The Cowboy's Christmas Surprise. Marie Ferrarella
Читать онлайн книгу.
getting over a cold,” Martha pointed out patiently. “And from what I understand, the beauty of taking those courses in the isolating privacy of your own room is that you can take those tests whenever you want—on your own schedule, not the teacher’s or whoever it is that’s hiding on the other side of that monitor. Anyway, you’re going and that’s that.”
“Mom, what if Molly wakes up—” She got no further. Her mother had raised her hand, calling for silence.
“So she wakes up. I’ll handle it. Don’t make me feel any more of an invalid than this chair already makes me feel, Holly,” she pleaded. “Besides, you wouldn’t want this dress to go to waste, would you?”
“What dress?” Holly asked, finally turning around to look at her mother.
That was when she saw it. What her mother was talking about. There on her lap, encased in a plastic, see-through garment bag, was a dress that gave new meaning to the word beautiful.
Holly’s mouth dropped open in complete awe—and concern. The dress had to be expensive. She wasn’t about to allow her mother to throw away money on her like that, especially since there wasn’t all that much to toss around. They were still paying off the medical bills associated with the car accident that had put her mother into that wheelchair.
“Mom, you didn’t—”
“No, Holly, I didn’t,” Martha quickly assured her daughter.
Her mother didn’t usually lie to her, yet there was the dress, on her lap. “Then where did that come from?” Holly asked.
Martha Johnson smiled. “Miss Joan’s husband, Harry, brought it over. He said she told him that this was for you and that you weren’t allowed to give it back or refuse it, otherwise you’re out of a job,” her mother said matter-of-factly. She looked down at the dress that was still on her lap. “If you ask me, this’ll look extremely pretty on you.” And then she looked up to see Holly’s reaction.
That was not the expression of a woman who was thrilled about getting a new dress.
Holly was frowning.
“Oh, Holly, smile. You look as if you are about to be sent to prison, not to enjoy a rare night out. A well-deserved night out, I might add,” Martha insisted. She shook her head, her salt-and-pepper hair moving back and forth from the motion. “Honey, I can’t remember the last time you went out for fun.”
Neither could she, actually, Holly thought. But that still didn’t make this any easier for her. Holly bit her lower lip. “Mom, I won’t fit in.”
“You won’t fit in if you wear that old navy blue dress of yours,” Martha pointed out, nodding at the dress that was still hanging in the closet. “In this bright, pretty little thing, you’ll still stand out,” she acknowledged, nodding at the glittery blue-gray dress, “but in a good way. Besides, you’re going out with your friends, aren’t you? That should make it easier for you.”
She really wasn’t all that close to the girls she was going out with. Not so much that she could really call them her friends.
Holly raised one shoulder in a helpless gesture. “I’m going out with girls I work with, Mom.”
“Close enough,” her mother pronounced.
There was no doubt about it, Holly thought. She was going to feel awkward. She had trouble blending in in situations outside of her comfort zone, at work or home. Anything beyond that was no longer in her zone.
Martha took her hand between both of hers, a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Honey, the more you hide, the harder it’s going to be on you to come out and mingle with people who aren’t sitting at the counter, giving you their lunch orders.” If Holly could be outgoing in that situation—which she was—then she had it in her to be outgoing in other kinds of situations. She just had to be drawn out. “My friends occasionally drop by the diner and they all tell me that you’re the nicest, most helpful girl there—”
“Yes, but that’s work,” Holly reminded her. And that was exactly her point. She was fine as long as she could hide behind her job. No one expected any real one-on-one time with her while she was at work.
Martha was not about to accept defeat. In her own way, she was as stubborn as her daughter. “Then pretend you’re at work tonight—just don’t go behind the bar and start serving drinks,” Martha warned with an understanding smile.
“Mom, I—” The doorbell rang, interrupting what she was going to say next. Her head swung in the direction of the front door. “Oh, God, that’s Laurie.” She glanced toward her mother. “She said she was going to swing by to pick me up because she didn’t trust me to come to Murphy’s on my own.”
Martha looked just the slightest bit impressed, as well as surprised. “That Laurie is smarter than she looks.” Maneuvering her wheelchair so that she was closer to her daughter’s double bed, Martha deposited the new dress on it, then announced, “You get ready. I’ll let Laurie in and tell her that you’ll need a few extra minutes. She’ll understand.”
Holly’s stomach officially tied itself up in a knot. The kind that threatened to cut off her air supply. She pressed her hand against her stomach. “Tell her I’m sick.”
“Holly Ann Johnson, you know how I feel about lying,” Martha informed her, pretending to look stern.
“But I think I am coming down with something,” Holly protested. “I feel feverish.”
Martha frowned, wheeling herself over to her daughter. “Bend down,” she ordered.
Holly had no idea what her mother was up to. “Mom, I—”
“I said bend down,” Martha repeated even as the doorbell pealed again. When Holly did as she was instructed, her mother leaned forward in her chair and employed the classic mother’s thermometer: she brushed her lips lightly across her daughter’s forehead. “Cool as a cucumber,” she pronounced, motioning for her to straighten up again. “No fever present.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re going. No argument.”
With that, Martha wheeled herself out of the room as the doorbell rang a third time.
Holly sighed. Okay, she silently argued with herself, searching for the pros in this. After all, how humiliating could this be? She was going out with a bunch of girls from the diner, and while they weren’t bosom buddies, she did know them, at least to varying degrees. They’d go to Murphy’s, have a couple of beers—or, in her case, a single sangria—eat a few oversalted peanuts and listen to this band that Laurie had gone on about for the past two days.
If guys came by and asked the other girls to dance, leaving her alone at the bar, she knew Brett Murphy—the bartender who was most likely on duty tonight—well enough to have a conversation with him while she waited for her friends to come back.
She didn’t consider what she’d do if someone asked her to dance, because she was more than fairly certain that no one would. As far as she was concerned, she didn’t think of herself as the type to attract the attention of anybody, except maybe someone who desperately didn’t want to leave alone at closing time. And when it came to fending off someone like that, well, she could handle herself in those sorts of situations. Just before he’d left home, Will had gotten interested in martial arts and he’d taught her a few self-defense moves that would come in handy in dicey situations.
Okay, enough thinking, time for dressing, she silently ordered herself.
Hurrying into the blue-gray dress, she had to admit she liked the feel of the material as it glided passed her hips, stopping several inches above her knee—quite a bit shorter than the navy dress.
She wasn’t accustomed to wearing anything this short—or this clingy, she thought, looking herself over in the narrow full-length mirror that hung on the back of her door.
The fabric looked almost shimmery, she thought, staring at her image as she turned first in one direction