First Impressions (16 page)

“No.” Appreciating his cleverness, Pat beamed at him. So the rumors were true, she thought, pleased and interested. There was something going on between them. “She sure couldn't. It'll mean so much to her, Vance. It just about kills her to have to sell some of these things, but that's the hardest. It's . . . ah, it's awfully expensive though.”

“That's all right. I'm going to give you a check for it today.” It occurred to him that it would soon be all over town that he had a great deal of money to spend. He would have to talk to Shane very soon. “Put a sold sign on it.” He glanced back again, seeing Shane's three visitors were preparing to leave. “Just don't say anything to her unless she asks.”

“I won't,” Pat promised, pleased to be in on the surprise. “And if she does, I'll just say the person who bought it wants it held until Christmas.”

“Clever girl,” he complimented. “Thanks.”

“Vance.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She looks kind of down today. Maybe you could take her out for a while and cheer her up. Oh, Shane,” she continued quickly in a normal tone, “how did you manage to keep those little monsters quiet for twenty minutes? Those are Clint Drummond's boys,” she explained to Vance with a shudder. “I nearly ran out the back door when they came in.”

“They were thrilled that school was called off because of the snow.” Instinctively, Shane reached for Vance's hand as she came in. “What they wanted was to work out the fine details of a few engagements so they could have their own Battle of Antietam with snowballs.”

“Get your coat,” Vance told her, planting a kiss on her brow.

“What?”

“And a hat. It's cold outside.”

Laughing, Shane gave his hand a squeeze. “I know it's cold outside, fool. There's already six inches of snow.”

“Then we'd better get started.” He gave her a friendly swat on the seat. “You'll need boots too, I suppose. Just don't take all day.”

“Vance, it's the middle of the day. I can't leave.”

“It's business,” he told her gravely. “You have to get your Christmas tree.”

“Christmas tree?” With a chuckle, she picked up the duster Pat had set down. “It's too early in the season.”

“Early?” Vance sent Pat a grin. “You've got just over two weeks until Christmas, and no tree. Most self-respecting stores are decked out by Thanksgiving.”

“Well, I know, but—”

“But nothing,” he interrupted, taking the duster from her and handing it back to Pat. “Where's your holiday spirit? Not to mention your sales strategy. According to the most recent poll, people spend an additional twelve and a half percent in a store decorated for the holidays.”

Shane gave him a narrow glance. “What poll?”

“The Retail Sale and Seasonal Atmosphere Survey,” he said glibly.

The first genuine laugh in nearly twenty-four hours burst from her. “That's a terrible lie.”

“Certainly not,” he disagreed. “It's a very good one. Now go get your coat.”

“But, Vance—”

“Oh, don't be silly, Shane,” Pat interrupted, giving her a push toward the stairs. “I can handle the shop. We're not likely to have customers pouring in with all this snow. Besides,” she added, shrewd enough to know her employer, “I'd really love a tree. I'll make a place for it right in front of this window.” Without waiting for a reply, Pat began to rearrange furniture.

“Gloves too,” Vance added as Shane hesitated.

“All right,” she said, surrendering. “I'll be back in a minute.”

In little more than ten, she was sitting beside Vance in the cab of his small pickup. “Oh, it's beautiful out here!” she exclaimed, trying to look everywhere at once. “I love the first snow. Look, there're the Drummond boys.”

Vance glanced in the direction she indicated and saw three boys pelting each other violently with snow.

“The battle's under way,” he murmured.

“General Burnside's having his problems,” Shane observed, then turned back to Vance. “By the way, what did you and Pat have your heads together about when I went upstairs to get my things?”

Vance lifted a brow. “Oh,” he said complacently, “I was trying to make a date with her. She's cute.”

“Really?” Shane drew out the word as she eyed him. “It would be a shame for her to be fired this close to Christmas.”

“I was only trying to develop good employee relations,” he explained, pulling up at a stop sign. Taking her by surprise, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly. “I love that little choking sound you make when you try not to laugh. Do it again.”

Breathless, she pulled away from him. “Firing a trusted employee is no laughing matter,” she told him primly, and adjusted her ski hat. “Turn right here.” Instead of obeying, he kissed her again. The rude blast of a horn had her struggling out of his arms a second time. “Now you've done it.” She ruined the severity of the lecture with a smothered chuckle. “The sheriff's going to arrest you for obstructing traffic.”

“One disgruntled man in a Buick isn't traffic,” Vance disagreed as he made a right turn. “Do you know where you're going?”

“Certainly. There's a place a few miles down where you can dig your own tree.”

“Dig?” Vance repeated, shooting her a look. Shane met it placidly.

“Dig,” she repeated. “According to the latest conservation poll—”

“Dig,” he agreed, cutting her off.

Laughing, Shane leaned over to kiss his shoulder. “I love you, Vance.”

By the time they arrived at the tree farm, the snow had slowed to a gentle mist. Shane dragged him from tree to tree, examining each one minutely before rejecting it. Though he knew the color in her face was a result of the cold, the spark was back. Even if he sensed some of the energy was a product of nerves, he was satisfied that she was bouncing back. The simple pleasure of choosing a Christmas tree was enough to put the laughter back in her eyes.

“This one!” Shane exclaimed, stopping in front of a short-needle pine. “It's exactly right.”

“It doesn't look much different from the other five hundred trees we've looked at,” Vance grumbled, slicing the point of his shovel into the snow.

“That's because you don't have a connoisseur's eye,” she said condescendingly. He scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it into her face. “Be that as it may,” Shane continued with remarkable aplomb, “this is the one. Dig,” she instructed, and stepping back, folded her arms.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said meekly, bending to the task. “You know,” he said a few moments later, “it suddenly occurs to me that you're going to expect me to dig a hole to put this thing in after Christmas.”

Shane sent him a guileless smile. “What a good idea. I know just the place too. You'll probably need a pick though. There are an awful lot of rocks.” Ignoring Vance's rude rejoinder, she waved over an attendant. With the roots carefully wrapped in burlap and the tree itself paid for—by Shane over Vance's objection—they headed home.

“Damn it, Shane,” he said in exasperation. “I wanted to buy the tree for you.” The truck rumbled over the narrow wooden bridge.

“The tree's for the shop,” she pointed out logically as they pulled in front of the house. “So the shop bought the tree. Just as it buys the stock and pays the electric bill.” Noting that he was annoyed, Shane walked around the truck to kiss him. “You're sweet, Vance, and I do appreciate it. Buy me something else.”

He gave her a long, considering look. “What?”

“Oh, I don't know. I've always had a fancy for something frivolous and extravagant . . . like chinchilla earmuffs.”

With difficulty, he maintained his gravity. “It would serve you right if I did buy you some. Then you'd have to wear them.”

She rose on her toes, inviting another kiss. As he bent down, Shane slipped the handful of snow she'd been holding down his back. When he swore pungently, she made a dash for safety. Shane fully expected the snowball that bashed into the back of her head, but she didn't expect to be agilely tackled so that she landed facedown in the snow.

“Oh! You really aren't a gentleman,” she muttered, hampered by a mouthful of snow. Vance sat back, roaring with laughter while she struggled to sit up, wiping at her face.

“Snow looks even better on you than mud,” he told her.

Shane lunged at him, catching him off-balance so that he toppled onto his back. She landed with a soft thud on his chest. Before she could deposit the snow she held in his face, he rolled her over and pinned her. Resigned, she closed her eyes and waited. Instead of the cold shock of snow, she felt his lips crush down on hers. In immediate response, she pulled him closer, answering hungrily.

“Give?” he demanded.

“No,” she said firmly, and dragged him back again.

The urgency of her response made him forget they were lying in the snow in the middle of the afternoon. He no longer felt the wet flakes that drifted down the back of his neck, though he could taste others on her skin. He fretted against the bulky clothes that kept the shape of her from him, against the gloves that prevented him from feeling the softness of her skin. But he could taste, and he did so greedily.

“God, I want you,” he murmured, savaging her small, avid mouth again and again. “Right here, right now.” Lifting his head, he looked down on her, but whatever he would have said was cut off by the sound of an approaching car. “If I'd had any sense I'd have taken you to my house,” he mumbled, then helped her to her feet.

Hugging him, she whispered in his ear, “I close in two hours.”

While Shane dealt with a straggle of customers who touched everything and bought nothing, Vance made himself useful by setting up the tree. Pat's lighthearted chatter helped cool the blood Shane had so quickly heated. Following Shane's instructions, he found the boxes of ornaments in the dusty attic.

Dusk was falling before they were alone again. Because she was still looking pale, Vance bullied her into a quick meal before they began to sort through the ornaments. They made do with cold meat from the rib roast neither of them had touched the night before.

But as well as alleviating her hunger, the meal reminded her forcibly of her mother's visit. She struggled to push away the depression, or at least to conceal it. Her chatter was bright and mindless and entirely too strained.

Vance caught her hand, stopping her in midsentence. “Not with me, Shane,” he said quietly.

Not bothering to pretend she didn't understand, Shane squeezed his hand. “I'm not dwelling on it, Vance. It just sneaks up on me sometimes.”

“And when it does, I'm here. Lean on me, Shane, when you need to.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “God knows, I'll lean on you.”

“Now,” she said shakily. “Just hold me a minute.”

He drew her into his arms, pressing her head to his heart. “As long as you want.”

She sighed, relaxing again. “I hate being a fool,” she murmured. “I suppose I hate that worse than anything.”

“You're not being a fool,” he said, then drew her away as he came to a decision. “Shane, I went to see your mother this morning.”

“What?” The word came out in a whisper.

“You can be angry if you like, but I won't stand by and watch you be hurt again. I made it very clear that if she bothered you again, she'd have me to deal with.”

Shaken, she turned away from him. “You shouldn't—”

“Don't tell me what I shouldn't have done,” he interrupted angrily. “I love you, damn it. You can't expect me to do nothing while she puts you through the wringer.”

“I can deal with it, Vance.”

“No.” Taking her shoulders, he turned her around. “With an amazing number of things, yes, but not with this. She turns you inside out.” His grip lightened to a caress. “Shane, if it had been me hurting, what would you have done?”

She opened her mouth to speak, but only released a pent-up breath. Taking his face in her hands, she pulled it down to hers. “I hope I'd have done the same thing. Thank you,” she said, kissing him gently. “I don't want to know what was said,” she added with more firmness. “No more problems tonight, Vance.”

He shook his head, acknowledging another delay in making everything known to her. “All right, no more problems.”

“We'll trim the tree,” she stated decisively. “Then you're going to make love to me under it.”

He grinned. “I suppose I could do that.” He allowed her to pull him down the stairs. “What if I make love to you under it, then we trim it?”

“There's nothing festive in that,” she said gravely as she began unpacking ornaments.

“Wanna bet?”

She laughed, but shook her head. “Absolutely not. There's an order to these things, you know. Lights first,” she announced, pulling out a neatly coiled string.

It took well over an hour as Shane shared her memories about nearly every ornament she unpacked. As she took out a red felt star, she recalled the year she had made it for her grandmother. It brought both a sting and a warmth. She'd been dreading Christmas. It hadn't seemed possible to celebrate the holiday in that house without the woman who had always shared it with her. Gran would have reminded her that there was a cycle, but Shane knew she would have found a tree and tinsel unbearable had she been alone.

She watched Vance carefully arranging a garland. How Gran would have loved him, she thought with a smile. And he her. Somehow she found it didn't matter that the two people she loved most in the world had never met. She knew both of them, and the link was formed. Shane was ready to give herself to him completely.

If he doesn't ask me to marry him soon, she mused, I'll just have to ask him. When he glanced over, she sent him a saucy smile.