“I think he’s happy because he has a mother who loves him so much,” Jason said, then smiled when Amy blushed.
“Mr. Wilding, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”
“I guess stranger things have happened,” he said; then when she looked confused, he said, “Come on, woman, there’s a tree to decorate.”
In all his life, Jason knew that he’d never had as much fun decorating a Christmas tree as he had with this one. As children he and David had complained every minute they had to spend on the task. Without a woman in the home, there was no smell of cookies baking, no music playing, just their dad, who was his usual grumpy self. He put up a tree or his sister would hound him all the rest of the year, saying that she should raise the boys, not her lazy brother.
Now, as Jason strung lights that Amy had untangled, he found himself telling her about his childhood. He didn’t bother explaining why he had lived with David when he was supposedly only a cousin, and she didn’t ask. In return Amy told him about her childhood. She had been an only child of a single mother and when she’d asked who her father was, her mother told her it was none of her business.
Both of their stories were rather sad, and definitely lonely, but when they told them to each other, they made jokes, and Amy started a contest to see who had the grumpiest parent. Amy’s mother was a fanatically clean woman and hated Christmas because of the mess. Jason’s father just hated having his routine disrupted.
They began fantasizing about what a marriage between the two of them would be like, what with Jason’s father playing poker and flipping cigar ash all over the room and Amy’s mother with a vacuum cleaner permanently attached to her right arm.
They went on to speculate what kind of children these two would produce and decided that they themselves were actually perfect examples of what would happen if their two parents mated. Jason was so serious his face nearly cracked when he laughed, and Amy lived in a house that would make her mother’s heart stop beating.
“It’s beautiful,” Amy said at last, standing back to look at the half-finished tree.
“I wish I had a camera with me,” Jason said. “That tree deserves to be immortalized.”
“I don’t have a camera, but I can—” She broke off and grinned at him. “You finish with the tinsel while I make a surprise. No, don’t turn around, look that way.”
He heard her scurry off into the bedroom, then return and sit down in the ugly old sunflower chair. He was dying to see what she was doing, but he didn’t look. Not until he’d strung the last of the tinsel did she tell him he could turn around.
When he turned he could see that she was holding out a piece of printer paper and there was a pencil and a book on her lap. He took the paper and looked at it. It was a delightful sketch of him struggling with the wires of a dozen strings of lights, the tree just behind him. The picture was whimsical, funny, and at the same time poignant, making him look as though he was putting a lot of love into the project.
Jason sat down on the sofa, the sketch in his hand. “But this is good.”
Amy laughed. “You sound surprised.”
“I am. I thought you said you had no talents.” He was very serious.
“Not any marketable talents. No one wants to hire someone to draw funny pictures.”
Jason didn’t respond to her remark. “If you have more of these, get them and bring them to me.”
“Yes, sir!” Amy said, standing and saluting him. She tried to sound lighthearted, but she rushed to obey his command, and in seconds, she handed him a fat, worn, brown envelope tied with a drawstring.
Jason was very aware that Amy was holding her breath while he looked at the drawings, and he didn’t need to ask if she had shown them to anyone else, for he knew she hadn’t. For all that she put on a brave act, life with a drunk like Billy Thompkins had to have been difficult.
“They’re good,” he said as he lifted the papers one by one. The drawings were mostly of Max, from birth to the present, and they were quite clever, showing all the things a baby could get into. There was one of Max with wonder on his face as he looked up at a balloon, his hands reaching for it eagerly.
“I like them,” he said as he carefully put them back into the envelope. The businessman inside him wanted to talk to her about publication and royalties, but he reined himself in. Right now he thought that all he should do was give her praise.
“I like them very much and I thank you for showing them to me.”
Amy gave him a smile that threatened to break her face in half. “You’re the only one who’s ever seen them. Except my mother and she told me to quit wasting my time.”
“And what did she want you to do?”
“Become a lawyer.”
At first Jason thought she was joking, but then he saw her eyes twinkling. “I can see you defending a criminal. ‘Please, Your Honor, he promises that he won’t do it again. He gives his word, hope to die. He’ll never murder more than the twenty-two little old ladies that he has already. Pleeeeaaaaasssseeee.’ ”
It was such a good imitation of Amy’s tone of voice that she picked up a pillow and tossed it at him, watching him do an elaborate duck as though he might get hurt by the flying object. “You are a horrible person,” she said, laughing. “I would have made an excellent lawyer. I’m quite intelligent, you know.”
“Yes, very, but you do tend to love the underdog.”
“If I didn’t, you wouldn’t have had any place to spend Christmas,” she shot back.
“That’s true,” he said, grinning. “And I thank you for it.” As Jason said this, he looked down into her eyes and realized he wanted to kiss her. Like he wanted to continue living, he wanted to kiss her.
“I think I better go to bed,” she said softly as she got up and went toward her bedroom. “Max is an early riser and there’s a lot to do tomorrow.” She was halfway into the room when she turned back to him. “I didn’t mean to sound as though I was doing you a favor by allowing you to stay here. The truth is, you’ve made this Christmas wonderful for Max and me. Both of us enjoy your company very much.”
All Jason could do was nod in thanks. He couldn’t remember anyone ever telling him that he was enjoyed just for his company. “Good night,” he said, then sat for a long time before the dying fire, thinking about where he was and what he was doing.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A SMELL WOKE JASON. IT WAS A SMELL THAT HE KNEW BUT couldn’t exactly place. It was from a time long past and only vaguely remembered. Following his nose, he got out of bed, pulled on his wrinkled suit pants, and went toward the light. He found Amy in the kitchen, Max in his high chair, his face and hands covered with food, and wet clothes were everywhere. Shirts, pants, underwear, hung from the light fixture, the door jambs, the crack in the plaster over the stove. And in the middle of it all Amy stood over an ironing board using an iron that should have been in a museum.
“What time is it?” Jason asked sleepily.
“About five, I think,” Amy answered. “Why?”
“How long have you been up?”
She turned the shirt she was ironing so the wrinkled sleeve was exposed. “Most of the night. Little rascal, he does love to mix up his days and nights.”
Yawning, rubbing his eyes, Jason sat down at the table beside Max’s high chair and handed him a dried peach. Wordlessly, he motioned to the wet clothes hanging around the room. It had been a long time since Jason was a child and his father had spread their wet clothes about to dry, but it was a smell one never forgot. “What happened to the dryer?”
“It broke about a year ago and I haven’t had the money to get it fixed. But the washer works great.”
Standing, Jason put his hands in the small of his back, stretched, then walked behind Amy and unplugged the iron.
“I have to finish this. It needs to be—”
“Go to bed,” Jason said quietly. “No, not a word of protest. Go to bed. Sleep.”
“But Max . . .
And the clothes, and . . .”
“Go,” Jason ordered in a quiet voice, and for a moment he thought Amy was going to cry in gratitude. With a smile, he nodded toward the bedroom, and gratefully, she went into the room and shut the door.
“Now, old man,” Jason said, “let’s see if we remember how this is done.” At that, Jason plugged the iron back in and picked it up.
At eight A.M., Jason’s cell phone rang and he put it on his shoulder as he finished ironing a shirt.
“Did I wake you?” David asked his older brother.
“Of course,” Jason said. “You know how lazy I am. No! Max, leave that alone! What do you want, little brother?”
“I want time alone with Amy. Remember? That’s what this is all about. I want to take her out tonight and tomorrow. I even got tickets to the Bellringers’ Ball.”
Jason well knew that the Bellringers’ Ball was the only social function worth attending in the entire western half of Kentucky—and it was nearly impossible to get tickets. “So who did you have to kill to get the tickets?”
“I didn’t kill; I saved. I saved the life of the chairman of the committee to something or other. Anyway, he got me the tickets. Christmas Eve. I’m going to pop the question. Jason? Jason? Are you there?”
“Sorry,” Jason said once he came back to the phone. “Max was pulling on a lamp cord and about to bite into it. What was it you were saying?”
“I said that tomorrow I’m going to ask Amy to marry me. Jason? Are you there? What’s Max doing now?”
“He’s not doing anything,” Jason snapped. “He’s a great kid and he doesn’t do anything bad.”
There was a pause from David. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that he was doing something ‘bad.’ It’s just that children Max’s age do tend to get into things. It is a normal and natural process of growing up, and they will—”
“You don’t need to take on that doctor tone with me,” Jason grumbled.
“Boy! Are you in a bad mood this morning. Where’s Amy anyway?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s in bed asleep and I’m taking care of Max. And doing the ironing,” he added, knowing that David would nearly faint at that information.
“You’re doing what?”
“The ironing. Parker dumped mud on the clothes she sent me, so Amy washed them, and now I’m ironing them. You see anything wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” David said softly. “I had no idea you knew how to iron, that’s all.”
“So who do you think ironed your clothes when you were a kid?” Jason snapped. “Dad? Ha. He had to earn the money to buy the food, so I had to . . . never mind. What was it you wanted to tell me? Wait, I have to get Max.”
“Jason, dear brother,” David said minutes later, “I think I’d better talk to Amy in person. I want her to go out with me tonight and tomorrow night, and I think I should ask her myself.”
“She’s busy.”
“Is something going on that I should know about?” David asked. “You and Amy aren’t . . .”
“No, we aren’t!” Jason said quickly. “The last thing I need in my life is a daffy, head-in-the-clouds female like her. The man who takes her on will have his hands full taking care of her. It’s a wonder she can tie her shoes. She can’t even feed herself, much less a child, and—”
“Okay, okay, I get the picture. So, what do you think?”
“Think about what?”
David gave a great sigh. “Do you think it would be all right if I took Amy out tonight and tomorrow? Can you keep the kid?”
“I can keep Max forever,” Jason said with some anger. “Sure, you can take Amy out. I’m sure she’d love to go.”
“I think I should ask her myself.”
“I’m not going to wake her up just to talk on the phone. What time should she be ready tonight?”
“Seven.”
“All right. Now give me Parker.”
“She’s, ah, she’s not up.”
Jason was so shocked at this that he left the iron on the back of a shirt until it began to scorch. “Damnation!” he said, lifting the iron. “Wake her,” Jason ordered, then was surprised to have his secretary get on the line almost instantly.
After a moment to recover from his shock, Jason told Parker to get two more tickets to the Bellringers’ Ball.
“You do know that that is next to impossible,” she said, and again Jason paused in shock. What in the world was wrong with his secretary? The impossible never daunted her.
“Get them,” he said, annoyed. In fact, what was wrong with his whole world? First, two of his executives get themselves involved in his private affairs without his permission, and now Parker was telling him that something he wanted was going to be difficult. If he’d wanted someone who couldn’t do the impossible, he wouldn’t be paying her the outrageous salary he did.
“I’ll need my tux from my apartment in New York,” he went on to say, “and Amy will need something appropriate to wear to the ball. What’s that shop on Fifth?”
“Dior,” came Parker’s instant reply.
“Right. Dior.”
“And who shall I get for your escort?” she asked.
“My—Oh, right, my date,” he said, and realized that he hadn’t given that a moment’s thought. But then he wasn’t giving any of it a thought or he’d be wondering why he was going to the ball when he was supposed to stay home with the baby. And if both he and Amy left, who would take care of Max?
“I believe there are any number of women who would be available at a moment’s notice to go with you,” Parker was saying in that efficient, no-nonsense way of hers.
For a moment Jason paused to think over the many available women he knew. And when he thought of them, he knew how nasty all of them would be to Amy—and how nosy. “Get yourself a dress, Parker. You’ll go with me as my date.”
It was her turn to be shocked, and it almost made Jason smile to hear the hesitation in her voice. “Yes, sir,” she said at last.
“Oh, and get hair and makeup people over here for Amy. Think up some story so she doesn’t know it’s a gift from me.”
“Yes, sir,” Parker said softly. “Anything else?”
Jason looked down at Max happily chewing the tail of a yellow duck pull toy. From the look of the thing, his father had probably chewed on it thirty years ago, and Jason wondered if the paint was lead-free. “Everything all right there at my father’s?”
“I beg your pardon?” Parker asked.
“I asked if you and Charles are comfortable at my father’s house.”
“Oh, yes,” she said hesitantly. “I’m sorry, sir, you don’t usually ask personal questions, but, yes, we are doing well. Now.”
“What do you mean? Now?”
“Charles had to make a few adjustments, but he’s all right now. He should be at your house soon. And your father reminds you that you and Mrs. Thompkins and the baby are to come here for Christmas dinner. Would three P.M. be all right with you?”
Jason ignored most of what she said and got to the point. “What kind of adjustments?”
“The kitchen needed . . . augmentation.”
“Parker!” he warned.
“Charles tore out the back side of your father’s house and added what is actually a kitchen for a small restaurant. He had to pay the men triple time to work twenty-four hours a day to get the room done quickly. Then he bought enough equipment to furnish the room, and, well, your father is having rather lavish dinner parties each night and—”
“I don’t want to hear any more. We’ll be there at three on Christmas Day and don’t forget the clothes.”
“Certainly not, sir,” Parker said as he hung up.
Ten minutes later Amy wandered into the kitchen, looking like the most grateful woman on earth—until she saw that the ironing had been done. “How will I repay you for the furniture now?” she wailed as she sat down on a rickety kitchen chair. Max was happily sitting in his new high chair, his face sm
eared with half a dozen various colored substances.
“I promise to get everything dirty today so you’ll have more to do tomorrow,” Jason said, smiling, obviously unworried about how he was to be repaid. “Now, would you mind watching Max while I take a shower? I’ve been in this shirt for days and I’d like to get out of it.”
“Yes, of course,” she murmured as she picked Max up. As soon as he’d seen his mother, he’d started to whine and wanted out of the chair.
For a moment Jason paused in the doorway. Nothing bad could happen in the next fifteen minutes, could it? he asked himself, then gave one last look at Amy and the baby and left the room.
CHAPTER NINE
“MR. WILDING,” AMY SAID ENTHUSIASTICALLY THE MOment he stepped back into the kitchen thirty minutes later. “Come and meet Charles.”
As soon as Jason saw his randy little chef, he knew that he was in trouble. Charles was about five feet four, handsome as any movie star, and utterly devastating to women. He flirted outrageously, and Jason was sure that more than one of his dinner guests had succumbed to the man. But Jason never asked; he figured it was better not to know the details of his chef’s private life. As it was, the man traveled wherever Jason went and prepared the most delicious meals imaginable. In return for the food, Jason overlooked certain personal foibles.
But now, seeing Charles sitting by Amy, her hand in his, he wanted to tell his chef to get out and never return.
“This is the man responsible for the wonderful food Max loves so much. It seems that David told a bit of a fib. It isn’t really a company trying to open a line of baby food, but Charles is trying to go into business. And he lives right here in Abernathy. Isn’t that amazing?”
“Yes, truly,” Jason said as he took an electrical cord out of Max’s mouth.
“And I’ve been encouraging him to open his own business. Don’t you think he should?”