All I Want for Christmas Is You (27 page)

“Who's wedding?”

“Why...yours and Cara's, of course. You did read the card, didn't you?”

“Yes, but...” Puzzled by her query, Devin picked up the card again and turned it over in case he’d missed some important piece of information. The search proved futile.

“Cara will be thirty-five next week.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Well, then you know what that means, don’t you?”

He was silent.

“Do you or don't you intend to honor that contract, young man.”

A grin tugged at his lips. Although Ruthie's voice held a hint of amusement, he sensed her taking this line of offense immensely serious.

Knowing in advance how Ruthie Cavarlho operated, he proceeded with caution. “Ruthie, this contract is bogus. There was no serious intention of marriage by either of us, no meeting of the minds. No-”

“Devin, dear, don’t talk to me in legal mumbo jumbo. I don’t understand a word of it.”

“It was a joke. It’s not legal.”

“Not legal,” Ruthie grunted.

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Devin picked up the ball point pen he'd strangled earlier and started tapping in his desk to fill in the void.

“Would Cara know this?” Ruthie finally asked.

“Well, I-”

“I'll bet she doesn't,” she proclaimed, an undertone of hope resonating in her words. He could almost hear the wheels in her head spinning triumphantly when she declared, “What she doesn't know won't hurt her.”

“Ruthie, what are you up to?”

“Nothing. I’m merely planning a birthday party for my single daughter, and I would love for you to attend. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Of course not.”

“And once you're here, if things should happen to, how shall we say, fall into place, then so be it.”

He had to laugh. It surprised him how good it felt inside. He'd always been a sucker for Ruthie’s charm and seventeen years of passing time had made no difference.

“Devin Michaels, you know how fond I am of you. I've never made any bones about that,” she admitted warmly. “And all these years I have been praying my daughter would someday find a nice man like you. So why can’t it be you? I know you care for Cara.”

He couldn’t deny that. But it had never been the way Ruthie had always wanted. What he and Cara had shared was friendship, nothing more. His whole world with Cara felt like a lifetime ago. And at the same time, their friendship was so close to his heart he could almost touch it.

His heart pounded in his chest and he rubbed the spot that squeezed tight. “I'll see what I can do,” he conceded, his smile fading. “But I can't make any promises.”

“Be sure to bring your tuxedo.”

He heard the phone click just as Brenda paged him again. “They're waiting for you in the conference room.”

He cradled the phone in his palm wondering what the hell had just happened. He couldn’t quite get a grip on the flood of emotions coursing through him. Dropping the phone, he fingered the pink slip on his desk with Ruthie Cavarlho's name scribbled on it for a good long time.

He wanted to see Cara. More than he could even think right now. There was a time when she was the very first person--the only person--he'd seek out was Cara. She'd certainly seen him through the worst times in his life. And some of the best.

This was it, he realized. Going back to Westport to reconnect with his best friend was the medicine he needed help him get his life back on track.

Devin pressed the intercom button on the panel, suddenly feeling good for the first time in days. “Cancel,” he said briskly, the rush of excitement from this morning’s victorious court appearance long forgotten. The excitement of a new battle took its place.

“I...I beg your pardon.”

“I said cancel! Make some excuse; I don't care what it is.” Rubbing his face with his hand, he drew in a long breath. He couldn't believe he was actually considering something so foolish, so destructive, putting everything he'd work so hard for on the line.

All he had to do was make a few calls and he could catch the next flight. In a matter of hours he'd be standing face to face with Cara. Something inside him clicked, as if everything that was laid out before him no longer held any meaning. He knew what he had to do.

“Cancel the rest of the day, too. In fact, cancel the month. I'm taking a leave of absence starting now.”

He heard Brenda’s slight gasp. “Mr. Michaels, I don't understand-”

“Just do it! And Brenda, get me my Realtor--” His voice broke off, “No, never mind. I'll take care of that myself.”

He leaned back in his chair and swung the seat around. Rubbing his chin between his thumb and index finger, he stared vacantly at the Manhattan skyline. The city he'd sought out in his youth that drove him with every beat of his heart, had lost its magic with a single phone call. The unsettled feeling that had plagued him for the past few months suddenly lifted and he could finally breathe again. He was taking a new direction, and it felt great.

Hearing the buzz from Brenda again, he swung around and saw the light panel on his phone lit up like a Christmas tree. The grapevine in this office was as fast as a New York cabby racing from one green light to the next. He could almost hear the whispering vultures strategically planning his downfall outside his office door, starting with the moment he walked through it. And suddenly he didn’t give a damn what they did.

Brenda sounded again with a repeated buzz that spoke of urgency. If he didn't make a quick getaway soon, the senior partners were sure to barrel through the doors of his office in full justifiable protest.

* * *

Cara smiled regally at the many people inspecting the odds and ends she and her family had accumulated her entire life and had displayed on their front lawn for purchase. She was annoyed, to say the least, at their perusal. This was her life they were scrutinizing!

When had she gotten so sentimental? Sure, her parents were moving away, selling the home she loved so much. But she'd left home long ago. Maybe it was just her time of the month. No, that would mean she had perpetual PMS for feeling the way she did. Who could possibly endure that?

Or maybe...it was because Roger, the man she'd been dating for the past year and a half, had become a fixture she wasn’t sure she wanted in her life. She'd been a success in business, lived on her own in her Back Bay condo for the past few years. But this thirty-five thing was beginning to hit home.

She pushed the thought away, refusing to believe that her internal clock was waging war, and she was losing the battle.

“Is this real crystal?” a young woman--still a girl really--asked, holding the carafe Cara had given her mother as a birthday gift so many years ago. Her other arm was wrapped tightly around the waist of a young man. Amorous glances and giggles reflected the youth of their love. She wondered if they were newly married, filling their home with items they would someday put up for sale on their front lawn.

“Yes,” she replied shortly, watching the young man. He had a familiar stand. It took her a moment, but she realized that he reminded her of a young Devin Michaels.

Funny. Ever since she found that damned birthday card, her mind wandered until it settled on Devin Michaels.

“We’ll take it,” the young man said, smiling affectionately at the girl. After digging through his wallet, he handed her the amount indicated on the little white tag Cara had so carefully placed on the bottle the previous evening. With their hands entwined, the young couple walked away.

That's when she thought caught a glimpse of him. Devin Michaels. She stood on the far side of the lawn, squinting her eyes from the sun to focus on the man sauntering through the open white picket gate. A dozen or so people had stopped and parked along the side of the road and were now leisurely waltzing across her parents pristine lawn.

The man could just as easily be someone who lived along the beach, just out for a stroll. She’d lived away from home so long that she’d lost touch with the comings and goings of neighbors. It couldn't possibly be Devin just because her mind suddenly wanted it to be. But as he ambled closer, she knew without a doubt it was Devin.

A glimmer of recognition registered on his face when he caught her eyes, and he mouth tilted to reveal a perfect smile. Her breath lodged in her throat, and she couldn’t keep from feeling giddy. She nibbled on her bottom lip in an effort to compose herself.

The years had been good to him, she thought, noticing how the lanky boy he once was had filled out in all the right places. The man sauntering toward her now had wide shoulders and ripples along his chest, clearly visible beneath his polo shirt, a telltale sign that he spent time working out regularly. His charcoal eyes had deepened in color, giving off a masculine power of attraction that seared straight through her. It wasn't the Devin Michaels that she remembered from her youth, the shy but funny friend she'd teased so often. He was a man now. Powerful, stunning in movement and frightening with his dynamic presence all at the same time.

But he was still Devin Michael's, her childhood buddy.

“Devin,” she said, catching her breath when he was finally standing before her. She looked up and noticed the inches he'd grown taller. He was now at least six inches taller than her five foot seven inch frame.

“Hello, mia Cara.” The words of endearment rolled off his tongue with ease, sounding as soothing as the ocean that lulled her to sleep at night. My dear one was the meaning. Her grandmother had referred to her that way on countless occasions in her youth, which Devin had teased her about when he'd been privy to hear. But this time, the pure emotion with which he spoke the simple words cascaded over her like the incoming tide.

# # #

Excerpt from NOTHING BUT TROUBLE

NOTHING BUT TROUBLE

“Like I just told you, ma'am,” Stoney Buxton said, glancing up through squinted eyes at the fair-skinned woman standing over him. “I’m a rancher. I don't do wilderness tours. You'll just have to find someone else to guide you through that terrain.”

Though the sun floating in the cloudless sky in front of him made it difficult to see, he tipped the brim of his well-worn cowboy hat with the edge of the hammer he gripped between his fingers to get a better look at the young woman.

Now what in hell’s blazes is this?

She stood there, all legs, eyes, and lips pouting down at him. A picture of beauty, polished and gleaming like Sunday silver. Her long legs--he noticed every inch of them as his eyes trailed the length of her--would do better wrapped around a man's waist. Even hidden beneath her smooth fitting jeans he could tell those legs were much too refined and delicate to take the hard living of trailing through Wyoming wilderness. Her red manicured nails shone bright in the mid-day sun and matched the vibrant shade of her full lips. Her eyes, a soft shade of cinnamon brown, held a determined fire that told him she wasn't going to back down, no matter what he threw at her.

Something was seriously wrong with this picture.

“Gerald Hammond from the General Store said that you were the best guide in the area. I want the best.”

He saw her jaw set as a gentle breeze blew a wisp of hair over her forehead. She quickly brushed it away with an air of grace that spoke of money. Lots of it. Family money that paid for the designer clothes caressing every curve and valley of her body.