Page 8 of All I Want for Christmas

  "No kidding?" He felt a quick surge of pride. "She never did that well before. B's mostly."

  "Mr. Striker and I have markedly different ap­proaches."

  "You're telling me. Word around town is that the cho­rus is dynamite this year. How'd you pull it off?"

  "The kids pull it off," she told him, sitting up when their pizza was served. "My job is to make them think and sing like a team. Not to slam Mr. Striker," she added, taking a generous bite. "But I get the impression he was just putting in time, counting the days until he could retire. If you're going to teach kids, you have to like them, and respect them. There's a lot of talent there, some of it extremely rough." When she laughed, the roses in her cheek bloomed deeper. "And some of those kids will do nothing more than sing in the shower for the rest of their lives—for which the world can be grateful."

  "Got some clinkers, huh?"

  "Well..." She laughed again. "Yes, I have a few. But they're enjoying themselves. That's what counts. And there are a few, like Kim, who are really something spe­cial. I'm sending her and two others for auditions to all-state next week. And after the holiday concert I'm going to hold auditions for the spring musical."

  "We haven't had a musical at the high school in three years."

  "We're going to have one this year, Buster. And it's going to be terrific."

  "It's a lot of work for you."

  "I like it. And it's what I'm paid for."

  Mac toyed with a second slice. "You really do like it, don't you? The school, the town, the whole bit?"

  "Why shouldn't I? It's a fine school, a fine town."

  "It ain't Manhattan."

  "Exactly."

  "Why'd you leave?" He winced. "Sorry, none of my business."

  "It's all right. I had a bad year. I guess I was getting restless before that, but the last year was just the pits. They eliminated my job at the school. Economic cut­backs. Downsizing. The arts are always the first to suf­fer." She shrugged. "Anyway, my roommate got married. I couldn't afford the rent on my own—not if I wanted to eat with any regularity—so I advertised for another one. Took references, gauged personalities." With a sigh, she propped her chin on her elbow. "I thought I was careful. But about three weeks after she moved in, I came home and found that she'd cleaned me out."

  Mac stopped eating. "She robbed you?"

  "She skinned me. TV, stereo, whatever good jewelry I had, cash, the collection of Limoges boxes I'd started in college. I was really steamed, and then I was shaken. I just wasn't comfortable living there after it happened. Then the guy I'd been seeing for about a year started giving me lectures on my stupidity, my naiveté. As far as he was concerned, I'd gotten exactly what I'd deserved."

  "Nice guy," Mac muttered. "Very supportive."

  "You bet. In any case, I took a good look at him and our relationship and figured he was right on one level. As long as I was in that rut, with him, I was getting what I deserved. So I decided to climb out of the rut, and leave him in it."

  "Good choice."

  "I thought so." And so was he, she thought, studying Mac's face. A very good choice. "Why don't you tell me what your plans are with the house you're renovating."

  "I don't guess you'd know a lot about plumbing."

  She only smiled. "I'm a quick learner."

  It was nearly midnight when he pulled up in front of her apartment. He hadn't intended to stay out so late. He certainly hadn't expected to spend more than an hour talking to her about wiring and plumbing and load-bearing walls. Or drawing little blueprints on napkins.

  But somehow he'd manage to get through the evening without feeling foolish, or pinned down or out of step. Only one thing worried him. He wanted to see her again.

  "I think this was a good first step." She laid a hand over his, kissed his cheek. "Thanks."

  "I'll walk you up."

  Her hand was already on the door handle. Safer, she'd decided for both of them, if she just hurried along. "You don't have to. I know the way."

  "I'll walk you up," he repeated. He stepped out, rounded the hood. They started up the stairs together. The tenant on the first floor was still awake. The mutter of a television, and its ghost gray light, filtered through the window.

  Since the breeze had died, it was the only sound. And overhead countless stars wheeled in a clear black sky.

  "If we do this again," Mac began, "people in town are going to start talking about us, making out that we're..." He wasn't quite sure of the right phrase.

  "An item?" Nell supplied. "That bothers you."

  "I don't want the kids to get any ideas, or worry, or...whatever." As they reached the landing, he looked down at her and was caught again. "It must be the way you look," he murmured.

  "What must?"

  "That makes me think about you." It was a reasonable explanation, he decided. Physical attraction. After all, he wasn't a dead man. He was just a careful one. "That makes me think about doing this."

  He cupped her face in his hands—a gesture so sweet, so tender, it had every muscle in her body going lax. It was just as slow, as stunning, as sumptuous, as the first time. The touch of his mouth on hers, the shuddering patience, the simple wonder of it.

  Could it be this? she wondered. Could it be this that she'd been waiting for? Could it be him?

  He heard her soft, breathy sigh as he eased his mouth from hers. Lingering, he knew, would be a mistake, and he let his hands fall away before they could reach for more.

  As if to capture one final taste, Nell ran her tongue over her lips. "You're awfully good at that, Macauley. Awfully good."

  "You could say I've been saving up." But he didn't think it was that at all. He was very much worried it wasn't that. "I'll see you."

  She nodded weakly as he headed down the steps. She was still leaning dreamily against the door when she heard his car start and drive away.

  For a moment, she would have sworn the air rang with the distant music of sleigh bells.

  Chapter 6

  The end of October meant parent-teacher conferences, and a much-anticipated holiday for students. It also meant a headache for Mac. He had to juggle the twins from his sister to Kim to Mrs. Hollis, fitting in a trip to order materials and an electrical inspection.

  When he turned his truck into the educational com­plex, he was jumpy with nerves. Lord knew what he was about to be told about his children, how they behaved when they were out of his sight and his control. He wor­ried that he hadn't made enough time to help them with their schoolwork and somehow missed a parental step in preparing them for the social, educational and emotional demands of first grade.

  Because of his failure, his boys would become antiso­cial, illiterate neurotics.

  He knew he was being ridiculous, but he couldn't stop his fears from playing over and over like an endless loop in his brain.

  "Mac!" The car horn and the sound of his name had him turning and focusing, finally, on his sister's car. She leaned out the window, shaking her head at him. "Where were you? I called you three times."

  "Bailing my kids out of jail," he muttered, and changed course to walk to her car. "I've got a conference in a minute."

  "I know. I've just come from a meeting at the high school. Remember, we compared schedules."

  "Right. I shouldn't be late."

  "You don't get demerits. My meeting was about rais­ing funds for new chorus uniforms. Those kids have been wearing the same old choir robes for twelve years. We're hoping to raise enough to put them in something a little snazzier."

  "Fine, I'll give you a donation, but I shouldn't be late." Already he was imagining the young, fresh-faced first grade teacher marking him tardy, just another item on a growing list of negatives about Taylor males.

  "I just wanted to say that Nell seemed upset about something."

  "What?"

  "Upset," Mira repeated, pleased that she finally had his full attention. "She came up with a couple of nice ideas for fund-raisers, but she was obviously distracted."
Mira lifted a brow, eyeing her brother slyly. "You haven't done anything to annoy her, have you?"

  "No." Mac caught himself before he shifted guiltily from foot to foot. "Why should I?"

  "Couldn't say. But since you've been seeing her—"

  "We went to the movies."

  "And for pizza," Mira added. "A couple of Kim's friends spotted you."

  The curse of small towns, Mac thought, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "So?"

  "So nothing. Good for you. I like her a lot. Kim's crazy about her. I suppose I'm feeling a bit protective. She was definitely upset, Mac, and trying not to show it. Maybe she'd talk to you about it."

  "I'm not going to go poking around in her personal life."

  "The way I see it, you're part of her personal life. See you later." She pulled off without giving him a chance for a parting shot.

  Muttering to himself, Mac marched up to the elemen­tary school. When he marched out twenty minutes later, he was in a much lighter mood. His children had not been declared social misfits with homicidal tendencies after all. In fact, their teacher had praised them.

  Of course, he'd known all along.

  Maybe Zeke forgot the rules now and then and talked to his neighbor. And maybe Zack was a little shy about raising his hand when he knew an answer. But they were settling in.

  With the weight of first grade off his shoulders, Mac headed out. Impulse had him swinging toward the high school. He knew his conference had been one of the last of the day. He wasn't sure how teachers' meetings worked at the high school, but the lot was nearly empty. He spotted Nell's car, however, and decided it wouldn't hurt just to drop in.

  It wasn't until he was inside that he realized he didn't have a clue as to where to find her.

  Mac poked his head into the auditorium, but it was empty. Since he'd come that far, he backtracked to the main office and caught one of the secretaries as she was leaving for the day. Following her directions, he turned down a corridor, headed up a ramp and turned right.