Cole's Christmas Wish (6 page)

“You’re welcome,” Reid said. “Just...be cautious.”

Cole nodded for his brother’s benefit. He’d be a fool if he
didn’t give credence to Reid’s earlier comments, to the potential danger of
ruining any chance of a future with Rachel due to this charade. Hell. If he
really screwed up, he could lose her friendship, as well.

A rush of nausea twisted in his stomach and a wave of
light-headedness made his vision swim. Rachel not being a part of his life in
any way at all was an inconceivable thought. On the outside, his brother’s
advice was solid and in line with Cole’s earlier decision. Somehow, though, in
the course of this conversation, something had changed. Now, he didn’t think
being too cautious was going to take him where he wanted to go. Too much action
could, as he had already surmised, send Rachel running.

Yet another fine line to balance upon.

“It seems,” he said to no one in particular, “that having a
pretend girlfriend is going to prove more troublesome than having a real
girlfriend ever has.”

Dylan snorted. “Real or pretend, all girlfriends are trouble.
I’ll take the pretend one any day of the week.”

“Amen to that,” Reid said, leaning over to smack Dylan’s palm
in a high five. “Or in my case, the no-girlfriend route.”

“I miss being a girlfriend,” Haley said wistfully, tucking a
chunk of reddish-brown hair behind one ear. “And I want a real man in my life,
not a pretend one.” She scowled at each of her brothers. “It’s your fault I’m
single. You’ve scared every interested man off, all three of you.”

“I thought you had a date tomorrow night? With that nice young
man that manages the bookstore?” their mother asked. “Has something
changed?”

“What man?” Reid said.

“Do I know this guy?” Dylan asked.

“See?” Haley groaned and proceeded to explain that who she
dated wasn’t anyone’s business but her own.

From there, the conversation turned completely away from Cole.
He listened as his brothers teased Haley, joined in here and there, but mostly
stayed in his own head, thinking about Rachel. They were meeting tomorrow, to
shop for “Cupcake,” to go along with the romancing-the-pretend-girlfriend plan
he’d outlined over lunch.

One gift a day—preferably a gift of a romantic, personal
nature—leading up to Christmas, which was when, he’d explained to Rachel, he’d
get down on one knee and propose. The gifts, of course, would all relate to
Rachel in some form or fashion. To
their
relationship.

He appreciated the irony that Rachel would have a hand in
choosing the gifts based on what Cole told her about his “girlfriend,” when, in
fact, every description would be about Rachel. Would she catch on? Probably not.
Most people didn’t, or couldn’t, see themselves as others did. But she
might.

Rachel was an intelligent woman, after all. She could very well
recognize herself in Cole’s words, confront him, and then—after hearing him
out—give him a sweet, pitying smile, a hug, and say, “I’m flattered, Cole, but I
love Andrew. I thought you knew that.”

Cole grimaced and tried to put the God-awful thought out of his
head. Because, frankly, being kicked in the balls sounded a hell of a lot more
appealing. Not to mention, infinitely less painful. And yeah, that pretty much
said it all, didn’t it?

* * *

“Wait a minute. You’re coming here? For Christmas?”
Rachel said into her cell from her parked car on early Friday afternoon. No, no,
no. The last thing she needed was her mother’s special brand of craziness for
the holidays. Especially now. “I thought you were staying with Dad, because of
some important Christmas party he insisted you attend. What changed?”

“Everything,” Candace Merriday said, her voice cool and
unrelenting. “I am no longer interested in giving
that
man
anything he wants or insists upon. Not after what he’s done.”

“Hmm,” Rachel said, ignoring the opening. When she was a child,
she loved watching repeats of the old television program
Lost in Space
. Now, quite clearly, she heard the Robot’s voice in
her head, saying, “Danger! Danger, Rachel Merriday.”

She didn’t need the warning. Asking any questions, showing even
the minutest amount of curiosity or interest or concern, would put her smack in
the middle of the battlefield. Or, as Cole used to say, she’d become the tennis
ball her parents lobbied back and forth, each swing harder than the last, until
the ball split apart.

Not a pretty picture, but somehow, despite her best efforts to
remove herself from the equation, she almost always became the tennis ball.
Right now, though, she didn’t have the strength or the time to deal with her
parents’ latest crisis. She was meeting Cole in less than ten minutes, and she
wasn’t sure she’d be able to muster the strength for that.

Her mother heaved a long, drawn-out, dramatic sigh. “Are you
there, Rachel Marie?”

“Yes, Mom. Still here.”

“I thought I lost you. The connection between our phones tends
to be spotty.”

Well, no. Their connection was fine. What she referred to were
the frequent gaps in conversation whenever they were on the phone. Rachel stayed
quiet, let her mother do most of the talking and only responded when
necessary.

It was easier that way.

“Are you definitely coming here for Christmas?” she asked,
because securing that information fell into the
necessary-for-Rachel’s-well-being range. “And if so, have you booked your flight
yet?”

“I am, but no. Not yet. Today, probably. Or tomorrow.
There’s...a lot to take care of. I’ll email you the details.” The sound of high
heels clacking speedily against the floor clued Rachel in to the state of her
mother’s emotions. She never paced unless she was really, really upset. Ladies
don’t pace, they glide. “Have you talked to your father today? Or last night,
maybe?”

“Neither. Haven’t heard a peep from him.”

“You’ve checked your email?”

“Yep, about an hour ago. No emails, phone calls or texts from
Dad,” Rachel said, biting back a sigh of her own. “Which is basically what
‘haven’t heard a peep from him’ means.”

Silence. Candace Merriday did not appreciate sarcasm from
anyone, but most especially not from her daughter.

“Sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m in a hurry,
though, and—”

“Aren’t you interested in what your father did to upset me?”
Candace asked. “Or are we to the point that you don’t care in the slightest what
happens between your parents?”

“I... Of course I care. It’s just that I’m...” Rachel trailed
off while she thought of an appropriate lie. She did care, but no, she couldn’t
claim she was interested any longer. That boat had sailed years ago. “I’m
driving. The roads are a little slick. Sorry if—”

“Why didn’t you say so? We’ll save this conversation for when
I’m there, face-to-face.” The clicking stopped, signifying that the pacing had,
as well. For now, anyway. “But do let me know if your father contacts you. You
will, won’t you?”

“Mom, I really think you and Dad should handle this dilemma
without me. So if he contacts me, I’ll wish him Merry Christmas and leave it at
that.”

More silence. A heavy, weighted silence begging for a very
specific response.

Surrendering, Rachel said, “But yes, if he calls or emails or
texts, I’ll let you know.”

“That would be good. So,” Candace said as her heels started
clacking again, “I’ll talk to you soon, my darling. Drive safe. Kisses!”

The call, thankfully, ended. Rachel stared hard at her phone,
almost expecting her father to choose that second to contact her. When a full
minute ticked by without him doing so, she breathed a sigh of relief and powered
down the phone. She’d have enough on her mind for the rest of the afternoon
without any additional interruptions from her forever-feuding folks.

She loved them. She even enjoyed spending time with them in
small doses, without the company of the other, but the continuous tug-of-war had
taken its toll. Some people, Rachel reflected as she stepped from her car and
headed toward the sporting goods store where she was meeting Cole, should never
have gotten married in the first place.

Her parents definitely fell into that category.

They obviously weren’t happy, hadn’t been for as far back as
Rachel could recall. So why didn’t they give up the charade and get divorced?
Perhaps it was time to ask. She’d certainly have ample opportunity soon enough,
seeing as her mother would be here within days. A week, max. Most likely, her
father would follow—important Christmas party or not.

Because despite the continuous upheaval in their relationship,
Lawrence and Candace Merriday never stayed apart for very long. If one ran, the
other followed. Every freaking time.

God. It would be an all-out war. A bubble of desperate laughter
choked out of Rachel’s constricted throat. Between the prospect of that and her
ridiculous promise to Cole, she honestly wished she was spending the holidays
anywhere other than Steamboat Springs, Colorado.

New York. Hawaii. A third-world country. A freaking iceberg in
the middle of nowhere. Heck, at this point, she’d be happy any place that her
parents weren’t and she didn’t have to listen to Cole wax poetic about a woman
he called Cupcake.

Unexpected warmth trickled along her skin.
Cole
. She lifted her chin, and her eyes found him instantly. Again,
he stood outside, waiting for her. Like always, he looked tall and strong, solid
and...yeah, sexy. He also looked, Rachel admitted to herself, incredibly,
unbelievably happy. Well, why wouldn’t he be happy? He was in love.

She forced her lips into a smile, raised her hand in a wave and
continued to march forward, even though all she wanted to do was climb back in
her car and run for the hills.

Where she could hide until she found a way to deal.

Chapter Five

I
nstead of fighting the crowds at the mall,
Cole had decided to stick with the small, local shops that dotted the streets of
Steamboat Springs. It was, perhaps, a somewhat dangerous choice. The merest
mention of his “girlfriend” to a friend—or heck, an acquaintance—they might bump
into could, depending on said friend or acquaintance’s reaction, burst his plan
into smithereens in three seconds flat.

But come on, how romantic could a shopping mall possibly be?
Not very. Alternatively, the picturesque beauty surrounding them, the quaint
stores and everything else that attracted tourists to his hometown held charm
and appeal and yes, to Cole’s frame of mind, the perfect romantic setting. Okay,
maybe perfect was a bit of a stretch, but it beat the mall in spades.

“How do you want to do this?” Rachel asked in a clipped,
all-about-business way. It seemed she was taking her agreement to help very
seriously. Cole couldn’t quite decide if that was good or bad. “Talk as we roam
or grab a coffee first, come up with a few ideas and then tackle them one at a
time? Actually,” she said with a sharp, decisive nod, “let’s go that route.
We’ll get everything done faster.”

“Nah. Where’s the fun in that?” Speeding the process along was
not on his agenda. His hope was to spend the entire afternoon with her, not just
a few hours. “I like the roaming and talking idea. And,” he said with a grin, “I
was thinking I could help you, too.”

Rachel arched an eyebrow. “With what?”

“Your Christmas shopping, of course. I know you’re not done
yet,” he teased. “You always wait until the last minute. Your mom’s love of
shopping did not rub off on you.”

She gave a faint shrug. “True enough, but I’m not ready to
shop. My tree isn’t up yet.”

“And you can’t shop until you have a place to put the gifts,
right? Well, we can take care of that today, too.”

Shaking her head, she said, “Can’t. Promised Andrew we’d do
that together. Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow. Or...Well, it will be soon.”

Disappointment hovered in her voice, and that bugged Cole. He
was well aware of how much Rachel loved Christmas, and therefore, everything
that came with—including decorating.

“Hey,” he said, “don’t look so glum. If Andrew doesn’t find the
time to pick out a tree in the next day or two, I’m sure he’ll understand if you
and I do so. As you said, he’s a good guy, and good guys prefer their
girlfriends to be happy. Right?”

“Right.”

“Then let’s focus on shopping.” He rubbed his hands together.
“It will be fun, I promise.”

“Uh-huh. Fun. Why, I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
She did that blink-blink-pause-blink thing of hers and her eyebrow arched a
smidgen higher.

“Me, too. Glad we’re on the same page,” he said with equal
sarcasm.

“Are you ill? Or...I don’t know, delusional? You hate shopping
as much as I do.”

“Typically,” he agreed, taking her by the hand. “But this is
special
shopping, and it’s Christmas, and
therefore, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Uh-huh. Definitely ill.” She smiled, but it looked forced. One
way or another, he’d get a real smile out of her before the day’s end. Firming
her shoulders, as if readying herself for battle, she said, “Well, then, Mr.
Christmas Spirit, let’s get going. It’s freezing out here.”

He came this-close to teasing her about the various methods he
could use to warm her up, but kept the words to himself. Unfortunately, ridding
the mental images of those methods proved substantially more difficult. So, for
the moment, he settled for a nod. They started down the sidewalk in
companionable silence, hand in hand. It felt...natural. Easy.

The way it
should
be.

Excepting, of course, for the pretend girlfriend they were
supposedly shopping for and the very real man waiting at home for Rachel.

“What’s Andrew up to today?” Cole asked, feeling guilty he
hadn’t before. “He’s okay with all of this, isn’t he?”

“Andrew is working. Apparently, he’s the only person at his
company capable of handling any and all issues that arise, the second they
arise.” She stopped and shook her head. “That wasn’t fair. Andrew told me in
advance that this would be a working vacation. And yes, he is fine with our
arrangement. Even said he’s relieved that I have ‘something to occupy’ my time
while he’s busy fixing the latest crisis.”

“Ah. I take it you were right, then, about his jealousy
fading?”

“It would seem so.”

“Well, I suppose that’s good news.”

“I suppose so. It’s just...irritating after the way he behaved
toward you at the Beanery.”

“Irritating as in you would prefer for Andrew to remain jealous
of our relationship?”

She tugged his hand and began walking again. “Yes. No. I mean,
not our relationship specifically, but the fact I’m spending an entire day with
a handsome, sexy man. That
should
bother him on some
level. Shouldn’t it?”

“You think I’m handsome? And sexy?”

She looked at him and rolled her eyes. “As if that’s a surprise
to you. Do you not remember the fan-girls who used to slip their panties into
your pockets at bars? Or the ones who knocked on your hotel doors wearing
nothing but a coat? Yes, you’re handsome.”

“Hey, the panties thing only happened once.”

“Three times. It happened here, once in Vail and once in Aspen.
That’s three.”

Hell. Her memory was better than his. “The hotel thing, that
only happened...never mind.” Without even trying, he could recall a half dozen
or so instances, so he shut up on that topic. Though, he couldn’t resist adding,
“You didn’t say sexy that time. Only handsome.”

She mumbled something about men and their egos under her
breath. “Yes, sexy, too. Geez. Happy now?”

“Extremely. Mostly, though, I’m glad you’re not getting
friction from Andrew.” They’d reached the corner of the street. He gestured
toward a gift store that carried handcrafted items made by local artists. “This
looks as good a place to start as any,” he said, leading her inside.

The bell on the door jangled when they entered and Christmas
music—naturally—met their ears. While the store was not overly busy, there were
a handful of customers milling about, none of whom Cole recognized. Yep,
definitely a good place to start.

“I love this store,” Rachel said as she faced him. Her cheeks
were pink from the cold, her lips a delicious ruby-red that damn near begged to
be kissed, and the wind had tousled her hair so that the strands fell in a wispy
disarray of gold.
Beautiful
.

So beautiful that the very look of her blocked every last thing
out of his head. This, he realized, was just how she’d appear after sex. Rumpled
and... His groin instantly tightened and his earlier images returned, further
clouding his ability to think, speak or...hell, breathe.

“Is she an artist?” Rachel asked curiously.

“Ah...is who an artist?” If he took one minuscule step toward
her, he’d be within kissing distance. The want—no, the
need
—to do just that became overpowering. He almost gave in to it,
almost took that step and claimed her mouth with his. But his mind chose that
second to replay her question, logic kicked in, and he remembered what they were
doing here, in a gift store.

Even more to the point, he figured out who she was asking
about. The girlfriend...his
Cupcake
. God help him.
“No. She isn’t an artist,” he said somewhat abruptly.

“A collector, then?”

“Nope.”

Rachel swung her gaze around the smallish space, giving Cole a
minute to shift gears. Mentally and physically. Using a focusing technique from
his professional skiing days, he slowed his breathing, relaxed his muscles and
envisioned himself achieving his goal as if doing so was a concrete fact, as if
failing was an impossibility.

Back then, his goals had been all about winning, about
achieving success for himself and for his team. Now, of course, a future with
Rachel took center stage. He saw it. Saw
them
as a
couple, living their life together, supporting and loving one another.

By the time Rachel returned her attention to him, he was back
in control.

“Is there something in particular we came in here for?” she
asked, seemingly unaware of Cole’s inner struggle. “Or...?”

“No, Rach.” That, at least, was an honest reply. “Nothing in
particular. We haven’t looked at anything yet. The plan was to roam and talk and
make decisions as we go, remember?”

“Right.” She pushed out a short breath. “Do you have any
ideas—even one—of items you might want to give her? So I have something to base
my advice on?”

“Nope,” he said again, in a purposefully cheerful manner. “Not
a one. I’m sorry, Rachel. This could...Well, it could take all day. Gosh, at
this rate, maybe all evening, too.”

She chewed her bottom lip. In frustration, if Cole had to
guess. And yeah, right or wrong, that little action tickled him. It showed that
he was getting to her, in some form or fashion.

“Is there anything she needs?” Rachel prodded. “Something
you’ve noticed she could use when you’re at her place? Or has she mentioned
needing or wanting anything specific?”

“Hmm.” He pretended to give the questions some thought. Then,
“Actually, she could really use a new vacuum cleaner. But,” he said, mimicking
her earlier action and glancing around the store, “this probably isn’t the place
to find one. Maybe we should hit up Walmart?”

Groaning loudly, Rachel yanked her hand from his. “You’re an
idiot,” she said with a real, true, beautiful-as-a-sunrise sort of grin,
“thinking something
that
practical is romantic.”

“You asked if she needed anything,” he replied with a straight
face, once again enjoying himself. “She does. A vacuum cleaner. How does that
make me an idiot?”

“I didn’t mean something quite so cold and utilitarian!” She
crossed her arms in front of her and stared at him. “I meant something...softer,
I guess. Like candles or—” Rachel jerked her chin toward a display of quilts
“—something pretty and feminine.”

He scratched his jaw as if the entire idea confused him. “So I
shouldn’t buy her a vacuum cleaner, even though she really, really needs
one?”

“I suppose that depends on if you want her to marry you or
clean your house.”

“What if,” he said with a wide smile and a wink, “I want
both?”

That earned him a smack on the arm. “Idiot,” she repeated. “I
would suggest you don’t include that information in your proposal. If you’re
aiming for a yes, that is.”

“See? I knew you’d have great advice. This is good stuff.
Exactly what I need.” Because he couldn’t resist, he took that step and gave her
that kiss. On her forehead, though. “Help me, Rach. I’m out of my league
here.”

“I said I would help, didn’t I?” She bit her lip again. “But I
need a name—any name that isn’t Cupcake—to call her. Make something up. Like
Hortense or...Ingrid.”

“Sure,” he said, stifling a laugh. Hortense or Ingrid, huh?
“What about Bambi? Or...hmm...Jezebel? Cocoa?”

“No. Something
normal
. Something
that doesn’t sound like a hooker or...or a poodle.”

“You have your animals mixed up. Bambi is a deer, not a
poodle,” he said laughing. “But okay. Let’s see...a normal, non-prostitute,
non-poodle name.” He considered using Rachel’s middle name, but figured that
would be too obvious. Instead, he went with the first portion of her surname.
Merriday. Mary. Perfect. “Let’s go with Mary, since, well, this is all for
Christmas. Is that normal enough for you?”

“Fine. Wonderful choice.” Blink, blink. Pause and blink.
“Describe
Mary
to me, please.”

“Mary is... Well, she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever
known.” He moved a few feet away from Rachel and feigned interest in the shelf
nearest to him, one that held a myriad of pottery bowls, vases and the like.
“Inside and out. Her smile lights up a room.”

“Well, I guess candles aren’t necessary, then,” Rachel
muttered, making Cole grin all that much harder. Luckily, she couldn’t see his
face. “I should’ve asked about her hobbies. What does Mary like to do? In
addition to lighting up rooms, that is.”

“I wouldn’t say she
likes
lighting
up rooms. She just smiles and the room glows a little brighter. She probably
isn’t even aware of how her smile affects me.” He selected a short, squat vase
that had delicate flowers painted along the bottom. The sky-blue color was a
perfect match to Rachel’s eyes. “This is pretty, don’t you think?” he asked,
turning around.

“Beautiful.” She tapped her foot. “Great choice. One gift down
and you’ve yet to tell me anything specific about...Mary.”

“Who said anything about buying this for Mary? I thought of you
when I saw it. The flowers remind me of your eyes.” Whoa. He hadn’t meant to
share that, the words had simply slipped out. Faking a scowl, he returned the
vase to the shelf. “Great. Here I had the perfect Christmas gift for you, and
you went and ruined it.”

“Really? You thought of me?”

“Really.”

A slight, wobbly breath whispered out of her lungs. She came
forward and bent slightly at the knees, apparently to get a better look at the
vase. Grabbing it, she stood straight and held the vase close to her chest.
“You’re right, the vase is pretty. I’m sorry for...ruining your gift to me, but
I have to have it now. So I’ll buy it.”

Now, her eyes were a breathtaking combination of smoke and pure
blue ocean. Still beautiful. Still Rachel. Just a sultrier version of the woman
he loved. “Here,” he said gruffly, pulling the vase from her deathlike grip.
“I’ll buy it for you. Since... Well, because I want to.”

He figured she’d argue. Women did that a lot, argued when there
was no reason to put up a fuss. She didn’t, though. Rather, her lower lip
trembled in emotion and those unforgettable eyes of hers darkened yet another
degree, to a shade reminiscent of the midnight sky.