else we could be doing,” she said, beginning to feel the stirrings of desire. Dimly, she wondered how she could have felt no sexual energy for years, and now that she was around Tom have it to spare.
He ran his hands up under her sweater and caressed her breasts. She turned to him, overwhelmed by her feelings. He pushed her sweater up, traced her nipples with his thumbs, unhooked her bra.
It felt right to be kissing him longingly and lingeringly, to slide her hands through the front buttons of his shirt. Her seeking lips never left his as her fingers fumbled with his belt and he unfastened her jeans.
She shivered, not with cold, because it was warm in her house, but with anticipation. Tom felt her trembling and released her lips, his words stirring the hair beside her ear.
“Do we have to make love standing up, or is there somewhere else we can go?”
She didn’t want to take the time to lead him to her bedroom, to which he knew the way already. Urgency overwhelmed her.
“Here,” she whispered, “right here.”
She pulled him down beside her on the big couch, pushed some of the faded pillows into a rest for their heads, shimmied out of her jeans. Soon he was kissing her abdomen, moving higher, trailing kisses toward her breasts.
He was as hungry for her as she was for him, and they reveled in their reexploration of each other’s bodies in broad daylight, with the sunlight casting shadows through the shutters at the window. Afterward, Tom cradled her close, his fingers lazily stroking her back. They dozed for a while, woke up, kissed some more, and then Beth slipped on Tom’s shirt to go to the kitchen to check on the goose. Tom, dressed only in his jeans and with the top button undone, followed her and watched as she started the rice cooking. Then they kissed again.
“First course, kisses. Second course, salad. Third course, kisses,” Beth teased him before she went to get dressed.
After dinner, when he backed her against the refrigerator and kissed her again, she asked him why he kept doing it, even as she ran her hands up the musculature of his back and tangled her fingers in his mussed hair.
He countered with humor in his eyes. “There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing,” he said, but he sobered quickly. “You’re absolutely radiant, Beth, and this is the happiest Christmas I can remember.”
“Me, too,” she told him, wondering how this could be so. Before, the Christmases when she was married had been the benchmark against which she compared all subsequent ones. She was willing to admit that she and Richie had had problems from the beginning, but Mitchell had made up for those. Mitchell had been the centerpoint of their relationship from the day he was born, so was it any surprise that their son was what had made Christmas so wonderful?
Now this godsend of a man had come along and brightened Christmas for her, made it meaningful again. Instead of feeling lonely, she was truly blessed. How could she ever thank him?
“I can think of a way,” he said, and she laughed and let him lead her to the bedroom.
“I wish this day could go on forever,” she murmured wistfully, later when they cuddled in her bed together, the comforter keeping away the chill.
“I do, too,” he said. “You’re one hell of a Christmas present, Beth McCormick.”
“Better than a leg lamp?” she asked mischievously.
“If we’re going to start talking about body parts, I have some favorites of yours that I’d like to nominate for lamphood,” he said.
After Tom had dozed off, Beth willed herself to stay awake so that she could cherish this remarkable day until its very end. But she fell asleep well before midnight in Tom Collyer’s arms.
TOM AWOKE IN BETH’S BED on the day after Christmas with a cramp in his arm and an unsettling feeling that time was running out.
As he lay beside her with the dawn light piercing the slit in the curtains, Beth slept beside him. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, and her hair tumbled over his arm. She might have been an angel straight from the top of the Christmas tree, and he felt bewilderment that he was soon to lose her to another man.
To Mitchell.
Once her son returned, Mitchell’s claims on Beth would be more important and far-reaching than Tom’s could ever be. Gloomily, he tugged his arm out from under Beth, massaged his numb shoulder and watched while she smiled and turned away, snuggling close to him under the covers.
The thing was, he didn’t want to give Beth up. He wanted to be around her as much as their busy lives allowed. He wanted to have long conversations with her on the telephone, to invite her to his house for drinks and dinner, to take in a movie in Austin on the spur of the moment if they felt like it. How much of that would be possible once Mitchell was back in the picture? Probably very little.
“Tom?”
Beth was awake now, and his hand curved easily around her breast. “Mmm?” he said, picturing last night in his mind: the wind howling outside the window as they’d made love, the softness of her skin against his, later, the sweetness of sleep.
“You said you’d show me Divver’s ranch today,” she murmured. “Want to get an early start?”
“Might as well. I told him I’d feed the horses while he and his family were out of town.”
She kissed him before she slid out of bed. “Give me a couple of minutes in the shower.”
He stared up at the ceiling as he listened to her opening and closing cabinet doors, turning on the water, yanking the shower curtain across the rod.
This was Monday, and Mitchell was due back on Wednesday. He felt a pang of sadness for what they were about to lose: privacy, and pleasure wherever and whenever they wanted it.
Well, he’d have to adjust, that was all. No matter what he had to put up with, Beth was worth it.
THE TWO-STORY CLAPBOARD HOUSE where Divver, Patty and Amy lived was over a hundred years old. Divver’s great-grandfather had homesteaded in a small cabin up Big Horse Creek and built a larger home for his family when he became more prosperous. At one time, the Holcombs had run a large herd of cattle, but Divver and his sisters had sold much of the ranchland to the developer of Hillsdale. Divver preferred horses to cattle anyway, and he’d achieved some success with his breeding program and rodeo school.
Tom related the history of the house to Beth later that morning as they got out of his pickup and started walking toward the bunkhouse.
“How long have you and Divver Holcomb been buddies?” she asked.
“Most of our lives. He and Johnny—” He stopped talking in midsentence, uneasy and reluctant to discuss the past.
“I don’t think I know a Johnny,” Beth prompted. “Does he live around here, too?”
“No,” Tom said curtly. Fortunately, they were walking past the old cookhouse, which was now a utility storage area, and he was able to point out where he and Divver had constructed a lean-to at the age of twelve, and done a fairly good job of it, too.
They kept walking, the subject of Johnny Snead effectively quashed. He couldn’t expect Beth to be aware of the taboos; she hadn’t lived here then.
Divver’s big yellow dog galloped up and sniffed hopefully at Tom’s hand for treats. Glad for the diversion, he dug a dog biscuit out of the supply in his pocket and fed it to her.
“Her name’s Dallas,” he told Beth as she stooped to pet the dog. “Divver and his daughter brought her home when they found her sick and wandering in the city, so that’s how she got her name.”
“She looks part Lab,” Beth said.
He nodded. “Probably. She’s a good mutt.”
Dallas, primed for more treats, followed them toward the former bunkhouse. “This is where we have our offices and a couple of classrooms,” he told Beth, opening the door so she could precede him inside.
She took in the head of the deer and the snake skin hanging over the old fireplace, as well as Divver’s old desk, a family heirloom. After Tom told her about all the nights he and Divver had spent here in front of this fireplace on bedrolls when they were kids, she went to peek into the other rooms, which opened off the bigger one.
“This is a classroom,” she said, noting the chalkboards, and he nodded. He knew she was wondering about the big oval table in the middle of the room.
“We didn’t spring for desks. Kids who haven’t been a success in school often don’t respond to a classroom setting, so we and our educational-experts team decided on oval tables, where everyone is equal and can feel comfortable contributing to a discussion. The training we’re going to do here at the ranch is interactive. Some of these kids have never spoken up in a classroom, but they’ll get a chance to do that here.”
“Isn’t most of what you do going to be practical, hands-on experience? You know, roping and riding?”
“We’ll also talk a lot about safety issues and proper conduct, and a classroom is best for that. Come on over here and I’ll show you the kitchen.”
After the tour, they stepped out into the warm sunshine. Today, he felt young and carefree in a way he hadn’t in years and certainly not in the past few months when he’d been working so hard to get the ATTAIN program up and running. He slid an arm around her waist. “How about going for a trail ride? Old Red’s the calmest mount in the stable. Even a novice could handle him.”
She arched an amused glance out of the corners of her eyes. “All right.”
While Tom saddled Old Red and his own horse, Ironsides, Beth went from stall to stall visiting with the other horses. When it was time to mount Old Red, she surprised Tom by swinging her leg smoothly across the horse’s back and tucking her feet into the stirrups, heels down as recommended.
“Hey,” he said, grinning up at her. “You’re pretty savvy in the horse department.”
“Did I mention I used to be good at riding? In return for the privilege of exercising horses, I mucked out stalls at a stable near where we lived. It got me out of the house on Saturdays, and my grandmother liked that.”
He mounted Ironsides, and they began to ride across the wide fields toward Big Horse Creek. Tom pointed out a trail where whitetail deer often walked down to the water to drink, and as they passed a thicket, a flock of wild turkeys rose into the air and flapped away. Soon they heard the creek burbling as it coursed over rocks and lapped at its steep banks, and they picked their way along the path beside it.
This was beautiful country, with rolling hills and abundant wildlife, and Tom liked sharing it with Beth, who showed no fear in urging Old Red across the creek and who grinned back over her shoulder at him when he suggested that next time she deserved a more lively horse. “You could ride Daisy. She’s a spirited mare. Old Red’s good for beginners, like some of the kids in the ATTAIN program.”
“It’s great that you’re going to teach those kids to ride.”
“It’s part of our program. We’ll spend time with them—trail rides, camping, learning appreciation for nature. Many of these kids don’t have much chance to interact with men. That’s why at-risk teens sometimes turn to gangs for male companionship. Divver and I intend to be good role models for our students.”
Beth nodded. “One of the most difficult things about my being a single mother is that there’s no male role model for Mitchell.”
“What about his father?” He had wondered more than once about Mitchell’s desperate request for Santa to bring him a daddy, especially since he already had one.
“Mitchell isn’t with Richie often,” Beth said.
“Because your ex-husband doesn’t want him around?”
“Richie loves Mitchell, I don’t doubt that. But Richie has a new family. He’s committed to Mitchell for Christmas and a few weeks in the summer, and that’s it. He hasn’t suggested seeing him more frequently, and I—I admit that I would rather Mitchell be with me. Richie doesn’t have the best judgment in the world.”
Ironsides had been picking up speed, trying to break into a trot. Tom reined him in because he sensed that Beth wanted to talk. Plus he was curious; he wanted to sound out Beth’s true feelings for her former husband.
“Tell me about it,” he said, and that was all it took for Beth to pour out the story of Richie’s buying Mitchell an electric scooter.
“I agree with Richie on one thing,” Tom said. “It’s no good wrapping a little boy in cotton batting. You can’t keep him from getting hurt some.” Fresh in his mind was how he had pegged her as an overprotective mother on that first day at the pancake breakfast.
“I won’t deliberately put my son in harm’s way. No mother would.”
“Boys will be boys, Beth.”
They rode along the narrow creekside path, and when Beth spoke it was with utter sincerity. “Tom, if it weren’t for Mitchell, I’d be all alone in the world. I—I couldn’t face that. He’s everything to me. Do you understand?”
He studied her as she kept her eyes focused ahead on the path. “Yes, probably,” he said.
She glanced at him and smiled wistfully. “I hope so.”
He slapped the reins against Ironsides’ neck. “Hey, let’s challenge Old Red to keep up. Follow me,” he said, taking the lead as Ironsides gratefully transitioned into a trot.
Even though he disagreed with Beth’s approach to discipline, he had to admire her intention to be a good mother. He understood now, more than before, why she preferred to err on the side of being too permissive rather than too strict. He personally couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be alone except for a little boy. After all, he had Leanne, Eddie and their brood to care about him and also his brother, Bruce, though he lived far away.
It was too bad that Beth didn’t have more family. She was a lovely woman, sweet and sincere, hardworking and intelligent. Lately, because of his work with kids, he’d given a lot of consideration to parenting skills and had decided that too many parents didn’t take their jobs seriously. Some never showed up for parent-teacher conferences; others didn’t realize the value of a family’s eating dinner together every night; and a lot of people put themselves first, never mind that their kids deserved priority. Beth wasn’t one of those. She was the kind of parent who would always be there for her child, who made him the center of her life. Tom respected that.
In a short time, Beth McCormick had become more important to him than anyone else. He was surprised at how close they’d grown, yet he was comfortable with it, with her. He knew without a doubt that he wanted to find out where this relationship was going. He wanted to make it work.