Holiday Wishes (11 page)

Chapter 4

Nell stood center stage and lifted her hands. She waited until she was sure every student's eyes were on her, then let it rip.

There was very little that delighted her more than the sound of young voices raised in song. She let the sound fill her, keeping her ears and eyes sharp as she moved around the stage, directing. She couldn't hold back the grin. The kids were into this one. Doing Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band's version of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” was a departure from the standard carols and hymns their former choral director had arranged year after year.

She could see their eyes light up as they got into the rhythm. Now punch it, she thought, pulling more from the bass section as they hit the chorus. Have fun with it. Now the soprano section, high and bright . . . And the altos . . . Tenors . . . Bass . . .

She flashed a smile to signal her approval as the chorus flowered again.

“Good job,” she announced. “Tenors, a little more next time. You guys don't want the bass section drowning you out. Holly, you're dropping your chin again. Now we have time for one more run-through of ‘I'll Be Home for Christmas.' Kim?”

Kim tried to ignore the little flutter around her heart and the elbow nudge from Holly. She stepped down from her position in the second row and stood in front of the solo mike as though she were facing a firing squad.

“It's okay to smile, you know,” Nell told her gently. “And remember your breathing. Sing to the last row, and don't forget to feel the words. Tracy.” She held out a finger toward the pianist she'd dragooned from her second-period music class.

The intro started quietly. Using her hands, her face, her eyes, Nell signaled the beginning of the soft, harmonious background humming. Then Kim began to sing. Too tentatively at first. Nell knew they would have to work on those initial nerves.

But the girl had talent, and emotion. Three bars in, Kim was too caught up in the song to be nervous. She was pacing it well, Nell thought, pleased. Kim had learned quite a bit in the past few weeks about style. The sentimental song suited her, her range, her looks.

Nell brought the chorus in, holding them back. They were background now for Kim's rich, romantic voice. Feeling her own eyes stinging, Nell thought that if they did it this well on the night of the concert, there wouldn't be a dry eye in the house.

“Lovely,” Nell said when the last notes had died away. “Really lovely. You guys have come a long way in a very short time. I'm awfully proud of you. Now scram, and have a great weekend.”

While Nell moved to the piano to gather up music, the chatter began behind her.

“You sounded really good,” Holly told Kim.

“Honest?”

“Honest. Brad thought so, too.” Holly shifted her eyes cagily to the school heartthrob, who was shrugging into his school jacket.

“He doesn't even know I'm alive.”

“He does now. He was watching you the whole time. I know, because I was watching him.” Holly sighed. “If I looked like Miss Davis,
he'd
be watching
me
.”

Kim laughed, but shot a quick glance toward Brad under her lashes. “She's really fabulous. Just the way she talks to us and stuff. Mr. Striker always crabbed.”

“Mr. Striker
was
a crab. See you later, huh?”

“Yeah.” It was all Kim could manage, because it looked, it really looked, as though Brad were coming toward her. And he
was
looking at her.

“Hi.” He flashed a grin, all white teeth, with a crooked incisor that made her heart flop around in her chest. “You did real good.”

“Thanks.” Her tongue tied itself into knots. This was Brad, she kept thinking. A senior. Captain of the football team. Student council president. All blond hair and green eyes.

“Miss Davis sure is cool, isn't she?”

“Yeah.” Say something, she ordered herself. “She's coming to a party at my house tonight. My mom's having some people over.”

“Adults only, huh?”

“No, Holly's coming by and a couple other people.” Her heart thundered in her ears as she screwed up her courage. “You could drop by if you wanted.”

“That'd be cool. What time?”

She managed to close her mouth and swallow. “Oh, about eight,” she said, struggling for the casual touch. “I live on—”

“I know where you live.” He grinned at her again, and all but stopped her thundering heart. “Hey, you're not going with Chuck anymore, are you?”

“Chuck?” Who was Chuck? “Oh, no. We hung out for a while, but we sort of broke up over the summer.”

“Great. See you later.”

He strolled off to join a group of boys who were trooping offstage.

“That's a very cute guy,” Nell commented from behind Kim.

“Yeah.” The word was a sigh. Kim had stars in her eyes.

“Kimmy has a boyfriend,” Zeke sang, in the high-pitched, annoying voice that was reserved for addressing younger siblings—or female cousins.

“Shut up, brat.”

He only giggled and began to dance around the stage, singsonging the refrain. Nell saw murder shoot into Kim's eyes and created a diversion.

“Well, I guess you guys don't want to practice ‘Jingle Bells' today.”

“Yes, we do.” Zack stopped twirling around the stage with his brother and dashed to the piano. “I know which one it is,” he said, attacking Nell's neat pile of sheet music. “I can find it.”

“I'll find it,” Zeke said, but his brother was already holding the music up triumphantly.

“Good going.” Nell settled on the bench with a boy on either side of her. She played a dramatic opening chord that made them both giggle. “Please, music is a serious business. And one, and two, and . . .”

They actually sang it now, instead of screaming it, as they had the first time she invited them to try. What they lacked in style, they made up for in enthusiasm. In spades.

Even Kim was grinning by the time they'd finished.

“Now you do one, Miss Davis.” Zack gave her his soulful look. “Please.”

“Your dad's probably waiting.”

“Just one.”

“Just one,” Zeke echoed.

In a few short weeks, it had become impossible for her to resist them. “Just one,” Nell agreed, and reached into the now-messy pile of music. “I picked up something you might like at the mall. I bet you've seen
The Little Mermaid
.”

“Lots of times,” Zeke boasted. “We've got the tape and everything.”

“Then you'll recognize this.” She played the opening of “Part of Your World.”

Mac hunched his shoulders against the wind as he headed into the school. He was damn sick and tired of waiting out in the parking lot. He'd seen the other kids filing out more than ten minutes before.

He had things to do, damn it. Especially since he was stuck going over to Mira's for a party.

He hated parties.

He stomped down the hall. And he heard her. Not the words. He couldn't make out the words, because they were muffled by the auditorium doors. But the sound of her voice, rich and deep. A Scotch-and-soda voice, he'd thought more than once. Sensual, seductive. Sexy.

He opened the door. He had to. And the lush flow of it rolled over him.

A kid's song. He recognized it now from the mermaid movie the boys were still crazy about. He told himself no sane man would get tied up in knots when a woman sang a kid's song.

But he wasn't feeling very sane. Hadn't been since he made the enormous mistake of kissing her.

And he knew that if she'd been alone he would have marched right over to the piano and kissed her again.

But she wasn't alone. Kim was standing behind her, and his children flanked her. Now and again she glanced down at them as she sang, and smiled. Zack was leaning toward her, his head tilting in the way it did just before he climbed into your lap.

Something shifted inside him as he watched. Something painful and frightening. And very, very sweet.

Shaken, Mac stuffed his hands into his pockets, curled those hands into fists. It had to stop. Whatever was happening to him had to stop.

He took a long breath when the music ended. He thought—foolishly, he was sure—that there was something magical humming in the instant of silence that followed.

“We're running late,” he called out, determined to break the spell.

Four heads turned his way. The twins began to bounce on the bench.

“Dad! Hey, Dad! We can sing ‘Jingle Bells' really good! Want to hear us?”

“I can't.” He tried to smile, softening the blow, when Zack's lip poked out. “I'm really running late, kids.”

“Sorry, Uncle Mac.” Kim scooped up her coat. “We kind of lost track.”

While Mac shifted uncomfortably, Nell leaned over and murmured something to his sons. Something, Mac noted, that put a smile back on Zack's face and took the mutinous look off Zeke's. Then both of them threw arms around her and kissed her before they raced offstage for their coats.

“Bye, Miss Davis! Bye!”

“Thanks, Miss Davis,” Kim added. “See you later.”

Nell made a humming sound and rose to straighten her music.

Mac felt the punch of her cold shoulder all the way in the back of the auditorium. “Ah, thanks for entertaining them,” he called out.

Nell lifted her head. He could see her clearly in the stage lights. Clearly enough that he caught the lift of her brow, the coolness of her unsmiling mouth, before she lowered her head again.

Fine, he told himself as he caught both boys on the fly. He didn't want to talk to her anyway.

Chapter 5

She didn't have to ignore him so completely. Mac sipped the cup of hard cider his brother-in-law had pressed on him and resentfully studied Nell's back.

She'd had it turned in his direction for an hour.

A hell of a back, too, he thought, half listening as the mayor rattled on in his ear. Smooth and straight, topped off by the fluid curve of her shoulders. It looked very seductive in the thin plum-colored jacket she wore over a short matching dress.

She had terrific legs. He didn't think he'd ever actually seen them before. He would have remembered. Every other time he'd run into her she'd had them covered up.

She'd probably worn a dress tonight to torment him.

Mac cut the mayor off in midstream and strode over to her. “Look, this is stupid.”

Nell glanced up. She'd been having a pleasant conversation with a group of Mira's friends—and thoroughly enjoying the simple act of ignoring Mira's brother.

“Excuse me?”

“It's just stupid,” he repeated.

“The need to raise more money for the arts in public schools is stupid?” she asked, well aware he wasn't referring to the topic she'd been discussing.

“What? No. Damn it, you know what I mean.”

“I'm sorry.” She started to turn back to the circle of very interested faces, but he took her arm and pulled her aside. “Do you want me to cause a scene in your sister's house?” Nell said between her teeth.

“No.” He weaved his way through the minglers, around the dining room table and through the kitchen door. His sister was busy replenishing a tray of canapés. “Give us a minute,” he ordered Mira.

“Mac, I'm busy here.” Distracted, Mira smoothed a hand over her short brunette hair. “Would you find Dave and tell him we're running low on cider?” She sent Nell a frazzled smile. “I thought I was organized.”

“Give us a minute,” Mac repeated.

Mira let out an impatient breath, but then her eyebrows shot up, drew in. “Well, well,” she murmured, amused and clearly delighted. “I'll just get out of your way. I want a closer look at that boy Kim's so excited about.” She picked up the tray of finger food and swung through the kitchen door.

Silence fell like a hammer.

“So.” Casually, Nell plucked a carrot stick from a bowl. “Something on your mind, Macauley?”

“I don't see why you have to be so . . .”

“So?” She crunched into the carrot. “What?”

“You're making a point of not talking to me.”

She smiled. “Yes, I am.”

“It's stupid.”

She located an open bottle of white wine, poured some into a glass. After a sip, she smiled again. “I don't think so. It seems to me that, for no discernible reason, I annoy you. Since I'm quite fond of your family, it seems logical and courteous to stay as far out of your way as I possibly can.” She sipped again. “Now, is that all? I've been enjoying myself so far this evening.”

“You don't annoy me. Exactly.” He couldn't find anything to do with his hands, so he settled on taking a carrot stick and breaking it in half. “I'm sorry . . . for before.”

“You're sorry for kissing me, or for behaving like a jerk afterward?”

He tossed the pieces of carrot down. “You're a hard one, Nell.”

“Wait.” Eyes wide, she pressed a hand to her ear. “I think something's wrong with my hearing. I thought, for just a minute, you actually said my name.”

“Cut it out,” he said. Then, deliberately: “Nell.”

“This is a moment,” she declared, and toasted him. “Macauley Taylor has actually initiated a conversation with me,
and
used my name. I'm all aflutter.”

“Look.” Temper had him rounding the counter. He'd nearly grabbed her before he pushed his anger back. “I just want to clear the air.”

Fascinated, she studied his now-impassive face. “That's quite a control button you've got there, Mac. It's admirable. Still, I wonder what would happen if you didn't push it so often.”

“A man raising two kids on his own needs control.”

“I suppose,” she murmured. “Now, if that's all—”

“I'm sorry,” he said again.

This time she softened. She was simply no good at holding a grudge. “Okay. Let's just forget it. Friends,” she offered, and held out a hand.

He took it. It was so soft, so small, he couldn't make himself give it up again. Her eyes were soft, too, just now. Big, liquid eyes you'd have expected to see on a fawn. “You . . . look nice.”

“Thanks. You, too.”

“You like the party?”

“I like the people.” Her pulse was starting to jump. Damn him. “Your sister's wonderful. So full of energy and ideas.”

“You have to watch her.” His lips curved slowly. “She'll rope you into one of her projects.”

“Too late. She's got me on the arts committee already. And I've been volunteered to help with the recycling campaign.”

“The trick is to duck.”

“I don't mind, really. I think I'm going to enjoy it.” His thumb was brushing over her wrist now, lightly. “Mac, don't start something you don't intend to finish.”

Brow creased, he looked down at their joined hands. “I think about you. I don't have time to think about you. I don't want to have time.”

It was happening again. The flutters and quivers she seemed to have no control over. “What do you want?”

His gaze lifted, locked with hers. “I'm having some trouble with that.”

The kitchen door burst open, and a horde of teenagers piled in, only to be brought up short as Kim, in the lead, stopped on a dime.

Her eyes widened as she watched her uncle drop her teacher's hand, and the two of them jumped apart like a couple of teenagers caught necking on the living room sofa.

“Sorry. Ah, sorry,” she repeated, goggling. “We were just . . .” She turned on her heel and shoved back at her friends. They scooted out, chuckling.

“That ought to add some juice to the grapevine,” Nell said wryly. She'd been in town long enough to know that everyone would be speculating about Mac Taylor and Nell Davis by morning. Steadier now, she turned back to him. “Listen, why don't we try this in nice easy stages? You want to go out to dinner tomorrow? See a movie or something?”

Now it was his turn to stare. “A date? Are you asking me out on a date?”

Impatience flickered back. “Yes, a date. It doesn't mean I'm asking to bear you more children. On second thought, let's just quit while we're ahead.”

“I want to get my hands on you.” Mac heard himself say the words, knew it was too late to take them back.

Nell reached for her wine in self-defense. “Well, that's simple.”

“No, it's not.”

She braced herself and looked up at him again. “No,” she agreed quietly. Just how many times, she wondered, had his face popped into her mind in the past few weeks? She couldn't count them. “It's not simple.”

But something had to be done, he decided. A move forward, a move back. Take a step, he ordered himself. See what happens. “I haven't been to a movie without the kids . . . I can't remember. I could probably line up a sitter.”

“All right.” She was watching him now almost as carefully as he watched her. “Give me a call if it works out. I'll be home most of tomorrow, correcting papers.”

* * *

It wasn't the easiest thing, stepping back into the dating pool—however small the pool and however warm the water. It irritated him that he was nervous, almost as much as his niece's grins and questions had irritated when she agreed to babysit.

Now, as he climbed the sturdy outside steps to Nell's third-floor apartment, Mac wondered if it would be better all around if they forgot the whole thing.

As he stepped onto her deck, he noted that she'd flanked the door with pots of mums. It was a nice touch, he thought. He always appreciated it when someone who rented one of his homes cared enough to bother with those nice touches.

It was just a movie, he reminded himself, and rapped on the door. When she opened it, he was relieved that she'd dressed casually—a hip-grazing sweater over a pair of those snug leggings Kim liked so much.

Then she smiled and had his mouth going dry.

“Hi. You're right on time. Do you want to come in and see what I've done to your place?”

“It's your place—as long as you pay the rent,” he told her, but she was reaching out, taking his hand, drawing him in.

Mac had dispensed with the walls that had made stingy little rooms and had created one flowing space of living, dining and kitchen area. And she'd known what to do with it.

There was a huge L-shaped couch in a bold floral print that should have been shocking, but was, instead, perfect. A small table under the window held a pot of dried autumn leaves. Shelves along one wall held books, a stereo and a small TV and the sort of knickknacks he knew women liked.

She'd turned the dining area into a combination music room and office, with her desk and a small spinet. A flute lay on a music stand.

“I didn't bring a lot with me from New York,” she said as she shrugged into her jacket. “Only what I really cared about. I'm filling in with things from antiques shops and flea markets.

“We got a million of them,” he murmured. “It looks good.” And it did—the old, faded rug on the floor, the fussy priscillas at the windows. “Comfortable.”

“Comfortable's very important to me. Ready?”

“Sure.”

And it wasn't so hard after all.

He'd asked her to pick the movie, and she'd gone for comedy. It was surprisingly relaxing to sit in the darkened theater and share popcorn and laughter.

He only thought about her as a woman, a very attractive woman, a couple of dozen times.

Going for pizza afterward seemed such a natural progression, he suggested it himself. They competed for a table in the crowded pizzeria with teenagers out on date night.

“So . . .” Nell stretched out in the booth. “How's Zeke's career in spelling coming along?”

“It's a struggle. He really works at it. It's funny, Zack can spell almost anything you toss at him first time around, but Zeke has to study the word like a scholar with the Dead Sea Scrolls.”

“He's good at his arithmetic.”

“Yeah.” Mac wasn't sure how he felt about her knowing so much about his kids. “They're both taken with you.”

“It's mutual.” She skimmed a hand through her hair. “It's going to sound odd, but . . .” She hesitated, not quite sure how to word it. “But that first day at rehearsal, when I looked around and saw them? I had this feeling, this—I don't know, it was like, ‘Oh, there you are. I was wondering when you'd show up.' It sounds strange, but it was as if I was expecting them. Now, when Kim comes without them, I feel let down.”

“I guess they kind of grow on you.”

It was more than that, but she didn't know how to explain. And she wasn't entirely sure Mac would accept the fact that she'd very simply fallen for them. “I get a kick out of them telling me about their school day, showing me their papers.”

“First report cards are almost here.” His grin flashed. “I'm more nervous than they are.”

“People put too much emphasis on grades.”

His brows shot up at the comment. “This from a teacher?”

“Individual ability, application, effort, retention. Those things are a lot more important than
A, B
or
C
. But I can tell you, in confidence, that Kim's acing advanced chorus and music history.”

“No kidding?” He felt a quick surge of pride. “She never did that well before.
B
s mostly.”

“Mr. Striker and I have markedly different approaches.”

“You're telling me. Word around town is that the chorus is dynamite this year. How'd you pull it off?”

“The kids pull it off,” she told him, sitting up when their pizza was served. “My job is to make them think and sing like a team. Not to slam Mr. Striker,” she added, taking a generous bite. “But I get the impression he was just putting in time, counting the days until he could retire. If you're going to teach kids, you have to like them, and respect them. There's a lot of talent there, some of it extremely rough.” When she laughed, the roses in her cheek bloomed deeper. “And some of those kids will do nothing more than sing in the shower for the rest of their lives—for which the world can be grateful.”

“Got some clunkers, huh?”

“Well . . .” She laughed again. “Yes, I have a few. But they're enjoying themselves. That's what counts. And there are a few, like Kim, who are really something special. I'm sending her and two others for auditions to all-state next week. And after the holiday concert I'm going to hold auditions for the spring musical.”

“We haven't had a musical at the high school in three years.”

“We're going to have one this year, Buster. And it's going to be terrific.”

“It's a lot of work for you.”

“I like it. And it's what I'm paid for.”

Mac toyed with a second slice. “You really do like it, don't you? The school, the town, the whole bit?”

“Why shouldn't I? It's a fine school, a fine town.”

“It ain't Manhattan.”

“Exactly.”

“Why'd you leave?” He winced. “Sorry, none of my business.”

“It's all right. I had a bad year. I guess I was getting restless before that, but the last year was just the pits. They eliminated my job at the school. Economic cutbacks. Downsizing. The arts are always the first to suffer.” She shrugged. “Anyway, my roommate got married. I couldn't afford the rent on my own—not if I wanted to eat with any regularity—so I advertised for another one. Took references, gauged personalities.” With a sigh, she propped her chin on her elbow. “I thought I was careful. But about three weeks after she moved in, I came home and found that she'd cleaned me out.”