Holiday Wishes (6 page)

Chapter 7

He had to admit, it had given him a kick to walk through town. Kids flocked after him. Adults called out and waved. He was offered uncountable cookies. The biggest satisfaction had been the awe on the young Hennessy boy's face. That had topped the wide-eyed shock of his mother when she'd opened the door to S. Claus.

Jason took his time walking back, strolling through the square. It was strange, he discovered, how easy it was to take on the personality of a set of clothes. He felt . . . well, benevolent. If anyone he'd ever worked with had seen him now, they'd have fallen into the snow in a dead faint. Jason Law had a reputation for being impatient, brutally frank and quick-tempered. He hadn't won the Pulitzer for benevolence. Yet somehow, at the moment, he felt more satisfaction in the polyester beard and dime store bells than he did with all the awards he'd ever earned.

He was ho-hoing his way along when Clara stepped out of the five-and-dime. She and the little brunette at her side went off in peals of giggles.

“But you're—”

One narrow-eyed stare from Jason did the trick. Cutting herself off, Clara cleared her throat and offered her hand. “How do you do, Santa?”

“I do very well, Clara.”

“That's not Jake,” Marcie informed Clara. She stepped closer to try to recognize the face behind the puffs of white.

Enjoying himself, Jason sent her a wink. “Hello, Marcie.”

The brunette's eyes widened. “How'd he know my name?” she whispered to her friend.

Clara covered another giggle with her hand. “Santa knows everything, don't you, Santa?”

“I have my sources.”

“There isn't any Santa really.” But Marcie's grown-up sophistication was wavering.

Jason leaned over and flicked at the fluffy ball on top of her cap. “There is in Quiet Valley,” he told her, and nearly believed it himself. He saw Marcie stop looking beyond the beard and accept the magic. Deciding against pressing his luck, he continued on down the street.

It wasn't easy for a fat man in a red suit to slip into a door inconspicuously, but Jason had had some experience. Once he was in the back room of Faith's shop, he shed the Santa clothes. He wanted to do it again. As Jason slipped into his own slim slacks, he realized he hadn't had so much fun in years. Part of it had been the look in Faith's eyes, the way she'd warmed to him, if only briefly. Part of it had been the simple act of giving pleasure. How long had it been since he'd done something without an angle? On an assignment there was constant bargaining. You give me this, I'll give you that. He'd had to toughen himself against sympathy, against compassion, to find the truth and report it. If his style had a hard edge, it was because he'd always gone for the story that demanded it. It had helped him forget. Now that he'd come home, it was impossible not to remember.

What kind of man was he really? He wasn't sure anymore, but he knew there was one woman who could make or break him. Leaving the suit in the closet, he went to find her.

She had been waiting for him. She was ready to admit she'd been waiting for him for ten years. Throughout the rest of the afternoon, Faith had made her own decisions. She'd made a success of her life. Though the search hadn't always been easy, she'd found contentment. Confidence had come with the years and she knew she could go on alone. It was time to stop being afraid of what her life would be like when Jason left again and to accept the gift she'd been offered. He was here, now, and she loved him.

When he came into the house he found her curled in a chair by the tree, her cheek resting on the arm. She waited until he came to her. “Sometimes at night I sit like this. Clara's asleep upstairs and the house is quiet. I can think about little things, enormous things, just as I did as a child. The lights all blend together and the tree smells like heaven. You can go anywhere, sitting just like this.”

He picked her up, felt her yield, then settled in the chair with her on his lap. “I remember sitting like this with you at Christmastime in your parents' house. Your father grumbled.”

She snuggled close. There was no padding now, just the long, lean body she knew so well. “My mother dragged him into the kitchen so we could be alone for a little while. She knew you didn't have a tree at home.”

“Or anything else.”

“I never asked where you live now, Jason. Whether you found a place that makes you happy.”

“I move around a lot. I have a base in New York.”

“A base?”

“An apartment.”

“It doesn't sound like a home,” she murmured. “Do you put a tree in the window at Christmas?”

“I guess I have once or twice, when I've been around.”

It broke her heart, but she said nothing. “My mother always said you had wanderlust. Some people are born with it.”

“I had to prove myself, Faith.”

“To whom?”

“To myself.” He rested his cheek on top of her head. “Damn it, to you.”

She breathed in the scent of pine while the lights danced on the tree. They'd sat like this before, so long ago. The memories were nearly as sweet as the reality. “I never needed you to prove anything to me, Jason.”

“Maybe that's one of the reasons I had to. You were too good for me.”

“That's ridiculous.” She would have shifted, but he held her still.

“You were, and still are.” He, too, stared at the tree. The tinsel shimmered in the lights like the magic he'd always wanted to give her. “Maybe that's why I had to leave when I did—maybe it's why I came back. You're all the good things, Faith. Just being with you brings out the best parts of me. God knows, there aren't many.”

“You were always too hard on yourself. I don't like it.” This time she did shift so that her hands were on his shoulders and her eyes were directly on his. “I fell in love with you. There were reasons for it. You were kind though you pretended not to be. You wanted to be considered tough and a troublemaker because you felt safer that way.”

He smiled and ran a finger down her cheek. “I was a troublemaker.”

“Maybe I liked that, too. You didn't just accept things. You weren't afraid to question.”

“I nearly got kicked out of school twice because I questioned.”

The old anger stirred. Had no one understood him but herself? Had no one else been able to see what had been racing and straining inside him? “You were smarter than anyone else. You've proved that if you needed to.”

“You spent a lot of time defending me, didn't you?”

“I believed in you. I loved you.”

He reached for her face in an old gesture that melted her heart. “And now?”

She had too much to say and not enough ways to say it. “Do you remember that night in June, after my senior prom? We drove out of town. The moon was full and the air was so sweet with summer.”

“You wore a blue dress that made your eyes look like sapphires. You were so beautiful I was afraid to touch you.”

“So I seduced you.”

She looked so pleased with herself that he laughed. “You did not.”

“I certainly did. You would never have made love with me.” She touched her lips to his. “Do I have to seduce you again?”

“Faith—”

“Clara's having dinner next door at Marcie's. She's going to spend the night. Come to bed with me, Jason.”

Her quiet voice raced along his skin. The touch of her hand to his cheek seared like fire. But tangled with his need for her was a love that had never grown old. “You know I want you, Faith, but we're not children now.”

“We're not children.” She turned her face to press her lips into his palm. “And I want you. No promises, no questions. Love me the way you did on that one beautiful night we had together.” Rising, she held out her hand. “I want something for the next ten years.”

With their hands linked, they walked up the stairs. He pushed away all thought of the other man she'd chosen, of the other life she'd lived. He, too, would block out ten years of loss and take what was offered.

Night came early in the winter so the light was dim. In silence she lit candles so that the room glowed gold and shifted with shadows. When she turned back to him she was smiling, with all the confidence and knowledge of a woman in her eyes. Saying nothing, she came to him, lifted her mouth and offered everything.

Her fingers were steady as she reached for the buttons of his shirt. His trembled as he reached for hers. Murmuring, she waited for the brush of his hands against her skin, then sighed from the sheer glory of it. They undressed each other slowly, not tentatively, but with the quiet understanding that every moment, every instant would be treasured.

When he saw her, as slim, as lovely, as unexplainably innocent as she'd been the first time, his head spun with needs, with doubts, with desires. But she stepped to him, pressed her body against his and dissolved all choices. She was stronger than she'd been. He could feel it, not in muscle but in spirit. Perhaps she had changed, but the longings that were racing through him were the same as they'd been in the boy on the brink of manhood. As heedlessly as the children they'd once been, they tumbled onto the bed.

They didn't relive the experience. It was as fresh, as wildly thrilling as the first time. But they were man and woman now, more demanding, hungrier. She drew him closer, running her hands over him with an urgency just discovered, with a turbulence just released. She'd waited so long, so very long, and wouldn't wait a moment longer.

But he took her hand and brought it to his lips. He quieted her tumbling breath with his mouth.

“I hardly knew what to do with you the first time.” Gently he nuzzled at her throat until she moaned in frenzied anticipation. Raising his head, he smiled at her. “Now I do.”

Then he took her places she'd never been. Higher, still higher he drew her, then just as suddenly plunged her deep where the air was thick and dark. Trapped in the whirlwind, she clung. She'd wanted to give, but he left her helpless. Tender, soft, easy, his fingers caressed until her body shuddered. He drank in her sigh with lips abruptly urgent, ruthlessly demanding, then patiently soothed her again. Sensations rocketed inside her, leaving no room for thought, for reason or even for memories.

When they came together it was everything for both of them. Time didn't slip back but trapped them and held them close in the here and now.

He kept his arms tightly around her and they were quiet. With her eyes closed, she absorbed the unity. She loved, and for the moment there was nothing else. For him both ecstasy and contentment were troubled with questions. She was so warm, so free with her emotions. She loved him. He needed no words to know it and never had. But the loyalty he'd always understood as an intrinsic part of her had been broken. How could he rest without knowing why?

“I have to know why we lost ten years, Faith.” When she said nothing, he turned her head toward him. Her eyes glistened in the shifting light but the tears didn't fall. “Now more than ever, I have to know.”

“No questions, Jason. Not tonight.”

“I've waited long enough. We've waited long enough.”

On a long breath, she sat up. Bringing her knees to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them. Her hair cascaded down her back. He couldn't resist taking a handful. She'd been his once, completely. No one else had ever touched her as he had. He knew he had to accept her marriage, and that her child belonged to another man, but he needed to understand first why she had turned to someone else so soon after he'd gone away.

“Give me something, Faith. Anything.”

“We loved each other, Jason, but we wanted different things.” She turned her head to look at him. “We still want different things.” She took his hand and brought it to her cheek. “If you had let me I would have gone anywhere with you. I would have left my home, my family, and never looked back. You needed to go alone.”

“I didn't have anything for you,” he began. She stopped him with a look.

“You never gave me a choice.”

He reached for her once more. “If I gave you one now?”

She closed her eyes and let her forehead rest on his. “Now I have a child, and she has a home I can't take away from her. What I want doesn't come first.” She drew back far enough to look at him. “What you want can't come first. Before somehow I never thought you'd really go. This time I know you will. Let's just take what we have, give each other this one Christmas. Please.”

She closed her mouth over his and stopped all questions.

Chapter 8

Christmas Eve was magic. Faith had always believed it. When she awoke with Jason beside her, it was more than magic. For a while, she simply lay there, watching him sleep. She'd imagined it before, as a girl, as a woman, but now she didn't need the dreams. He was here beside her, warm, quiet, and outside an early morning snow was falling. Careful not to wake him, Faith slipped out of bed.

When he rolled over, he smelled her—the springtime scent her hair had left on the pillowcase. For a few minutes, he lay still and let it seep into his system. Content, he lay back and looked at the room he hadn't been able to see in the dark.

The walls were papered, ivory, with little sprigs of violets. At the windows were fussy priscillas. There was an antique rosewood bureau cluttered with colored bottles and boxes. On a vanity was an old-fashioned silver-handled brush and comb. He watched the snow fall and smelled the potpourri on the stand beside the bed. The room was so like her—charming, fresh and very, very feminine. A man could relax there even knowing he might find stockings draped over a chair or a blouse mixed with his shirts. He could relax there. And he wasn't letting her go again.

He smelled the coffee before he was halfway down the stairs. She had Christmas music on the stereo and bacon frying. He hadn't known it would feel so good just to walk into a kitchen and find your woman cooking for you.

“So you're up.” She was wrapped from head to foot in a bright flannel robe. Desire dragged quietly at his stomach muscles. “There's coffee.”

“I could smell it.” He went to her. “I could smell you the moment I woke.”

She rested her head on his shoulder, trying not to think that this was the way it might have been—if only. “You look as though you could have slept for hours. It's a good thing you didn't or the bacon would be cold.”

“If you'd stayed in bed a few more minutes, we might have—”

“Mom! Mom! It's snowing!” Clara burst through the door and danced around the kitchen. “We're going to go caroling tonight in the hay wagon and there's snow all over the place.” She stopped in front of Jason and grinned. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.”

“Mom and I are going to build a snowman. She says Christmas snowmen are the best. You can help.”

She hadn't known just what reaction Clara would have to finding Jason at the breakfast table. With a shake of her head, Faith began to beat eggs. She should have known Clara would be willing to accept anyone she'd decided to like. “You have to have some breakfast.”

Clara fingered the plastic Santa on her lapel, tugging on the string so that the nose lit up. It never failed to please her. “I had cereal at Marcie's.”

“Did you thank her mother for having you?”

“Yeah.” She stopped a minute. “I think I did. Anyway, we're going to build two of them and have a wedding and everything. Marcie wanted the wedding,” she added to Jason.

“Clara would prefer a war.”

“I figured we could have that after. Maybe I should have some hot chocolate first.” She eyed the cookie jar and calculated her chances. Slim at best.

“I'll fix it. And you can have a cookie after the snowman,” Faith told her without bothering to turn. “Hang your things by the door.”

Scrambling out of her coat, she chattered at Jason. “You're not going back to Africa, are you? I don't think Africa would be much fun at Christmas. Marcie's mother said you'd probably be going to some other neat place.”

“I'm supposed to go to Hong Kong in a few weeks.” He glanced at Faith. She didn't turn. “But I'll be around for Christmas.”

“Do you have a tree in your room?”

“No.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look. “Well, where do you put your presents? It's not Christmas without a tree, is it, Mom?”

Faith thought of the years Jason had grown up without one. She remembered how hard he'd tried to pretend it didn't matter. “A tree's only so that we can show other people it's Christmas.”

Unconvinced, Clara plopped into a chair. “Well, maybe.”

“She used to say the same thing to me,” Jason told Clara. “In any case, I don't think Mr. Beantree would like it if I left pine needles all over the floor.”

“We've got a tree, so you can have dinner with us,” Clara declared. “Mom makes this big turkey and Grandma and Grandpa come over. Grandma brings pies and we eat till we're sick.”

“Sounds great.” Amused, he looked over as Faith scooped eggs onto a plate. “I had Christmas dinner with your grandparents a couple of times.”

“Yeah?” Interested, Clara studied him. “I guess I heard somewhere that you used to be Mom's boyfriend. How come you didn't get married?”

“Here's your hot chocolate, Clara.” Faith set it down. “You'd better hurry. Marcie's waiting.”

“Are you coming out?”

“Soon.” Grateful that her daughter was easily distracted, she set the platter of bacon and eggs on the table. Ignoring the half-amused lift of brow from Jason, she took her seat.

“We need carrots and scarves and stuff.”

“I'll take care of it.”

With a grin Clara gulped down chocolate. “And hats?”

“And hats.”

A snowball hit the kitchen window. Clara was up like a shot. “There she is. Gotta go. Come soon, Mom. You make the best.”

“Soon as I'm dressed. Don't forget your top button.”

Clara hesitated at the back door. “I've got a little plastic tree in my room. You can have it if you want.”

Moved, he only stared at her. Just like her mother, he thought, and fell in love a second time. “Thanks.”

“'Sokay. Bye.”

“She's quite a kid,” Jason commented as the door slammed behind her.

“I like her.”

“I'll give her a hand with the snowman.”

“You don't have to, Jason.”

“I want to, then I've got some things to take care of.” He checked his watch. It was only Christmas Eve for so long. When a man was being offered a second chance, it wasn't wise to waste time. “Can I get an invitation for tonight?”

Faith smiled but simply pushed the food around on her plate. “You've never needed one.”

“Don't cook, I'll bring something.”

“It's okay, I—”

“Don't cook,” he repeated, rising. He bent to kiss her, then lingered over it. “I'll be back.”

He took his coat from the hook where it had hung beside Clara's. When he was gone, Faith looked down at the toast she'd crumbled in her hand. Hong Kong. At least this time she knew where he was going.

The snow people in the side yard grinned at him as he struggled past. Boxes balanced, Jason knocked on the back door with the toe of his boot. The snow hadn't let up a whit.

“Jason.” Speechless, Faith stepped back as he teetered inside.

“Where's Clara?”

“Clara?” Still staring, she pushed back her hair. “She's upstairs getting ready for the hayride.”

“Good. Take the top box.”

“Jason, what in the world have you got here?”

“Just take the top box unless you want pizza all over the floor.”

“All right, but . . .” As the enormous box in his arms shifted, she laughed. “Jason, what have you done?”

“Wait a minute.”

Holding the pizza, she watched him drag the box into the living room. “Jason, what is that thing?”

“It's a present.” He started to set it under the tree, then discovered there wasn't enough room. With a bit of rearranging, he managed to lean the box against the wall beside the tree. He was grinning when he turned to her. If he'd ever felt better in his life, he couldn't remember it. “Merry Christmas.”

“Same to you. Jason, what is that box?”

“Damn, it's cold out there.” Though he rubbed his hands together now, he hadn't even noticed the biting wind. “Got any coffee?”

“Jason.”

“It's for Clara.” He discovered that feeling a bit foolish didn't dim the warmth.

“You didn't have to get her a present,” Faith began, but her curiosity got the better of her. “What is it?”

“This?” Jason patted the six-foot box. “Oh, it's nothing.”

“If you don't tell me, you don't get any coffee.” She smiled. “And I keep the pizza.”

“Spoilsport. It's a toboggan.” He took Faith's arm to lead her out of the room. “She happened to mention when we were building the snowman that some kid had this toboggan and it went down Red Hill like a spitfire.”

“Spitfire,” Faith murmured.

“And snow like this is just made for going down Red Hill like a spitfire, so . . .”

“Sucker,” Faith accused and kissed him hard.

“Put that pizza down and call me that again.”

She laughed and kept it between them.

“Wow!”

Faith raised a brow at the noise from the living room. “I think she saw the box.”

At full speed, Clara barreled into the kitchen. “Did you see? I knew there'd be one more, I just knew. It's as tall as you are,” she told Jason. “Did you see?” She grabbed his hand to drag him back. “It has my name on it.”

“Imagine that.” Jason picked her up and kissed both cheeks. “Merry Christmas.”

“I can't wait.” She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. “I just can't wait.”

Watching them, Faith felt her emotions tangle and knot until her bones ached with it. What should she do? What could she do? When Jason turned with Clara, the lights from the tree fell like wishes over their faces.

“Faith?” He didn't need words to recognize distress, pain, turmoil. “What is it?”

Her hands were digging into the cardboard of the box. “Nothing. I'm going to dish out this pizza before it's cold.”

“Pizza?” Delighted, Clara bounced down. “Can I have two pieces? It's Christmas.”

“Monkey,” Faith scolded gently, tousling her hair. “Set the table.”

“What is it, Faith?” Jason took her arm before she could follow her daughter into the kitchen. “Something's wrong.”

“No.” She had to control herself. She'd managed everything for so long. “You overwhelmed me.” With a smile she touched his face. “It's happened before. Come on, let's eat.”

Because she seemed to need to keep her thoughts to herself, he let it go and followed her into the kitchen where Clara was already peeking into the cardboard box. He'd never seen a child plow through food with such unrestrained glee. He'd never known Christmas Eve could be special simply because there was someone beside him.

Clara swallowed the last of her second piece. “Maybe if I opened one present tonight there'd be less confusion in the morning.”

Faith seemed to consider. “I like confusion,” she decided, and Jason realized the conversation was an old tradition.

“Maybe if I opened just one present tonight, I could get right to sleep. Then you wouldn't have to wait so long to creep around and fill the stockings.”

“Hmm.” Faith pushed aside her empty plate and enjoyed the wine Jason had brought. “I like creeping around late at night.”

“If I opened—”

“Not a chance.”

“If I—”

“Nope.”

“But Christmas is just hours and hours away.”

“Awful, isn't it?” Faith smiled at her. “And you're going caroling in ten minutes, so you'd better get your coat.”

Clara walked over to tug on her boots. “Maybe when I get back, there'll be just one present that you'll figure isn't really important enough to wait until morning.”

“All the presents under the tree are absolutely vital.” Faith rose to help her on with her coat. “And so are the following instructions. Stay with the group. Keep your mittens on; I want you to keep all your fingers. Don't lose your hat. Remember that Mr. and Mrs. Easterday are in charge.”

“Mom.” Clara shifted her feet and sighed. “You treat me like a baby.”

“You are my baby.” Faith gave her a smacking kiss. “So there.”

“Jeez, I'll be ten years old in February. That's practically tomorrow.”

“And you'll still be my baby in February. Have a good time.”

Clara sighed, long-suffering and misunderstood. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Faith mimicked. “Say good night.”

Clara peeked around her mother. “Are you going to stay until I get back?”

“Yeah.”

Satisfied, she grinned and pulled open the door. “Bye.”

“Monster,” Faith declared and began to stack plates.

“She's terrific.” Standing, Jason helped clear the clutter. “Little for her age, I guess. I didn't realize she was almost ten. It's hard to—” He stopped as Faith clattered dishes in the sink. “She'll be ten in February.”

“Umm. I can't believe it myself. Sometimes it seems like yesterday, and then again . . .” She trailed off, abruptly breathless. With studied care, she began to fill the sink with soapy water. “I'll just be a minute here if you'd like to take your wine into the living room.”

“In February.” Jason took her arm. When he turned her, he saw the blood drain from her face. His fingers tightened, bruising without either of them noticing. “Ten years in February. We made love that June. God, I don't know how many times that night. I never touched you again, we never had the chance to be alone like that again before I left, just a few weeks later. You must have married Tom in September.”

Her throat was bone dry. She couldn't even swallow, but stared at him.

“She's mine,” he whispered, and it vibrated through the room. “Clara's mine.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but there seemed to be nothing she could say. Lips trembling, eyes drenched, she nodded.

“God!” He had her by both arms, nearly lifting her off her feet before he backed her into the counter. The fury in his eyes would have made her cringe if she hadn't been willing to accept it. “How could you? Damn you. She's ours and you never told me. You married another man and had our baby. Did you lie to him, too? Did you make him think she was his so you could have your cozy house and lace curtains?”