Beneath the Mistletoe. Susan Crosby
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I was almost thirteen. My father sent me to live with my aunt and uncle after that, so they’re almost like parents to me.”
“Here.” He set the clean, wet stockpot in her hands. “This goes in the cabinet next to the stove.”
So maybe he wasn’t interested in talking about her, either. “Do you think this ice storm will stop soon?” she asked, seizing on the weather as a last-ditch conversational gambit.
He dried his hands on a paper towel, studying her with a slightly quizzical expression. “You’re not one to let a moment of silence slip by, are you?”
Something about his wording amused her. Totally unoffended, she chuckled. “I’m afraid not. I tend to talk a lot, anyway, but especially when I’m nervous.”
“You’re nervous now?” That seemed to surprise him.
“Maybe a little.”
“Because of the storm?”
It seemed an innocuous enough excuse. “Okay.”
“You’re safe here, you know. Even if the power goes out, I have plenty of firewood and a gas stove to cook on.”
She found his somewhat awkward attempt to reassure her rather touching. Darned if she wasn’t starting to like him—at least a little—despite his curt manners. “I know we’re safe. It’s just a little…awkward.”
“Tell me about it.” He glanced toward the doorway as if he still wasn’t particularly looking forward to joining the others.
Lucy glanced at her watch. It was only seven-thirty. What were they going to do for the rest of the evening?
Bobby Ray wandered through the kitchen door, pushing a meaty hand through his bushy hair. “Miss Annie is asleep,” he informed them. “I talked Pop into lying down, too. Poor old guy’s wiped out, though he won’t admit it. Stubborn old bird. Reminds me of my grandpa.”
“I had a great-uncle like that,” Banner said. “Lived on his own until he was eighty-two, when he died in his sleep of a heart attack. Never would accept any help or advice from anyone.”
It was the most Banner had volunteered about himself since they’d arrived. Lucy wondered exactly how much Banner had in common with the great-uncle he seemed to have admired so much.
“I threw some more wood on the fire,” Bobby Ray said. “Getting kind of low in the wood box. You want me to bring some more in?”
“I keep a good supply on the back porch, under cover.” Banner motioned toward the back door on the other side of the bar.
Bobby Ray nodded. “Good. We’re probably going to need it. I just caught a local news report on the TV, and they said electricity’s going out all over this part of the state. I imagine we’ll be in the dark ourselves directly.”
Lucy shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
Banner looked at her in question.
“I’m not really crazy about being in the dark,” she admitted.
“Does it make you nervous?”
She smiled wryly. “Yes.”
Banner glanced at Bobby Ray. “At least we won’t have to worry that it will get too quiet.”
It was another example of Banner’s odd sense of humor—and once again he’d said it without even a hint of a smile.
“Very funny, Banner,” she muttered.
He gave her a look that might have held a gleam of amusement. And, darn it, she felt her toes start to curl in response to that hint of a smile.
Time to get control again. “Okay,” she said, “so what are we going to do with everybody? You have only two bedrooms, right?”
Banner nodded. “The Carters can have mine, and Joan and the kids can have the other. Bobby Ray and I will bunk in the living room and you can sleep on the couch in my office.”
“Your office?”
He jerked his head toward a closed door on the far side of the kitchen. “In there.”
She nodded. “That will work. What about—”
Someone pushed her from behind. She turned to find Banner’s dog standing behind her, taking up most of the spare room in the kitchen. It was the first time she had seen the beast standing up, and he was nearly the size of a small horse. She hardly had to bend over to look straight into his lazy eyes.
“He needs to go out,” Banner said. “You’re standing in his way.”
“Excuse me,” Lucy said to the dog, scooting to one side.
The dog made a grumbly sound that might have been a response, then ambled to the door, where he gave Banner a look over his shoulder. A gust of damp, icy air entered the room when Banner opened the door. The dog gazed dolefully out past the covered porch to the wet, ice-coated yard beyond. He gave a deep sigh, then walked out, his shaggy head already hunched in preparation for the elements.
Lucy couldn’t help smiling at the mutt’s behavior. “He’s a very…interesting character.”
Banner gave her another one of those looks that wasn’t quite a smile. “He’s excited by all the company.”
“That’s excited? How can you tell?”
“He’s awake.”
She laughed. “I see.”
Lucy stood back and watched as Banner pulled a big towel out of a cabinet. He opened the back door, letting dog and cold air inside again. After toweling the mutt off, he gave him a bone-shaped dog treat from a box he kept on the counter near the door. With a low “woof” of thanks, the dog strolled out of the room.
Lucy grinned as she watched the long scraggly tail disappear through the doorway. She was beginning to like that dog a lot.
She was still reserving judgment about his owner.
Chapter Three
Banner couldn’t remember this many people being in his house since—well, ever. Having brought in one of the straight-backed chairs from the dining room for himself, he sat uncomfortably in one corner of his living room, studying the others, who were watching a Christmas special on TV.
The Carters were still resting; Banner wouldn’t be surprised if they were down for the night. They had both looked exhausted after dinner.
Sprawled in Banner’s big leather recliner, Bobby Ray rubbed his bearded chin. His eyes were focused on the television screen, but his thoughts were obviously elsewhere.
Joan and Tricia sat on Banner’s brown suede couch, Tricia’s head cradled on her mother’s lap. Tyler lay on the floor, using Hulk for a pillow. The dog seemed perfectly content to serve in that capacity; his head was on his paws and quiet snores escaped him every so often.
Though he barely knew them, the children seemed subdued to Banner, probably still upset that their holiday plans had been disrupted. They watched the TV, but without much enthusiasm.
Finally Banner turned his gaze to Lucy, who sat in the brown-and-tan-striped easy chair, leaving the Windsor rocker as the only unoccupied chair in the room. Banner had been trying to avoid looking at Lucy, but it wasn’t easy. She fascinated him. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on the others, it was Lucy who kept drawing his attention.
She seemed to be trying to watch the program, but judging by her restless fidgeting, she was having trouble concentrating. Banner got the distinct impression that she would rather be moving around and talking at her usual mile-a-minute rate. There was a lot of pent-up energy in that tidy little package, he mused, letting his gaze drift down her figure.
He and Lucy seemed to be opposites. While he was content to spend days, even weeks, with no company but his own, Lucy probably