Mistletoe and Holly (4 page)

“She cuts straighter than me,” Holly defended the system she’d arranged.

“I didn’t mind,” Leslie inserted. Actually, his little girl had livened up a dull afternoon for her.

“Thanks.” When he looked at her, she felt warmed by his smile. If she wasn’t convinced she had passed the blushing stage, she might have believed she had. But it was just an inner glow that heated her skin. Then he was patting his daughter’s shoulder. “Get your things gathered up so we can go home. You’ve taken enough of Leslie’s time.”

“We haven’t finished the chain.” Holly looked at the paper still to be cut.

“You and I will finish it tonight. How’s that?” He slanted her a grin with a downward tilt of his head.

“Okay.” She began scooping her papers, scissors, and glue into the sack, leaving the incomplete paper chain to add last. “We’re going out into the
woods on Friday to cut our own Christmas tree. Why don’t you come with us, Leslie?” she invited without checking with her father.

“Thank you, but—” She paused in time to check the impulse to inform Holly that she thought it was a crime to cut down a valuable tree just to hang some ornaments on it.

“—I don’t think Leslie would have much fun hiking through the snow on crutches, Holly,” Tagg inserted an excuse in the pause.

“She could ride on my sled and you could pull her,” Holly suggested, finding a quick solution to the problem.

“Thanks, but as clumsy as I am, I’d probably fall off,” Leslie refused.

Holly appeared to reluctantly accept her decision not to accompany them on their tree-cutting expedition. That idea was no sooner abandoned than another occurred to her. “Would you like us to cut you and Mrs. Evans a tree?” she asked, then turned to her father to verify it. “We could do that, couldn’t we?”

“We could.” He nodded.

“My aunt and I have talked it over and we aren’t going to have a tree this year,” Leslie stated to eliminate the offer.

“But you’ve got to have a tree!” Holly looked
properly shocked. “Santa won’t have any place to put your presents if you don’t have a tree.”

In her opinion, the myth of Santa Claus was a cruel hoax perpetuated by unthinking adults. She remembered her own traumatic discovery that he didn’t exist when she was Holly’s age. She had cried for two days.

Leslie worked to control her expression so her personal opinion of the subject wouldn’t show. After all, it wasn’t her place to correct the child’s mistaken belief in something that didn’t exist, but she really felt her father should. Some of that inner conviction must have shown in her eyes, because when she glanced at Tagg Williams, the measuring study of his gaze took on a mocking gleam.

She bristled ever so slightly before finally replying to Holly’s remark. “My aunt and I have decided we don’t want a tree,” she stated again. “So I guess Santa Claus will just have to pass this house without leaving any gifts.”

The large pair of china blue eyes viewed Leslie with solemn roundness. “Santa wouldn’t do that unless you’ve been bad.” She seemed worried that Leslie might have been bad.

“I don’t believe Leslie has been a bad girl.” Amusement was edging his mouth as Tagg affectionately squeezed his daughter’s arm in reassurance.
There was no mistaking the mocking light that danced so disturbingly in his eyes when he glanced at Leslie. “I think Leslie is saying that she doesn’t believe in Santa Claus.”

Holly’s mouth opened in a round circle of discovery. Then a pitying expression stole over her innocently drawn features. “Don’t you believe in Santa Claus, Leslie?”

“No.” There was absolutely no reason to lie about it. Still, she felt defensive about admitting it to a child. She was irritated with Holly’s father for putting her on the spot, so she challenged him. “Do you believe in Santa Claus?”

“Of course,” he answered without hesitation as a smile broke across his face.

“Gee, I’m sorry you don’t believe in Santa Claus anymore,” Holly declared sadly. “Maybe Daddy and me can help you believe in him again.”

She had the uncanny sensation she was being backed into a corner, assaulted from two sides. Leslie was determined to stand her ground and not be talked into an admission that was contrary to her beliefs. “I don’t think you can, Holly.” Her voice was cool and firm. It seemed wisest to bring this discussion to a close. “I enjoyed your company today. Maybe you can come visit me again. Only the next time, be sure and tell your father where you’re going.”

“I will.” Holly’s response seemed more offhand than assuring. Picking up her snow jacket, she thrust a hand through an armhole. Tagg helped her find the second. “Since Leslie doesn’t want to come with us when we get the tree, maybe she can come over to our house and help us decorate it. She did help me make the chain.”

“We’ll see.” His glance at Leslie seemed to say that he knew she would refuse if the question was put to her now. She suspected he wanted to avoid letting his daughter suffer any more rejections of her invitations. Holly gathered up her paper sack and jumped off the chair to walk to the door. “Where are your boots?”

Holly peered up at him through her long lashes, so innocent and so beguiling. “I forgot to wear them,” she admitted. “But I wiped my feet real good so I wouldn’t track on Mrs. Evans’ floor.”

He didn’t appear completely mollified by her reply. “Next time—” he began on a warning note.

“—I won’t forget to wear them. I promise,” Holly inserted quickly and turned the doorknob. As she pulled it open, she looked across her shoulder at Leslie, smiling and waving. “Bye, Leslie!”

“Bye,” Leslie responded, but Holly was already pushing open the storm door.

Tagg paused by the door, his hand holding it
open. A fine thread of tension seemed to run through the room, tying them together. Her heartbeat seemed louder, but it might have been just the sudden silence. She was fascinated by the polar blue color of his eyes, but their look was anything but cold. There was a latent sexuality about him that Leslie hadn’t noticed before. It was no wonder that his daughter had observed that women fell in love with him. It would be so easy. Mentally she pulled back from the thought. It seemed to break the spell that had held them both silent.

“I hope Holly wasn’t too much trouble,” he said.

“She wasn’t.” The words, the subject matter seemed all wrong. It was an empty communication, a poor substitute for another that neither of them were prepared to make.

“She’ll probably be back over another time to visit,” Tagg inserted, almost as an amused warning. “If you’re busy, just send her on home.”

“Okay.”

“Take care of that leg.” It was said in parting, along with a quick, disturbing smile. Then the two doors were shutting behind him. Leslie had a glimpse of him through the window as he made a skimming descent of the back steps and cut across the driveway to catch up with his daughter.

The house seemed quieter and emptier. Leslie reached for the deck of cards and idly began shuffling them to play another game of solitaire.

After lunch on Friday, Leslie volunteered to do the dishes. When the last pan was rinsed and stacked in the dishdrainer to dry, she pulled the sink stopper and washed the suds down the drain. Hopping on one leg and using the crutches for balance, she tugged the terry towel from its wall rack and wiped the moisture from her hands. Her aunt was bending down to search through one of the bottom cupboards.

“What are you doing?” Leslie asked with a half-smile as her aunt nearly crawled inside the cupboard in her search.

“I’m trying to find my roaster pan.” Her voice came hollowly from the inside of the cupboard. “I thought I’d fix a pork roast for dinner tonight. Ahh, here it is.”

There was a noisy rattle of pans before she backed out of the cupboard with a mottled gray roaster pan and lid in hand. Patsy Evans pushed to her feet and set the pan on the counter-top.

“At the rate I’ve been eating since I came here, I’ll need to go on a diet before I leave.” Usually
Leslie was too busy at work to eat three full meals a day.

“We’ll diet together when the time comes,” her aunt declared with a twinkling look. “It’s such a pleasure to cook for two people and not be faced with a refrigerator full of leftovers.”

“There aren’t many recipes to fix a dish for just one person,” Leslie agreed. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

She barely got the question out when someone knocked at the side door. “Yes.” Her aunt changed the negative response she had been about to make. “You can answer that.”

After being on crutches for two weeks, Leslie was becoming adept at ambulating with them. She moved with relative swiftness to the door, balanced her weight on one crutch, and opened the door with her free hand. She was startled and a little unnerved to find Tagg Williams standing at the threshold, holding the storm door open with his shoulder.

“Hi.” His glittering gaze made its usual run down her length before coming back to hold her glance.

“Hello.” Leslie was instantly conscious of the baggy pair of gray slacks she had borrowed from her aunt. None of hers would fit over the plaster cast.
They were hardly flattering to her slim figure. The same was true of the sloppy-fitting maroon sweater. It almost made her look flat-chested.

“Taggart, come in.” Her aunt had glanced across the room to identify her visitor. She didn’t believe in shortening a person’s given name, and never abbreviated his. “—Before you let all the cold air in,” she added the admonishment.

Leslie shifted to one side so he had room to step in and close the door. He didn’t bother to unbutton the charcoal gray wool parka he was wearing, which indicated he didn’t intend to stay long. Leslie had always considered herself to be tall, at five foot six inches in her stockinged feet, but standing beside him, she was conscious of his superior height. The top of her head would just brush his chin, if she were closer. The latter thought sent a small quiver over her spine.

“I came by to see if Leslie wouldn’t change her mind and come along with us on our search for a Christmas tree.” Tagg stated the reason for his visit, not letting his gaze stray from her face. “I borrowed an old dogsled for you to ride in so you won’t have to worry about falling off Holly’s sled. I even have a couple of old fur blanket robes. They might smell a little musty but they’ll keep you warm.”

Leslie was slightly stunned at the trouble he’d
taken to insure she’d be comfortable, but none of that altered one salient point. “I don’t think you understand. I don’t believe in chopping down trees just to use them for Christmas decorations.”

“Are you an ecology nut?” he countered smoothly, a suggestion of a smile showing around the corners of his mouth. He gave no sign that he was deterred by her response.

“No. Not exactly.” Leslie faltered at the unexpected question. She supported many of the ecology issues, but she wasn’t an extremist or fanatic—or a “nut,” as he put it. “It’s just something I don’t believe in.”

“No.” His mouth slanted in a crooked and amused line. “I don’t suppose you believe in the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy either.”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t.” Her reply was unnecessarily sharp, but Tagg Williams didn’t appear to notice.

“Holly and I would like you to come with us. When I get out the axe, you can look the other way,” he suggested.

“Really, I don’t—” Leslie started to repeat her refusal, but she was interrupted by her aunt.

“Forget all that tree business. It will do you good to be outside in the fresh air. It’s just what you need after being cooped up so long,” her aunt insisted in
a mildly scolding tone. “Don’t take any more arguments from her, Taggart. She’ll go with you.”

“Aunt Patsy.” Leslie turned on her aunt, irritated that she had intervened.

“Now admit it, Leslie. You would enjoy being outside in the wood,” she said in challenge.

That part of it did sound fun, Leslie had to admit it—if only to herself. She battled for a silent moment with her inner convictions and decided to take advantage of the opportunity to be outdoors. The dogsled was the ideal vehicle to accomplish it so she wouldn’t have to rely on the dubious support of her crutches on ice and snow. Since she had already stated her views regarding so-called Christmas trees, she wasn’t really compromising her position.

“I’ll come,” she agreed, then added, “—as long as you understand that I think what you’re doing is wrong and a waste of a good tree. So don’t ask me to help you pick one out.”

“We won’t.” His smiling look gave Leslie the impression that he knew in advance she’d agree to come with them. “While you get your coat and scarf, I’ll start the car and get it warmed up. We’ll be ready to go in five minutes.” He reached for the door to open it. “Don’t change your mind.” It was a warning against second thoughts.

“I won’t.” Leslie rarely backed off a decision once
she’d made it. She wasn’t the type to waver or regret impulsive decisions.

A rush of cold, December air swept into the kitchen when Tagg departed via the side door. Leslie shivered in a reflexive action to the sudden chill. In addition to her winter coat and scarf, she’d need a ski hat and her furlined gloves—and a couple of wool socks for her bare toes.