What She Wants for Christmas. Janice Johnson Kay
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didn’t blush. “Sorry. I, uh…”
“You were thinking,” he said tactfully. Then a grin twitched the corner of his mouth. “Not that I wouldn’t be interested in knowing what you were thinking, but to get back to your question, actually I don’t have too many problems with debt collection. As you know, I get half up front, which is enough to pay the men. A lot of my work is on a larger scale than your job. I log land that’s going to be developed, for example. I suspect it’s the smaller bills people put off paying.”
“I hate dunning people.” Teresa made a face. “But then, that’s what I let myself in for when I insisted on a partnership.”
“In a perfect world—”
“In a perfect world, everybody would have plenty of money to pay their bills. And my daughter would be eagerly making new friends. And the woman you take out on a first date wouldn’t spend it whining.”
“You haven’t whined. You’ve talked about your problems. I don’t mind.”
“You haven’t talked about yours,” she said.
His lean dark face went expressionless again. “I guess I don’t have any pressing ones at the moment.”
If he’d just quirked an eyebrow or smiled apologetically or done anything else, she’d have believed him. As it was, she had the feeling she’d just walked up against an electric fence: invisible but powerful.
The waiter presented the bill; Joe paid. Outside, the sun was sinking in the west over Puget Sound and the hazy line of the Olympic Mountains. It must be eight-thirty, but days were still long at this time of year. Teresa didn’t protest when Joe used his hand on the small of her back to steer her toward his pickup. As if she didn’t know where it was.
“Sure you don’t want to go to a movie?” Joe asked.
“I wish I could,” she said, meaning it. “But I’d better not. I have to be at work awfully early tomorrow.”
He nodded, and she wished she could tell if he had asked again only to be polite. The short drive to her house was mostly silent. She wondered what he was thinking, anticipated that moment when he’d turn toward her, hoped her children would be tactful enough not to dash out to meet her when they heard the engine. She should have rented them a video, something engrossing. Next time…
The pickup pulled into her long driveway. She needed to mow again, she noticed, with one tiny corner of her consciousness. The rest of it was occupied with agonizing. What if he didn’t kiss her? Maybe he’d invited her out because he’d felt cornered; she’d been obvious enough, coming right out and asking if he was married. Maybe he didn’t like direct women.
Then they might as well forget the whole thing right now, she admitted.
The pickup slowed, stopped. No dogs; the kids must have let them in the house. He killed the engine. The front door of her house didn’t fly open. He turned toward her.
Teresa took a deep breath and smiled. “Thanks for dinner, Joe. I enjoyed myself.”
“Me, too.” His voice had roughened slightly. With surprising awkwardness, he said, “I don’t suppose we have an awful lot in common, but…maybe we could do it again.”
Was that a brush-off? Good Lord, why was she panicking? This was a first date! If it worked, it worked. If it didn’t, it didn’t.
“Sure,” she murmured.
He reached out more tentatively than she might have expected, although his hand was solid and warm on the back of her neck. His thumb traced a circle around the bump of her vertebra, which had the effect of tapping a Morse code directly into her spinal cord. This feels good. More. More.
He bent his head as though giving her time to withdraw. Fat chance. His lips were soft and dry and as warm as that big hand, gently massaging her neck. Their mouths brushed together, once, twice, before his settled more firmly on hers and nudged her lips apart. By that time, she was enthusiastically participating.
If he minded her leaning into him and nibbling at his lower lip, his groan wasn’t a good way of telling her. His other hand gripped her upper arm and tugged her even closer. Somehow his mouth was hot and damp now, and his tongue had touched hers, circled it just like his thumb was circling on her nape. She felt as mindless as a teenager making out with the object of her first crush.
More. More.
Joe was the one to pull back a little and let out a shaky breath. “I think,” he said huskily, “we’d better say good-night.”
“Good-night?”
“Isn’t that the appropriate way to bid someone farewell in the evening?”
Consciousness was returning. She tried to straighten with dignity. “I knew what you meant.”
“Good.” The trace of amusement in his voice didn’t show in the molten blue of his eyes. His hand tightened on her neck, then released her. “How about a movie next week? I’d suggest tomorrow night, except…”
When he hesitated, she finished, “I might have a rebellion on my hands. Next week sounds good.”
He muttered something inarticulate, gave her a quick hard kiss, then got out. She was dazed enough to wait until he came around and opened her door, offering a hand to the little lady so she could hop down from the high seat. He walked her to the door, smiled, his eyes intense, touched her cheek and left her there.
It was the first time since her husband’s death she’d gone out with a man she wished wasn’t leaving.
CHAPTER THREE
NICOLE WAS DISCOURAGED, but she wasn’t about to give up. This was her life she was talking about!
Mom didn’t even listen when she tried to tell her about her day at school.
“The bathrooms are gross,” she said. “And the girls are all ignoring me. It’s like I don’t even exist.”
“Are you sure you’re not ignoring them, too?” her mother asked, handing her a cookie and a glass of milk, as if she were five years old, home from a day at kindergarten.
“I’m not walking around grinning like some idiot, saying, ‘Hi, I’m new!’ if that’s what you mean,” Nicole said disagreeably. She bit into the cookie, which was still warm.
“How about the boys?”
She shrugged. “Oh, some of them are coming on to me. Like I’d be interested in any of them. But I guess you wouldn’t understand that, would you?”
Mom’s eyes narrowed and she held up one hand. “Okay, that’s it. Time for a little chat.”
“Little chats” were lectures. Nicole wasn’t going to argue during this one. She shouldn’t have said that; Mom didn’t date very often, even though she was still pretty, and it wasn’t like she was marrying the guy. The dig had just slipped out.
Mom put her hands on her hips. “A. I will not put up with any more snotty remarks. I know you’re unhappy, but you don’t have to make everyone else unhappy, too. B. I will have no sympathy for your unhappiness until you start making some effort to adjust to the move. You’d decided you were going to hate this place before you even saw it. Why not give it a chance?”
Tears came in a rush and Nicole wailed, “Because I was happy before! What was so wrong with that?”
“Absolutely nothing,” her mother said gently. “But you can be happy again. Happiness is inside you, not a place.”
Nicole took a deep breath, sniffed and wiped at her tears. “Jeez, Mom, you ought to write greeting cards.”
Her mother gave her a mock frown. “Okay, it sounds sappy, but it’s true, believe it or not.”
“Are you happy?”
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