Christmas Kisses (Romance on the Ranch Series #5) (5 page)

Cecelia received a phone call from Mac's doctor
the day after his surgery. The friendly man indicated that all had gone well
and only time would reveal whether it was successful. When she asked when Mac
would return and offered to fly to Denver to drive him home, Dr. Hillsborough
responded that he was personally driving Mac to Paxtonville and then catching a
commuter flight from Cortez back to Denver. Cecelia liked the doctor's affable
manner and Midwestern twang and wondered if she would develop that same twang.
She smiled to herself. Her sophisticated brother now spoke with the accent
after living in the area for several years.

A week after the surgery Dr. Hillsborough drove Mac's
Toyota Land Cruiser into the driveway. Immediately, Cecelia rushed outside. She
saw a curtain move in the window next door. The widow woman who lived there had
waylaid Cecelia a few days previous and tried to pry information from her. As
Cecelia passed by on her walk to work, the white-haired old woman had called
from her front porch, "I hear yer the new owner of that fancy coffee shop."

Cecelia had paused and smiled. "Yes, I
am."

Without returning her smile, the neighbor
replied, "Now, don't git me wrong, I like coffee; jus' not with all them extras.
Black was good enough fer my ma and pa and mamma and pampa, and it's good
enough fer me. Now, missy, what are you doin' livin' in that house with that
man who's about as friendly as a rabid dog? Why, I come over one day after he
first moved in jus' so's I could meet my neighbor an' he wouldn't even open the
door. Jus' called through it sayin' he wasn't up to meetin' anybody. Hell, I
can understand that, but I tried agin a few days later and got the same
treatment." She paused for breath and continued nonstop. "Now Sadie,
yer neighbor at yer other house, said you's rentin' that house, but I told her
you was also livin' here cause I seen ya packin' yer suitcases in. Don't make a
lick o' sense to us. After Mr. Unsociable refused all efforts by his neighbors
to welcome him to the neighborhood, we jus' let him be—some folk jus' ain't
friendly. But with you movin' in, and you both bein' from out of town, we're wonderin'
what's goin' on. You two ain't doin' nothin' illegal, is ya?" She didn't
wait for Cecelia to answer before forging onward. "Cause if ya are, we
don't want ya in our neighborhood. Now, Sadie said she talked with ya after tryin'
one of yer fancy frappes and said you seemed right nice. But I know looks can
be deceivin'; my first husband taught me all about that. A more handsome devil
was never born, but devil is the right word fer him, why he–"

Cecelia had the feeling that if she didn't
interrupt, the woman would talk for hours.

"Please, ma'am, let me introduce myself. My
name is Cecelia Brightman and I bought the coffee shop from Dixie Kosky because
I just love this town. My sister-in-law, Tooty Brightman, lived here most of her
life before marrying my brother. They now live in the next county."

The woman interrupted Cecelia's interruption.
"Yeah, Sadie told me you was related to Tooty and her husband who writes
all them books. Why, ever-so-often we see Tooty and her man on them magazines 'bout
the movie stars. Usually, the stuff they write is hogwash, but sometimes they
hit the nail on the head, like when they talked 'bout the passel of kids she
and her hubby have."

Cecelia interrupted again. "So, what is
your name?"

"I'm Fannie Levinworth. I've lived in
Paxtonville since I was five. I–"

"Well, Mrs. Levinworth, let me assure you
that there are no illegal activities happening in this house. And you're right
about the owner being reclusive. He simply likes his privacy–"

"So he's got that mental disorder that don't
let him out of the house and–"

"No, I wouldn't go that far. He simply
likes–"

"So what are you doin' livin' there?"

Cecelia gave Fannie a smile meant to comfort.
"I'm assisting the resident while he recovers from surgery. That's
all."

"Does this
resident
have a
name?"

"I call him Mac."

Fannie tilted her head and studied Cecelia.
"You kinda' sorta' answered my questions, but you're still holdin' back.
However, I can take a hint when it's time fer me to mind my own bizness. I've
had five surgeries myself, so's I know how miserable a person can feel after
one. If'n you need any help with
Mac,
you jus' let me know. In fact, you
can call on any of yer neighbors fer help."

Cecelia had a sudden liking for Fannie and
replied warmly, "I thank you, and Mac thanks you."

Now, waiting for Dr. Hillsborough to open Mac's
car door, Cecelia turned her attention from Fannie peeking through her
curtains, to her patient. Her heart hammered. The doctor rounded the front of
the SUV, and said, "Hello. You must be Ms. Brightman. Nice making your
acquaintance. I'm Dr. Hillsborough." He opened the car door. "I'll
warn you, your patient isn't in the best of moods. Part of that, I'm sure, is
because of the meds he's on and the other part–"

Mac scowled as the doctor helped him from the car,
but Dr. Hillsborough continued, "–is because he's got that kind of
disposition."

Cecelia stepped forward to assist, but Mac shook
his head. "I've got that kind of disposition because my arm feels like
it's got a flame thrower dousing it." He took a step, wobbled, and the
doctor placed an arm around his waist, waiting for him to steady.

Dr. Hillsborough said, "Ms. Brightman, can
you get his cane from the backseat?"

Cecelia rushed to comply and then ran up the
steps to hold the door open. She heard several descriptive phrases from Mac
while his doctor helped him into the living room.

Mac said, "Put me in my recliner. If I have
to hole up in bed a minute longer you might as well commit me to a loony
hospital."

Slowly, Dr. Hillsborough lowered Mac into his chair
and the raw pain on his face made Cecelia want to cry.

Mac said tightly, "You can lean my cane
against the wall." He pointed to where he wanted it.

Cecelia obeyed and then asked, "Mac, can I
get you something to drink?"

He took a deep breath, released it, took another
one, and finally said, "Sure, got a beer?"

Cecelia didn't know what to say and glanced at
the doctor. He was grinning. She looked back at Mac to see him almost smiling
at her. "Just kidding," he rasped. His sort-of-smile vanished. "A
glass of water would be most appreciated."

Cecelia rushed to the kitchen and filled a tall
glass. Then she realized she didn't know if he preferred ice in his water. She
turned to go back to the living room and ask, and almost bumped into the doctor.
"Do you know if he likes ice?" she asked breathlessly.

"He does."

While she added ice to the glass, the doctor
said, "I'll just pour myself a cup of that coffee you got brewed and sit
at the table. We can discuss Mac's care when you return. Would you like me to
pour you a cup, too?"

"Yes, please." Cecelia took the glass
of water to the living room. Her patient had his eyes closed, but when she
quietly set the glass on his table, he opened them and studied her face. He
said, "Sorry if I was rude. I'll try to watch it."

"Oh, no. I didn't think you were rude. I'm
sorry you're in so much pain." She was at a loss as to what else to say.

Mac adjusted his position in the chair and
winced. He said through clenched teeth, "This sure as hell better be worth
it."

Cecelia patted her hands against her thighs in a
helpless gesture. "Is there anything I can do? Maybe a pillow would
help."

Mac released a frustrated breath. "No, I'm
fine. Go on back to the kitchen and see what words of wisdom Dr. Frankenstein
has for you."

In spite of her nervousness, Cecelia grinned and
Mac returned it—in a fashion.

Returning to the kitchen, Dr. Hillsborough
motioned to the chair across from him. He pushed a cup of coffee toward her. "Have
a seat, Cecelia. Do you mind if I call you by your first name?"

"Not at all. Thanks for the coffee."
She reached for the metal pitcher of cream and poured a liberal amount into her
cup. She watched the swirls created by stirring and waited for the doctor to
speak what was on his mind.

The man was obviously in no hurry and sipped his
brew. For a few minutes he talked about how much he'd enjoyed the drive from
Denver and that Mac had slept most of the way.

Cecelia listened with interest. Everything about
Mac fascinated her, even the mundane.

Finally, Dr. Hillsborough said, "We won't
know about the success of the operation for at least six to eight weeks. For
Mac's sake, I hope it's a success." He looked away and then back again.
"If it isn't, he's going to lose the use of his painting hand and that
will affect him–" He glanced away again. "–in a bad way. With the
death of his wife and the loss of his child, his creative expression is the
only thing that's kept him going." The doctor returned his stare to Cecelia.
"You do know about his child, don't you?"

Cecelia could hardly speak past the lump in her
throat. "I only know his baby was airlifted to a hospital after the
accident."

The doctor scratched his chin, pursed his lips,
and then seemed to make a decision. "I'll tell you truthful, Cecelia. I
think you're just what the doc ordered for that stubborn man." He smiled
slightly, "Pun intended."

Cecelia also smiled slightly.

Dr. Hillsborough continued, "The boy only
received minor injuries. With Rose dead, Mac was left with a baby and no family
to raise him. Mac and his wife both came from the foster care system; both were
orphaned while in high school, which meant adopting them out was not likely.
They met while living in the same foster home. Mac was a year older than Rose
and when he turned eighteen he got a job working in a factory. As soon as Rose
turned eighteen, they married and both worked blue collar jobs. He once
confided that they were very happy having each other and living in their own
place, as tiny as it was. In their early twenties, they had saved enough money
for a vacation on Santorini, an island in the Mediterranean famous for its
beauty and a place that Mac had always wanted to paint. Those paintings launched
his career when they were shown in a Dallas gallery. He became an overnight
success." Dr. Hillsborough glanced at Cecelia's cup. "Would you like
a warm up?"

"No. I'm good. Thank you."

"So, after the accident, Mac was left with
a baby he couldn't raise. Having been through the foster care system, he didn't
want that for his child, so he opted to allow his son to be adopted into a
loving family."

Suddenly, pieces of a puzzle started falling
into place for Cecelia and she gasped, "Loving Arms Adoption Agency was
the facility that handled the adoption!"

Dr. Hillsborough gave her a surprised look.
"Yes. I guess you've done some investigating."

Cecelia shrugged. "Yes and no." She
didn't elaborate. "Does Mac have any contact with his son? It's my
understanding that many agencies encourage the birth parent, or parents, to
stay in touch with their child."

The doctor frowned. "Although Mac receives
yearly updates with pictures from the adoptive family, he only responds with a
cursory thank you. He says he's protecting the child from discovery by
journalists that would love nothing more than to track down his boy, but,
honestly, I think he's protecting his heart more." The doctor rapped his
knuckles on the table. "Which brings us back to the operation."

Cecelia looked questioningly at him.

He said, "If this operation is not successful,
Mac's going to need all the support he can get. And the way he keeps everyone
at arm's length, support will be difficult to come by." The doctor studied
Cecelia's face. "For whatever reason, the man has allowed you into his
life. He could have hired the most discreet and experienced nurse to stay with
him, but he didn't. He chose you." With frankness, he asked, "Why do
you think that is?"

Cecelia whispered, "I have no idea."

Dr. Hillsborough placed his elbow on the table
and put his chin in his palm. "Well, whatever the reason, I believe you
have touched the man's heart."

Cecelia blinked back tears.

"And obviously, he's touched yours,"
the doctor concluded. He puffed a breath. "So, that brings us back to his
care over the next few weeks." Dr. Hillsborough then proceeded to outline
the medications and daily routine for Mac week by week.

Cecelia grinned at her employees, who were now
close friends, and said during one of their early morning meetings, "You realize,
don't you, that there are only a couple of months until Christmas?"

Julie said, "I love this time of year. When
do you want to start decorating?"

"That's just what I wanted to talk about.
When did Dixie usually put up the decorations?"

Justin interjected, "Around the middle of
November."

"So that means we should make this place
look like Santa's workshop in three weeks," Cecelia responded.

"Santa's workshop?" questioned Justin.

Cecelia couldn't contain her excitement.
"I've been searching online and found the most awesome decorations for
creating Santa's workshop." She opened the folder in her hands and passed
out pictures she had downloaded.

Samantha's eyes widened. "It's fantastic!
We'll have customers lined out the door."

Cecelia grinned. "And we can create some
special treats and drinks for the children. I was thinking of some names and
slogans like, Rudolf's Hot Chocolate to warm your red nose, or Frosty's—Frosty
no more—hot apple cider."

Julie clapped her hands. "I love it! And
Tilly and Angie will, too! They always get into the Christmas Spirit." She
waved the printout. "How soon until Santa's workshop arrives?"

"Well, I wanted to run this by all of you
before ordering to make sure you think it's a good idea, too."

Julie squealed, "It's a wonderful idea!"

Justin and Samantha agreed with big grins and
nods.

Cecelia had one last item to mention. "I'll
order it today. It should be here in plenty of time. But there's something else
we need to discuss." She lifted another printout from her folder. "What
would you think about dressing the part?"

Justin reached for the page she handed him and
his eyes widened. He started laughing, "Did you go all out like this in
New York?"

Cecelia smiled, "Oh, yes. Everyone dressed up
at my last job. It was fabulous fun. All year we wore stuffy suits and looked
like perfect yuppies. But when Christmas came, we became every imaginable
character. In fact, I brought my costumes with me. I have a couple of elf
outfits, Mrs. Claus's dress with matching apron, Frosty the Snowman, Rudolph,
of course, and Santa's favorite puppy."

"You have a puppy outfit?" Julie
laughed.

"It's the cutest thing you've ever seen
with a big red bow around the neck and a tail that really wags. So, what I'm
asking is if ya'll will dress the part?"

Justin wagged his finger at Cecelia. "Do
you know what you just did?"

She creased her brow. "What?"

"You just said, 'ya'll'." He stuck his
hand up for a high-five. "You are now officially a cowgirl."

Cecelia slapped her hand against his and felt
her heart glow with happiness.

Justin continued, "As for wearing costumes,
I refuse to dress as Mrs. Claus, but anything else, I'm game."

"Count me in, too," said Samantha.

"I can't wait," said Julie.

Cecelia said, "Wonderful! I'll bring the
costumes in tomorrow and then we can get Mrs. Doolittle to alter them as
needed. Of course, if you have your own costume or see something on this
printout you like, just let me know. I'll be happy to order more outfits."

*

Mac listened to Cecelia humming in the kitchen.
For two weeks, he'd been miserable. The burning sensation running from his
fingertips to his shoulder had only lessened slightly. It also appeared that he
was losing the battle against depression. If he lost his ability to paint he
figured his life was over. He'd just shrivel and die within a few years.

Cecelia entered the room carrying a tray. She
was a good cook, something that surprised him. He figured that her being a rich
socialite, she'd had people doing everything for her in New York. She set the
tray on the table beside his chair and grinned happily.

"What's with the humming and grins?"
Mac asked crankily. His tone didn't change her countenance.

"Let me get my tray and I'll tell you all
about what's happening at the coffee shop."

She returned a few minutes later, sat on the
couch across from his recliner, and settled her tray comfortably on her lap. He
waited for her to eat the first bite of spaghetti. Twirling the tines of her
fork, she lifted noodles dripping sauce to her mouth. He watched her suck a
noodle until it disappeared into her pursing lips. Quickly, he looked away. He
certainly didn't need his body coming awake when he felt like crap.

Cecelia said, "I love Christmas!"

Mac returned his gaze to her happy face. She
took another bite and sucked another noodle. "Sorry about that. I'm a
sloppy spaghetti eater."

Mac shifted his gaze away again. "You were
saying you love Christmas…"

"Oh, yes. Anyway, I'm making the coffee
shop into Santa's workshop for the holidays. I wasn't sure how my employees
would feel about it, but they loved the idea! We're even going to dress the
part!"

Mac almost smiled at her joyous chatter.

She continued, "I can't wait to see the
happy faces on the children. We're creating special drinks and snacks just for
them."

"That's nice," he said without much
enthusiasm. He felt like Scrooge.

Cecelia didn't seem to notice. She said,
"But enough about me. How was your day? Did you do this week's
exercises?"

Mac wanted to answer like a petulant child and
say, "Yeah, but they're useless," but he merely answered, "Yes."

Cecelia furrowed her brow and started to say
something when his cell phone rang. He reached for it on his table and frowned.
There was only one person he knew in that area code. "Hello."