Enchanted (5 page)

He looked down at the blonde, the top of her head not even reaching his shoulders. His forced smile didn’t touch his eyes. “How much longer do we have to stay here?”

“It wouldn’t be proper to leave so soon. I’ve watched you, darling. You haven’t moved from this spot or talked to your friends all evening.” She kissed her index and middle fingers and pressed them against his lips as a photographer snapped their picture. “You’re embarrassing me in front of our friends, Mac. And looking miserable ruins your appearance.”

“I am miserable.”

“Have another drink. You’ll feel better.”

“It’s not a drink I want.” He took her small hand in his larger one, set the champagne glass down on the table, and nearly dragged her across the patio to the inside of the house.

“Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

“But I’m not ready to leave.”

“Do you want to stay here by yourself?”

Her lips turned into a pout. “No. Please, Mac. Won’t you stay just a little bit longer?”

“Why don’t we go back to my place . . .” He stopped, remembering Merry Nicholas had taken up residence. He couldn’t take Ashley home with him tonight. “Why don’t we get a room at the Plaza, order a million things from room service, and, well, you know, enjoy the evening?”

“That’s not my idea of a good evening and you know it.”

Mac put his hands on her shoulders and held her in front of him. He stared into her lifeless brown eyes. He had no feelings left. Somehow, in the last twenty-four hours, his eyes had opened, and he realized he no longer wanted to continue this farce of a relationship. “You’re right. I’ve known it for a long time, and, God help me, I’ve put up with it But not any longer.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s over. No more you and me.”

“You can’t possibly mean that.”

“It’s been over for years. I don’t know why we’ve hung on to each other.”

“But you love me.”

“I do?”

“Of course you do. You’ve always loved me.”

“Maybe once upon a time. But we’re not in a fairy tale and we’re not going to live happily ever after.”

“Don’t do it, Mac. I won’t let you dump me.”

“I don’t consider it dumping, just, well, sort of a parting of the ways.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“No. I think I’ve finally found it.” He leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll take you home.”

She jerked away from him. “I’ll get home on my own. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

He walked to the doorway, a heaviness pressing against his chest. Ten years of his life down the drain. Could he start over? Did he want to start over? He turned back to look at Ashley. Her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed. And then he heard her parting words.

“Damn you, Mac. I’ll get even. Just you wait.”

Mac smelled the pine the moment he stepped through the door. The fresh-baked apple pie, heavily spiced with cinnamon, assailed his senses and made him think of his childhood, and Christmas mornings long ago forgotten.

Merry, still awake as she had promised, sat in her rocker and looked up from her knitting, peering over the top of her glasses. A broad smile appeared on her rosy-cheeked face. “My, my, my. You’re home much earlier than I expected.”

“It’s late, Merry. You shouldn’t have stayed up.”

“I said I would.”

He pulled a straight-backed chair close to Merry, straddled the seat, and folded his arms atop its back. He watched her nimble fingers skillfully maneuvering needles and
yarn
into a lacy pattern. Never before had he watched a woman knit, and it amazed him that she could look at him and talk and not miss a stitch.

“Are you ready to talk?” she asked.

“If you want to discuss my personal life, I think I’d rather pass. It’s in shambles at the moment.”

“Then now’s the time to talk, young man.” She pushed her ball of red knitting
yarn
and her needles into the carpetbag next to her chair, then offered Mac a cookie from the plate on the table beside her.

“No, thanks,” he said, but found himself plucking one off the plate. He inspected the cookie, turning it around and around in his fingers. It looked like an angel coated in white icing with silver sprinkles on the tips of the wings.

“Bit early for Christmas, isn’t it?”

“Oh, my gracious, no. I prefer to think of it as Christmas all year long. Puts me in a most wonderful mood.”

“I told my secretary that I didn’t like Christmas. Are you trying to change my mind?”

“Oh, my, my, my. I plan to change much more than your mind, Mr. O’Brien.”

“Such as?”

“Why, your life, of course.”

Mac shook his head and laughed. “I like you, Merry.”

“I like you, too,” she said with a wink. “But I believe we have something important to discuss.”

He stole another cookie and waited for Merry to begin.

“I’ve come to the conclusion since I got here this afternoon that you need a wife. Makes a man so much happier. Someday you’ll have to ask my Nicky about that. Bless my soul, I don’t know what he’d do without me.”

“I just ended a ten-year relationship. The last thing I need is a wife. Besides, I’m not the marrying kind.”

“Nonsense, young man. Every man needs a wife. You just haven’t found the right woman.”

“And how do you propose I find one?”

“Oh, it’s very simple.”

“If it’s so simple, how come I’m forty-nine years old and still unmarried? Believe me, I’ve tried just about everything.”

“Not everything. Seems to me you’ve been looking for a wife from the meager pickings at those parties you attend. Now, I’m not saying there aren’t quality women in your crowd, but I just don’t think any of them are quite right for you.”

“Do
you
know what’s right for me?”

“I know, but I’m sure somewhere in your mind is a vision of what you want. Why don’t you tell me?”

While Mac was thinking, he looked around the room at the personal touches Merry had added. Doilies on the arms and backs of chairs, gilded picture frames filled with colorful photos of children and babies. The cozy room seemed to suit him. The crackling of the fire warmed his soul, sending the bitter feelings and hateful words of his evening with Ashley out of his brain. He couldn’t remember ever feeling such peace and serenity. If this was a dream, he didn’t want it to end.

He left his chair to stoke the
fire.
How could he tell Merry what he wanted in a wife? “I’m not quite sure where to begin.”

“I find the beginning is always the best.”

“You mean what she should look like?”

“I had something more, well, enduring in mind.”

Enduring
was
probably a better choice that something superficial.
“Do you mind if I get a beer?”

Merry got up from her chair and pulled her knitted shawl tight around her shoulders. “You drink too much beer. I’ll get you a nice warm glass of milk. While I’m gone,
think
about the enduring part for a moment or two.”

Mac pulled the rocker close to the fireplace and shoved a couch around so he could relax in front of the blaze. He slipped off his shoes before sitting down
, put
his feet on the sofa, closed his eyes for a moment, and thought about the woman of his dreams. He couldn’t see a face. What he saw was a feeling. Warmth. Laughter. Intelligence. A strong sense of family. He saw what his father had—a woman who cared, loved, gave her life to her husband and son. And for one fleeting moment he thought he saw long, auburn hair.

“Here you go,” Merry said as she put the glass of milk into his outstretched hand. Settling down, cozy and snug in the rocker, she looked into Mac’s face, lit by the light of the fire.

“So, young man, what type of woman can I help you find?”

“She doesn’t exist, Merry.”

“My, my, my, Mr. O’Brien.”

Mac laughed at the way Merry muttered her expletives in threes.

“What you truly want
does
exist. Sometimes you just have to believe in miracles.”

Mac considered her words. He didn’t believe in miracles, but he believed in Merry, believed she had some strange, mystical powers. He didn’t know why he believed that, but he did. “It will take a miracle to find what I’m looking for, but what’s your plan?”

“Run an ad in the personals column of a newspaper.”

He nearly choked. He’d never heard such an insane idea. Desperate people, sick and deranged people, ran ads in the personals column. The idea was utterly preposterous. “Absolutely not.”

“And your suggestion is better?”

“What suggestion?”

“That’s just it. You have no other idea, so you’ll have to go with mine.”

Merry pushed out of the rocker, picked up the half-full glass and plate of cookie crumbs. She turned when she reached the kitchen door. “Now, Mr. O’Brien. I believe it’s way past your bedtime. Get your pajamas on, brush your teeth, and hop into bed. I’ll wake you bright and early so you can call the newspaper. The sooner that ad appears, the better off all of us will be.”

“But I don’t know what to put in a personal ad.”

“I know. Count on me, young man. I’ll write the words, and before you know it, the woman of your dreams will pop into your life.”

He eyed her skeptically. He hated the idea, but Merry had made up her mind and, apparently, his too. Tomorrow morning he’d place the ad.

oOo

Kathleen sat at the conference table surrounded by advertising copy, holding one particular piece which she had stared at for nearly five minutes.

Her advertising and art managers, Jon and Wayne, sat on either side of the table, taking notes and hastily sketching ideas that might please the perfectionist who perused their work.

“What is it about that piece that you don’t like?” Jon asked.

“It just isn’t right”

“It’s what you asked for. A businesswoman sitting in the back of her limo reading a copy of
Success.”

“But . . .” Kathleen stopped abruptly when she heard the door open. A lump formed in her throat as Mac walked into the room. Why on earth does he have to be so drop-dead gorgeous? she wondered, trying to regain her composure.

“May I have a word with you, Ms. Flannigan?”

She looked at Jon and Wayne and the mess of papers strewn across the table. Be assertive, she told herself. “I won’t be much longer. I’ll come to your office when we’re through.”

He smiled. She hadn’t seen that entrancing smile in years, not since he came back from Europe.

“I’ll wait.” He walked to the far end of the conference table, sat down, crossed his legs and arms, leaned back in the chair, and stared at Kathleen.

How in the hell am I supposed to work with him watching me like that? She looked again at the copy before her, lifted it up to shield her face from Mac’s glare. She tried to concentrate but couldn’t. She peered over the top. He hadn’t stopped staring. She took a deep breath, studied the picture, and finally realized what she disliked.

“Jon. Wayne. Look at the woman. She’s all wrong.”

Jon and Wayne shared a perplexed look. “She looks good to me,” Wayne said with a sigh, thumping his chest to imitate a wildly beating heart.

“Great legs,” Jon added.

“That’s the problem. She shouldn’t have great legs. She shouldn’t look . . .
good.”
Kathleen pounded her chest, mimicking Wayne.

“Why?” Both men asked in unison.

“Because I don’t want this magazine to have the reputation of being for
beautiful
successful women. I want it to be for
any
woman who is or wants to be successful.”

She heard the footsteps approaching. Avoiding Mac’s eyes, she continued to stare at the woman in the picture. She felt his hands clutch the back of her chair, could almost hear his breathing as he leaned over her shoulder to look at the copy.