The next afternoon Mackenzie had just finished preparing his usual lunch of salmon salad when the doorbell rang. Frowning, he went to glance out the window. He wasn’t expecting visitors. Certainly not during his month off.
A bright red Mustang sat in the driveway. Lindsay.
He opened the front door and found himself staring at a large, full, blue spruce.
“Merry Christmas, brother mine!” a sweet voice sang out from behind the branches. “I come bearing gifts.”
“How nice”—he stepped aside as she staggered inside, tree in tow—“you brought me a bush.”
“A bush? This, my poor, unenlightened brother, is a Christmas tree of the finest quality.”
“Ah. Of course.” He watched her deposit the tree in the middle of his Berber rug. “And what exactly am I supposed to do with it?”
She dimpled. “Decorate it, you goon. Now stop being obtuse and come give your sister a kiss.”
Chuckling, he leaned down to give her a quick peck on her smooth cheek, and she threw her arms around him in an exuberant hug.
She was petite, but she was strong.
“Lindsay, give the ribs a break.”
She giggled and stepped back. “If this beauty doesn’t get you into the Christmas spirit, I’m inclined to think you’re hopeless.” The gaze she turned on the tree held an adoration that most women—at least, those he knew—generally reserved for precious gems.
“I keep telling you that’s the case, Changeling. The sooner you realize it, the happier we both will be.”
“Not so, Bear.” She grinned at him, and he shook his head. He’d given up trying to quell the nickname years ago. An avid Winnie the Pooh fan, Lindsay had decided, at the ripe old age of five, that her big brother reminded her of Pooh. “You’re cute and cuddly.”
“And I have very little brain, that it?”
“Yes!”
He’d argued for a short time, but there was no putting a lid on Lindsay when she had her mind and heart set on something. She’d been adamant that he needed a nickname, something with “personality,” she said. Fortunately, she’d been willing to compromise, so “Pooh” (a name that still made Mackenzie shudder) gave way to “Bear.” Exactly why it was so vitally important, he’d never fully understood—but then, not understanding Lindsay was par for the course.
Ten years his junior, Lindsay was a lovable mystery. She lived life to the hilt, going from one adventure to the next, finding and producing delight everywhere she went. Mackenzie couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her without a smile on her face.
Hard to believe they were related.
She stood on tiptoe and tweaked his nose. “I know there’s a heart in there somewhere, dear brother.” She headed for the kitchen, and he followed, closing cupboard doors and drawers in her wake as she helped herself to sandwich fixings.
“Mmmmmmm.” She applied another helping of Miracle Whip to her bread. “Peanut butter, Miracle Whip, and pickles. A lunch fit for a queen.”
Mackenzie grimaced, but she ignored him. Sandwich in hand, she made a beeline for the breakfast nook, pulled out a chair, and plopped down. “So, what do you hear from the aunts lately?”
Ah, the aunts. The siblings had been raised by the three of them after their parents died in a car accident. Mackenzie had been fifteen, Lindsay, five. Celie was a physicist; Ophelia, a law researcher; and Amelia, a senior professor of mathematics and statistical methods at the university. All three were known as somber, cerebral, and introspective individuals.
“The usual. They’re in high demand as speakers and as dinner guests.” He moved over to the counter to start a pot of coffee. “They told you, didn’t they, that they’ve been invited to a forum on modern philosophy?”
“Hmm,” she said around a mouthful of her monstrous sandwich creation. “That’s right. Paris, isn’t it?” She paused a moment to swallow. “They’ll be gone all month. Ah, yes, nothing so enjoyable as stimulating discourse with the intellectual elite, is there?”
Actually, Mackenzie thought said discourse sounded inviting. Like the aunts, his and Lindsay’s parents were university professors. Their positions in the world of academia had been established long before either he or Lindsay had come on the scene. When Mackenzie was born, they simply brought him along. Quiet and undemanding even as an infant, he fit in perfectly. When most children his age were racing around playgrounds, he was content to sit and listen. By the time he was ten, he was even taking part in some of the discussions, demonstrating a remarkable grasp of logic and reasoning. A fact that delighted his parents to no end.
Then—Lindsay. A complete surprise from the get-go and as different in nature from the rest of them as humanly possible. Impulsive, dramatic, emotional, she took their family by storm. Neither Mackenzie nor his parents could begin to understand her. By the time she was a toddler, Mackenzie was convinced she was some sort of alien, planted in their family to keep things in an uproar. Hence her nickname: Changeling. She brought chaos—and in spite of themselves, uproarious laughter—into their home.
So it was that by the time Lindsay was four, Mackenzie and his parents shrugged their shoulders and accepted her as an enchanting anomaly. They couldn’t explain or comprehend her, but they had no trouble at all adoring her.
An adoration that the aunts shared, thank goodness. They’d always doted on both him and Lindsay, so though they’d all been devastated by their parents’ deaths, it hadn’t taken too long to feel at home with the aunts. There’d been adjustments, especially for him. Going from having a dad to being the only male in a household of women had been a struggle. But the aunts were loving—in their own way—and patient, and he’d finally come to realize just how blessed he and Lindsay were.
Mackenzie pulled himself from his thoughts and joined his sister at the table as she polished off her sandwich. He took a few bites of his salmon salad, thinking his aunts weren’t the only ones who adored Lindsay. He might be skeptical about a lot of things, but this he knew: he loved his sister, and she was going places. As an up-and-coming creative consultant, she’d been gaining steady recognition for the work she was doing around the Seattle area. Her design concepts were being touted as some of the most innovative and imaginative to hit the city in a long time. Considering how unique Lindsay was, that came as no surprise to Mackenzie.
“So I guess that leaves just you and me for Christmas, eh, Bear?”
He opened his mouth to reply when the air was split by loud, raucous barking. Mackenzie groaned, but Lindsay’s face lit up. “Kylie’s outside, huh?”
Mackenzie grimaced. “She must be. The creature only sounds that excited when they’re outside together.” Lindsay jumped up and went to peer out the window.
“You’ve got to stop spying on my neighbors, Lindsay.” He followed her over to the window. When Kylie Hawk had moved to the house next door last spring, she’d piqued his sister’s considerable curiosity. Before long the two were getting together on a fairly regular basis to share tea and conversation.
Apparently Lindsay had found a kindred soul.
“You’ve got to see this!”
He came up beside Lindsay and glanced out, his eyes growing wide as he took in the scene next door. “She’s . . . building a snowman.”
Lindsay laughed. “She is indeed.”
“Where did she ever find that monstrosity?”
“What monstrosity? Her dog?”
“You call that a dog? Looks more like some kind of mutant dust mop!” The beast had to weigh a hundred pounds or more and was covered with a white, corded coat that danced and bounced it as it circled around her mistress and whatever it was she was constructing.
“For your information, I think Zsuzsi’s cute.”
“You think anything with four legs and fur is cute. I’m telling you, that animal is some kind of genetic experiment. A twisted mix between a lion and an unmade bed.” He shook his head. “Not that the beast doesn’t fit her well. Her hair is as out of control as her dog’s!”
“Her hair is to die for!” Lindsay exclaimed, turning to stare at him like he was some kind of clueless alien. “It’s like a hair care commercial. You know, ‘Use our product and your hair will look like this, all curls and waves and sun-kissed golden highlights cascading down almost to your waist. . . .’ ” She angled a look at the neighbor, then back to her brother. “Face it, Bro. She’s gorgeous. As is her hair.”
“She’s peculiar.” He studied the petite, slender woman who was rolling what apparently would be the head toward her snow creation. “I realize she’s a vet—”
“She started her own clinic.” Lindsay’s tone was one patient tolerance. “She owns it. She’s very successful, though she doesn’t flaunt it.” She smiled, a tinge of admiration in her expression. “Kylie happens to be that rare combination of talent and humility.”
“With more than a touch of oddity thrown in. I swear, she doesn’t follow any kind of a work schedule. There’s no telling when she’ll be home and when she’ll be at that clinic. And that rag mop dog of hers goes with her everywhere.”
“Kylie Hawk is the perfect blend of professional and woman. She’s doesn’t give in to the tyranny of the deadline and is comfortable in her own skin. . . .” Lindsay fixed him with a wry gaze. “Which explains why you don’t get it.”
His eyebrows arched. “Oh, I do get it. Relaxed. At ease. Spontaneous.” He looked upward. “All nice little metaphors for undisciplined and wanton.”
“Wanton?” Lindsay hooted. “Did you just say wanton? Nobody uses that term anymore. Besides—” she struggled to contain her mirth—“if there’s anyone who isn’t wanton, it’s Kylie.”
“Ah, yes. The paragon of Christian virtue.”
Lindsay nudged him with her elbow. “Be nice. She’s the real thing.”
“So you’ve told me.”
Lindsay leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms and studying him. “She really gets to you, doesn’t she?”
“Not at all. I just find her . . . peculiar. And the way she talks about God is—”
“Intimate?”
“Overly familiar.”
“It’s the way I often talk about him. And the way you used to—”
“That was a long time ago. I was much younger, more naïve then.”
“Seems to me you could use a bit more naïveté in your life. You’ve grown . . . well, hard, Bear. Sometimes I’m not quite sure who you are anymore.”
He turned away, not wanting to see the pained expression he knew would be in her eyes. They’d had this discussion several times over the last year. Actually, ever since Kylie arrived on the scene.
“You know how I feel about faith issues.” He kept his tone light.
“It’s how you feel about God that concerns me.”
Et tu, Lindsay? “Come on, Linds. It’s not bad enough I’ve got this voice in my head bugging me about things, now you have to join in?”
“Voice in your—”
Never should have said that. “Look, I believe in God and in Jesus. A man would have to be blind or a fool not to. I am neither. But I’m not as convinced as you are that God is so very interested or involved in our everyday lives. Too many people are doing too many rotten things to each other. If God’s so involved, why is all that happening?” He met her troubled gaze. “I’ve talked with people who profess faith, who talk about prayer and God as though it’s all a big part of their lives, and I’ve watched those same people act and speak in ways that make me blush!”
“Bear, you can’t base your feelings about God on a bunch of desperate corporate managers and owners—”
“I know that.” He stopped, drew a breath, and softened his tone. None of this was Lindsay’s fault. “I’m not. It’s across the board, management on down. My last job? There was an older gentleman at a small business who told me that he was praying for me, asking God to give me wisdom. But when he lost his job, he just gave me this look. Like . . .” Mackenzie turned away. He didn’t want to talk about this. Think about it.
“Like?”
“I don’t know, like he was disappointed. Not in losing his job, but in me.” He turned back to her. “In me, Linds. When all I did was what I was hired to do.”
Her small hand was warm on his arm. “There wasn’t anything else you could do, Bear.”
He saw the trust in her eyes, the belief that he’d done his best for everyone concerned.
Everyone who mattered to your firm, anyway.
Shut. Up. “That doesn’t matter. Not to them. I had a guy last year who had a Bible at work and Scripture verses posted all over his cubicle, but when he was among the laid off, he called the office, ranting about me being the devil and needing to have my heart ripped out.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen too many people who just toss their faith out the window if circumstances aren’t to their liking.”
“Kylie’s not like that, Bear. And neither am I.”
He looked at her. “I know that. About you, anyway. But it’s all made me a whole lot less sure.” He held up his hand to stop her flow of words. “Not of God, Linds. But of people. And I just don’t believe in talking about the Almighty as though he’s some . . . some pal you knew when you both were kids.”
“But in many ways that’s exactly what he is. You used to believe that. I remember it. I remember how open you used to be, how full of life and laughter . . .”
“Like the Bible says, ‘When I was a child I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.’ ”
“That’s not what that verse means.”
“ ‘When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.’ ” He returned to the coffee maker, grabbing a coffee mug off the counter. “Want some?” He waved the mug, hoping for a diversion. She ignored it. “This life of yours . . . this unemotional, untouched world where everything is ordered and controlled, that’s not you, Bear. I know it’s not.”
“Lindsay—”
“Think about it. You weren’t like this until . . .”
He frowned at her hesitation. “Until what?”
She bit her lip. “Until Mom and Dad died. That’s when you changed.”
He’d had enough. He loved his sister, but this conversation was a waste of time. Hers and his. He was who he was. She was just going to have to accept that. “Face it, Linds. You see life different than I do. But you’re . . . well, you’re you.”
At his sister’s shaky laugh he turned to her, and a pang shot through him when he saw her eyes and the unshed tears. “That’s what I like about you, brother mine. That keen sense of the obvious.”
He tapped her nose with a finger. “You know what I mean. You have the heart of a child. And that’s a good thing. My heart? Contrary to popular belief, it does exist. It’s just not so inclined to buy into some things.”
“Like God’s love.”
“Like his involvement.” At the forlorn look on her face, he set down his coffee mug and pulled her into a comforting hug. “Don’t look so worried. We’ll be OK.” He leaned away and smiled down at her. “Who knows? Maybe you and Miss Loves-Dogs-and-Children are right, and I’m all wet. If so, I’m sure God will let me know.”
That brought her smile out again. “You can count on it. After all, Kylie and I pray for you often enough. God’s bound to do something.”
He clamped down on the groan. “You two pray for me?”
She leaned her cheek against his chest. “All the time. Does that bother you?”
“If it did, would you stop?”
Lindsay delivered a light punch to his rib cage. “Of course not, idiot. You’d need it more than ever.”
“Well, then, you do what you think is best, and I’ll just put up with it. After all, you’re family. I love you no matter how emotional, excitable, and extreme you get. As for your ditsy friend out there, well, she’s another matter entirely.” He stepped away from her and carried his coffee back to the table, where salmon salad waited. “She’s certifiable. You do realize that, don’t you?”
“Bear—”
“Do you know what your pal did yesterday?”
“Something awful, I’m sure.”
Fork again in hand, he fixed her with what he hoped was a somber stare. “She was out there, with that weirdo canine barking full volume and jumping around while she had a snowball fight with the neighbor kids. All of them.” He shuddered. “She was waving to anyone she could see to join them. There were screaming, snowsuit-clad midgets everywhere.” He fixed his now grinning sister with a glare and stuffed in a bite. “The woman clearly doesn’t know the meaning of the word restraint.” He spoke around his food. “Or order. Not only that, she’s so . . . so happy all the time. I’ve always assumed her eternal good mood stems from being more than a bit removed from reality.”
Lindsay chuckled. “Removed from your reality, maybe. But she’s quite in touch with her own. And quite content.” She leaned against the counter. “All the more reason for you to ask the woman out.”
He stared at her. There were no words.
“After all, it’s the first time I’ve seen you take a real interest in the right kind of woman.”
He shook his head. “An interest . . . in what woman? When?”
“Just now. In Kylie.”
“I was not—”
“Argue all you want, Brother, but you stood there a good ten minutes watching her. Analyzing her dog. Her hair. Her behavior.” She crossed her arms and gave him a sage nod. “That’s interest.”
“More like morbid fascination.”
Lindsay was back at the window and waved him over. Almost in spite of himself, he walked back over to the snowman scene. The head was now in place, complete with eyes, a big stone smile, and an old hat. As for his neighbor, she was kneeling in the snow, hugging her ridiculous dog, face rosy from the cold and wind, a grin stretched from ear to ear.
The woman was a lunatic.
Mackenzie turned back to his sister. “Seriously, can you see me with a woman like that?”
“Only in my dreams.”
He felt his jaw go slack. She couldn’t be serious. Even his slightly nutty sister couldn’t think such a match could work.
The gleam in her eyes told him otherwise. “If you ask me, that woman is exactly what the doctor ordered. Much more so than that human computer you’ve decided is the apple of your eye. No pun intended, of course.”
He turned his back on the window and moved back to the table. “Amanda is not a human computer.”
Lindsay followed him. “Of course she is. She’s even more structured than you are, though I didn’t think that was possible until I met her. Good grief, she thinks you’re frivolous! I’ll bet she hasn’t got a spontaneous bone in that sleek, sophisticated body of hers.”
Forget lunch. He was no longer hungry. He picked up the rest of the salad, wrapped the bowl with plastic wrap, and stuck it in the fridge. “Listen, Changeling, Amanda and I suit each other well. As for your animal doctor friend, we’d have nothing in common.”
“At least you’d have fun.”
He moved into the living room and sank down on the couch. “Fun isn’t enough, Lindsay. Kylie is always smiling and laughing. Last summer, when my windows were open, I could hear singing.”
“Clear evidence she’s a psycho.”
“Lindsay, I watched that woman sitting in her backyard once, picking daisies and making them into some kind of necklace. From what you’ve said she must be making good money. Why on earth wouldn’t she just buy jewelry? Why form it out of weeds? She probably got aphids.”
“Better aphids than frostbite.” At his dark look, she hung her head. “I’m sorry, Bear. Kylie’s always telling me I need to control my tongue.” She sighed. “It’s just that Amanda is so . . . regulated.” She shuddered. “I can’t imagine her feeling passion, let alone expressing it.”
“Amanda’s passion is none of your concern.” That came out more sharply than he’d intended.
“No, it isn’t. But it should concern you. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in this austere house living a ho-hum life with Ice Queen at your side? What kind of life would that be? I think God has better plans for you. At least, I’m pretty sure he does.”
Caught off guard by her words, he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. So now he was heartless and ho-hum? It was a wonder anyone could stand him.
The memory of Kylie sitting in the grass floated through his mind—as it had many times since the day he’d seen her, surrounded by flowers, the picture of serene contentment, cheeks kissed with the sun, golden hair cascading down her shoulders.
The image filled him with an odd sense of restlessness. He pushed it away and regarded his sister. She was looking at a piece of paper with a slightly stunned expression on her face.
“Lindsay?”
Her gaze moved to meet his. She was clearly upset. “I don’t believe you.”
The hurt tone in her voice startled him, and he sat up quickly. She handed him the sheet. It was his to-do list for the next month. He frowned, his gaze returning to his sister’s now-flushed face. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“That much is painfully evident.”
At the hurt in those whispered words, he frowned. “Lindsay, please. What have I done that’s so terrible?”
“Item number five.” Her tone was flat.
He looked down. “ ‘Propose to Amanda.’ So you have a problem with that, as you’ve just told me?” When she didn’t respond, he looked up to see her staring at him as though he were some stranger. “It’s my life—”
“Bear—” she broke in, then sat back, her breath coming out in a frustrated hiss. “You’ve got to be kidding. I mean, it’s one thing that you’re thinking about marrying that woman. That alone would make me nervous. But you’ve got the proposal on your to-do list!”
“What’s wrong with putting that on my list?”
“It’s number five, Bear! One of the most important decisions of your life, and you’ve got it listed as number five! After—” she leaned forward and grabbed the list from his hands—“after grocery shopping and balancing your checkbook!” She threw the list at him and stood. “What ever happened to you, Mac?”
What happened to you, Son? What made you this way?
He clenched his teeth. “I grew up.”
She strode to the door and pulled it open, then paused and looked back. Mackenzie was stunned to see tears—and disappointment—in her eyes. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was husky. “It’s your life. But if a man was going to propose to me, I’d sure want to be more important to him than grocery shopping.”
Before he could formulate an appropriate response, she was gone.