Silhouette Christmas Stories Page 25

  But she couldn't resist saying brightly, as she placed a stack of three plates on the table, "Did you have a train like that when you were a little boy?"

  "Me?" Tony coughed and said in his old, gruff way, "Are you kidding? I'm the second youngest of seven kids. My folks raise almonds and peaches, down in the valley. We weren't poor, but we sure as hell didn't have money for things like electric trains."

  Frowning and fidgeting, obviously looking for a change of subject, he picked up the empty paper bag that was lying on the counter. "Looks like we were both in Hoolighan's Hardware today," he com-mented, peering into the bag and then putting it back down.

  "Oh, yes." Karen closed her eyes while her stomach rolled over, something it did automatically whenever she thought of the deadly little contraption in the cereal cupboard. "I had to buy a-" she glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen door and lowered her voice to a whisper "-a mousetrap. Andrew doesn't know. I hated to do it, but I've had this problem for a while, and I don't know what else to do."

  She looked at Tony, and her breath caught. Audibly. A soft, telltale gasp. He was leaning against the counter with his arms folded across his chest, impossibly handsome, thrillingly masculine, annoyingly superior.

  "So," he said, "you've set a trap for your mouse?"

  Since she couldn't, for some reason, trust her voice, Karen nodded.

  With his chocolate eyes glowing and a smile that was almost tender, Tony said softly, "Have you thought about what you're going to do if you catch him?"

  Chapter Four

  Tony wasn't sure how long she might have stood there looking at him, her blue eyes swimming with mute appeal, or how long he could have gone on resisting his natural impulse to respond. There was something about those eyes of hers. They made him want to put his arms around her, gather her close and promise her the moon if she would only promise never to let those tears loose. He'd grown up with four sisters and was used to feminine waterworks, but he didn't think he could stand to see this woman cry.

  Finally, just when she was opening her mouth to say something, there came a bellow from the living room.

  "Mom! Come see what Tony brought!"

  Karen replied, "Coming!" She cast one last beseeching look at Tony as she hurriedly divided the pizza among the three plates, then picked up two of them and marched out, head high. Tony picked up the third one and followed her.

  Andrew was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the middle of the train track, with the engine and cars all lined up in front of him, looking pleased with himself. He had a way of peering out over the top of his glasses, Tony noticed, that made him look like a fledgling owl.

  "Hey, look, Mom-paint! It's a special kind of paint, too. It's for metal-to keep it from getting rusty. And there's all the colors, see?" He'd matched them all up, black for the engine and coal tender, green for the flatcar and cattle car, yellow for the boxcar, and red for the caboose. "And look, there's white paint for the writing, and even paint thinner, and these little brushes. Do I get to do it, too, Tony? Huh? Can I help?"

  "Help? No way. I'm going to have my hands full just getting the thing to run. That's your job."

  "Mine? You mean, I get to do it all by myself?"

  "What's the matter? Don't you think you can handle it?"

  "Well," Andrew said slowly, "I'm not too sure about the writing."

  "Writing?"

  "Yeah, you know-like the name of the railroads and stuff." His face was wistful. "I want it to look just like a real train, with the different names on the cars. I don't know if I can do it right."

  Tony coughed, but it didn't do much to clear the gravel from his throat. He looked at Karen, and when she met his eyes, the look in hers nearly stopped his heart. Without breaking that contact, he said gruffly, "Well, maybe your mom'll help you. If you ask her."

  "Mom? Please?"

  "Of course-" Karen began in a whisper, then paused and went on briskly, "of course I'll help. What we need is a book about trains, don't you think? I'll bet the library has some. Tomorrow we'll go and see. Now, have some pizza before it gets cold. Who wants something to drink? Milk or apple juice?"

  "Milk, please," said Andrew dutifully.

  Tony muttered under his breath, "I don't suppose you'd have a beer?"

  He meant it half as a joke, expecting the look of maternal disapproval, that old "please-not-in-front-of-the-children" look his mother used to lay on his father. But when Karen murmured, "Sorry," there was a gleam in her eyes to suggest that she, too, might be thinking how well a glass of cold beer would taste with pizza.

  He wondered, suddenly, how long it had been since she'd done something for herself, just for fun. How long since she'd tasted a cold beer, taken in an R-rated movie, gone out on a date. How long since she'd thought of herself as a woman-just a woman, young, beautiful, sexy-instead of Andrew's mother. The thought stirred strong emotions in him, some of which he couldn't quite name, but one of which was definitely anger. Not that he had anything against kids in general-he meant to have a couple of his own, someday-or Karen's in particular. He'd gotten pretty fond of the kid, as a matter of fact. But, damn it, she was a woman, plus all those other things, in spades. And he knew that, more than he'd wanted anything in a long time, he wanted to be the one to make her remember it.

  "I just remembered something," said Andrew, eyeing a suspicious black spec on his slice of pizza. Without impolite comments he'd proceeded to remove everything he considered to be inedible from each piece of his pizza and deposit it carefully on his plate. "We can't go to the library tomorrow, because we're going to go get our Christmas tree." Finally satisfied with the condition of the pizza, he trans-ferred his cloudless blue stare to his mother. "You promised."

  "Yes," said Karen, knowing what was coming, "I know I did." The bite of pizza she'd just swallowed lodged in her chest, making the sudden pounding of her heart that much more painful.

  "And," continued Andrew with bland innocence, "you said we could get a big one. A really, really big one. You promised."

  "Yes," Karen sighed, "so I did."

  Tony chewed and swallowed, took a long drink of milk and said thoughtfully, "A really, really big one, huh? You think you and your mother can get a big tree up those stairs all by yourselves?"

  "Well," said Andrew, elaborately casual, "you could come with us, if you wanted to. Then you could help us."

  Oh boy, Karen thought. Subtle as a truck. She drew a quick breath. "Listen, you don't-"

  "Sure, I guess I could do that," Tony interrupted, imitating Andrew's carefully offhand manner. "I'll give you guys a hand. What time you planning to go?"

  "I hadn't really thought," Karen said. "When-ever's convenient for you…" Inexplicably, she felt a desire to cry.

  "Well," Tony said, "why don't we go early, then? That storm's supposed to get here tomorrow night. Why don't I pick you up around noon? We can go get some hamburgers or something, pick up the tree and get back before it hits. How's that?"

  "Yeah!" said Andrew.

  "That's… fine." Karen stood, hurriedly gathered up plates and pizza crusts. "Thank you-that's really… very nice of you," she said, and fled to the kitchen.

  Alone, she steadied her hands on the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection in the dark window. What's happening to me? she thought, trying to quiet the panic that was rampaging through her insides. Something's happening, and I don't know what to do about it!

  It's too soon.

  But that wasn't true, not anymore. It had been five years. And it seemed that Andrew had grown tired of waiting for her miracle to happen and had simply taken matters into his own hands.

  But what about the miracle? The miracle of love, real love, the kind that lasts forever, the kind that she had known with Andrew's father and that had been so cruelly taken away from her. The kind she had believed she would never know again.

  Right now, for the first time in five years, she wasn't sure of that. She wasn't sure of anything. Something was happening to
her, and she was frightened.

  For the rest of the evening Karen tried her best to avoid the living room. She carried in two more glasses of milk, carried out the last remains of the pizza, and spent more time than was really necessary tidying up the dishes and scouring the sink, running water to drown out the unfamiliar sound of a masculine voice. When she ran out of chores, she sat down to write a Christmas card/thank-you letter to Bob's mother. But after "Dear Elaine… " and ten minutes of listening for the sound of the mousetrap, she abandoned the effort.

  After all that, when she finally did gather her courage and return to the living room, both Tony and her son were so engrossed in what they were doing that they didn't seem to notice she was there. She spent several moments gazing at the two dark heads-how uncannily alike they were!-and bathing in the warm, syrupy feelings that vision evoked within her, then retired to her bedroom, where she spent the next hour or so ironing.

  And trying not to think. Which was, of course, like reading a sign that implores you to ignore it. The more she told herself not to think about Tony, the more his name seemed to fill her mind, flashing like neon, first one color then another: Tony. Tony!

  It seemed so unlikely. Almost impossible. It had come out of nowhere, so suddenly, so surprisingly. But… when she did allow herself to think about him, really think about him, remembering the way he looked at her sometimes, the feel of his hands enfolding hers, the contrast between the gruffness of his voice and the kindness of his actions… her stomach felt hollow and her skin too hot. Tony…

  No! It's too soon, she told herself, pressing her cold fingers to her burning cheeks. Too soon to know whether or not to believe in second miracles.

  Andrew knocked on the door to say good-night promptly at eight-thirty, which surprised Karen a little. She'd expected him to put up a fight and beg to stay up later, especially since it was Friday and there wasn't any school tomorrow. She didn't want to ask about it and maybe embarrass him in front of Tony, so she just kissed him, reminded him as usual to brush his teeth and told him that she would be in later to tuck him in.

  Tony was in the living room, putting the lid back on the last can of paint. He stood up when she came in and made a gesture with his hand that took in the newspapers spread out on the carpet, the paint-spattered paper towels, the brushes soaking in a jam jar on the coffee table, the towels and engine parts neatly arranged on a flannel cloth.

  "Sorry about the mess," he said in the gruff way that was already becoming familiar to her. "Is it okay if we leave it there? I guess I could have moved everything over there by the window, out of the way, but I figured that's where you'd want to put your tree. If you'd rather-"

  "No, no, it's all right," Karen hastily assured him. "I don't mind."

  There was a curiously awkward little silence, and then Karen said, "Well, did you-" just as Tony said, "Well, I guess I'd better-" They both laughed, and Tony reached for his jacket while Karen tried again. "Did you get a lot accomplished?"

  He shrugged his jacket on, making it an answer to her question at the same time. "Hard to say," he said with a little half smile. "I've never worked on an engine that small before."

  "But," Karen persisted as she followed him to the door, "you do still think you can get it to run?"

  He paused and looked at her. "I sure as hell mean to try."

  "I know. I didn't-"

  "Hey, it's okay." The smile was lurking again, teasing the corners of his mouth. "So I'll see you to-morrow, I guess. I'll pick you up about noon, and we'll go get that tree."

  "All right," Karen murmured. "Thank you. It really is… so very ni-"

  "Shh." His finger touched her lips, tingling as if it carried its own electrical current. "Don't say it."

  She stared at him, her heart hammering so hard it rocked her, until it seemed as if the silence might go on forever, as if the dryness in her throat was permanent, and she would never speak again.

  But the silence wasn't permanent; it lasted for only a second, perhaps two. The sound that broke it wasn't loud, but as shocking in that stillness as cannon fire.

  SNAP.

  With one small, anguished cry, Karen lurched forward and buried her face in the nylon softness of Tony's jacket.

  "Bingo," he said, with sympathy but no apparent surprise.

  The instant she felt his arms come around her, she pulled away from him, but it was already too late; his warmth was in her bones, his masculine smell under her skin, awakening dormant instincts and responses. She whispered, "I'm sorry… " and brushed at the front of his jacket as if trying to set it to rights. But, of course, it wasn't the clothes that wanted tidying- just her own chaotic emotions.

  Tony wasn't saying anything. His hands were still on her shoulders, palms flat against her back, thumbs lightly stroking. His eyes were warm chocolate, perhaps a little amused.

  "I'm sorry," she said again, forcing herself to quiet her hands. Her nerves were fluttering like moths in syrup. "It was an accident. That awful thing startled me-"

  "Accident, huh?" His voice was a soft growl. "Well, this isn't… "

  It was the same little struggle they'd had before. He felt the resistance in her tense shoulders, in the fists pressed against his chest, in that one quick gasp just before he kissed her. Surrender came gradually, by degrees. He felt it first in her mouth, the trembling, the softening, the slight parting of her lips, followed almost instantly by the faintest of sighs. Her hands stopped pushing against him; the fists slowly uncurled; her fingers opened and spread across his chest in a widening pool of warmth. The temptation was strong to pull her closer, to let himself feel her body all along his and explore the warmth beyond those sweetly parted lips. But there was still that tightness in her muscles, the last bastions of her resistance, so he kept it light, a tentative kind of kiss, and left the options to her.

  She ended it finally, twisting her mouth away from the gentle contact as if it were a struggle, tilting her face down so that his lips brushed her forehead instead. A tremor rippled through her; she muttered something he couldn't hear.

  "Hmm?" he said, massaging her shoulders, monitoring the tension in them.

  "Nothing," she whispered, and shook her head. "I didn't say anything."

  She couldn't tell him, because she didn't know herself. It could have been any one of the panicky phrases that were ricocheting around in her head: It's too soon! It's been too long! It's not supposed to feel like this! It feels too good… too good!

  It's not fair, she thought. She wasn't prepared for this. No one had told her that beginning to feel again would be so painful and confusing. Or so frightening.

  "You're shaking," Tony murmured. "Does it upset you that much?"

  "Upset me?" She hedged, thinking wildly, Oh God, can he see inside me? Do I betray so much?

  "I'll take care of it for you, if you want me to." His voice was soft and warm, like his eyes.

  The mouse. Karen closed her eyes. Of course, he was talking about the mouse. "Yes," she whispered. "Thank you."

  "Stay here." His lips brushed her forehead, and then he was gone.

  Karen let her breath out slowly and sank down on the arm of the couch. Her legs were shaking and her heart was beating like-she glanced at the clutter on the floor at her feet and gave a shaken laugh-like a runaway freight train, what else! She sat still, counting her heart's frantic cadence, until Tony came through the kitchen door.

  She rose and said bravely, "Well?"

  He lifted his shoulders and held out his hands. "Nothing. No mouse."

  "What?"

  "Nada. Looks like the crafty little devil took your bait and got clean away."

  "He got away?" Karen said incredulously, giving him a long, narrow look. Her heart was slowly filling with suspicion-a wonderful, shimmering, golden suspicion.

  Tony gave another eloquent shrug. He looked, Karen thought, exactly like an altar boy with a frog under his surplice. "Must have. The trap's empty. Guess you'll just have to try again."

 
She said with a shaky laugh, "Well… maybe I'll just wait until after Christmas."

  He laughed, too. "Good idea. A holiday reprieve. Well… if everything's okay, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." He touched her chin with a knuckle, nudged it upward and brushed her mouth with his. And before she could do more than catch a quick, surprised breath he murmured, "Good night," and went out the door.

  Karen stood where he'd left her, absolutely transfixed. He'd lied. Joy and warmth and wonder filled her. He'd lied about the mouse; she was certain of it. He'd disposed of the mouse and then lied about it to spare her pain. What a sweet, beautiful, wonderful thing to do!

  In a daze, she wandered into the kitchen. The mousetrap lay on the countertop, disarmed and empty, with not a trace of the peanut butter-smeared cracker she'd used for bait-or anything more grisly-in evidence. She picked it up by one corner and dropped it into a drawer, then leaned her hands on the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection in the dark window. Her face stared back at her, pale and somber and frightened.

  Yes! she thought, gripping the cold porcelain while shivers of excitement cascaded through her body. I'm scared-and why not? Falling in love is always scary. And so are miracles.

  The next day was dark and cold, with lowering clouds and the promise of snow. December twenty-first, the first day of winter, the shortest day of the year.

  After breakfast, while Andrew went to work painting the caboose, Karen mixed up a batch of cookie dough and put it in the refrigerator. While she waited for it to harden, she finished the letter to her former mother-in-law and wrote brief notes in several Christmas cards, some of them to couples who had been friends of hers and Bob's. As always, there was a certain poignancy in the ritual, but this year, for the first time, she was conscious of a growing sense of distance. As if, she thought, she were on a fast-moving train that was carrying her steadily farther and farther away from the times and places of her life with Bob, until now they seemed to her no more real than dots on a distant horizon.