Hunk for the Holidays (13 page)

Cassandra’s still not answering.” Mary Katherine hung up the phone and set it back on the kitchen counter next to the egg carton and huge mixing bowl. “Where do you think she is, Wheezie?”

Louise McPherson Douglas didn’t know for sure where her great-niece was, but she had her hopes. She just couldn’t tell the girl’s mother that she hoped her daughter was in bed with Jimmy, making Mary Katherine more grandchildren and Wheezie more great-nieces and nephews.

“She’s probably still in bed,” Wheezie said. “I hear the party ran a little late last night.”

“Which is exactly why I’m worried about Cassandra.” Mary cracked an egg into the bowl. “Gladys Applegate couldn’t wait to call me this morning and tell me about Cassie drinking too much last night.”

“Gladys Applegate is a busy butt who should mind her own business.” Wheezie poured some more rum into the saucepan and tried to act nonchalant. “So what did Gladys have to say?”

“Just that Cassandra drank too much champagne and almost had to be carried out by ‘her nice young man.’ What nice young man? I thought she had broken it off with Lance.”

Wheezie squinted. “If that’s the one who passed out after just a few drinks, I say good riddance. Who wants a man who can’t hold his liquor?”

Mary Katherine sent her one of those looks that only a woman who spent too much time in church could send. “I’m sure you gave him more than a few drinks, Wheezie.” She nodded at the saucepan. “And that recipe calls for one-fourth cup of rum, not half a bottle.”

“What’s a holiday without a little spirit?” she huffed. “Besides, the alcohol will burn off.”

“Why don’t you let me finish the rum sauce?” Mary said. “You need to sit down and take it easy.”

Take it easy.

That was the problem with being ninety; everyone treated you like you were at death’s door. They probably had a point. Recently, Wheezie had woken up in the middle of the night with a chilled feeling like the grim reaper was only a breath away. She wasn’t scared of death. In fact, she looked forward to it. She didn’t doubt for a second that her husband, Neill, would be waiting on the other side with a sweet smile and a glass of good Scottish whiskey. But as much as she longed to see her soul mate, she wasn’t quite ready to leave this world behind. At least, not
yet. Not until her great-niece and nephews were as happily married as she had been.

She ignored Mary and kept stirring the sauce. Mary heaved a heavy sigh, but didn’t say a word. After being married to Big Al for close to forty years, she was used to stubborn McPhersons.

“So did you meet this man Cassandra brought to the party?” she asked. “What’s he like?”

“Jimmy’s older than the rest of the youngsters she’s been dating, twice as intelligent, and three times as good-lookin’.” Wheezie tasted the sauce and had to admit that she was still one damned good cook.

“Do you think Cassandra is really interested in this one?” Mary asked.

“If she isn’t, she should be.”

Having been in the bar business for years, Wheezie prided herself on knowing what relationships would work and what relationships wouldn’t. Some might call it matchmaking. She didn’t much care for the word. Matchmakers were busybodies like Gladys Applegate. Women who had nothing better to do with their time than try to make people’s lives as miserable as theirs were. They would willy-nilly set up relatives and friends without any thought of how they would actually get along.

Wheezie preferred to call what she did soul-mating. Anyone could randomly throw single people together. Soul-mating took a lot more thought and intuition. And Wheezie had intuition in spades. She knew after only five minutes with Cassie’s new boyfriend that he was the one for her niece. With five headstrong men in the family, Cassie thought she wanted a man that she could boss
around. When in truth, what she needed was a man with a firm, but gentle, hand. Jimmy had those hands. And Wheezie intended for them to catch her great-niece. Even if Wheezie had to set up a few roadblocks.

But first she had another McPherson to take care of.

She glanced out the window at Rory, who was shoveling the side walkway. While Cassie’s unmarried state had just recently drawn Wheezie’s attention, Rory’s had occupied her thoughts for the last five years. The stubborn man would’ve been happily married by now if he hadn’t run off to Chicago and married a woman he had no business being with.

Wheezie wasn’t about to let that happen again.

“So did you talk to Amy this morning?” she said, then waited until Mary turned her back to get something out of a cupboard before she added some more rum to the sauce. “I was thinking about stopping by today to drop off their presents.”

“You’ll have to do it later in the afternoon. Amy and Derek are taking Gabby to see Santa at Gruber’s Toy Store.”

Wheezie snorted. “Derek. Now there’s a putz if ever I’ve seen one. The man uses his telephone more than Alexander Graham Bell. When he’s not talking on it, he’s tapping and scrolling like a blame idiot. You can’t even hold down a decent conversation with him.”

Mary poured the oil into the cake batter. “Well, it doesn’t matter how we feel. Amy loves him, and I wouldn’t be too surprised if wedding bells are in the near future.”

“Over my dead body,” Wheezie mumbled under her breath, just as Big Al’s voice boomed from the other
room. He released a string of cusswords that had Mary Katherine reaching for a towel.

“No more rum, Wheezie,” she said as she wiped off her hands and hurried from the room.

Once she was gone, Wheezie picked up the bottle of rum and splashed some in the saucepan, then shuffled over and splashed some more in the mixing bowl. She was just giving it a stir to mix it in when the side door opened.

“What’s Dad yelling at this time?” Rory asked as he stomped off his boots and stepped inside. “The neighbors can probably hear him all the way down the street.”

“Close the blasted door, Rory. My arthritis can’t take the cold.” She tossed the empty fifth into the trash.

After closing the door, Rory pulled off his gloves and then his jacket as he sniffed the air. “You making rum cake?”

“It wouldn’t be Christmas without it.” But instead of continuing to cook, she turned off the burner and moved over to one of the stools at the breakfast bar. She slid onto the leather seat, liking the way her feet felt against the bottom rung. Not a day went by that she didn’t miss Neill’s Bar. Or her late husband.

Maybe it was only her wishful thinking, but Rory looked like Neill. Same strong features. Same sweet smile.

“You’re looking awfully beautiful today, Wheeze.” He kissed her head on his way over to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“Don’t brownnose me, you rascal. I look exactly like what I am—an old broad whose days are numbered. I’ll be lucky if I live past New Year’s.”

Rory chuckled. “You’ll probably outlive us all, Wheezie.”
He filled his cup while she tried to figure out how to best go about getting what she wanted without Rory catching on. And using the old deathbed routine didn’t look like it was going to work. But maybe a little reverse psychology would.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m not planning on going anywhere until you kids are all settled down.”

Turning back around, he shot her a quizzical look. “Thinking about doing a little matchmaking, are you, Wheeze?”

She shrugged. “Since all my bridge partners are dead and buried, I need something to keep me occupied.” She tipped her head in thought. “Of course, Mattie needs a couple years to grow out of his wild stage. Cassandra is too busy with work. And you’ve just gotten divorced and need some time.” She released her breath in a long sigh. “Which leaves Patrick.”

Rory’s grin got even bigger. “I think that’s a great idea. So just who do you have in mind for my volatile younger brother?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She paused and shot him an innocent look. “Amy Walker?”

The coffee mug halted inches from Rory’s mouth as he stared at her in shock. It was just the reaction Wheezie was hoping for. She bit back her smile and went in for the kill.

“It makes perfect sense. Amy and Gabby are practically family. And I think Patrick already has a little crush on her.”

Rory lowered the cup. “And what about Derek Terrell?”

“Do you actually think Amy will choose Derek once she finds out how Patrick feels? Patrick is taller, handsomer,
and isn’t constantly on his damned cell phone. Not to mention that your brother is much better with Gabby.” She paused and squinted. “In fact, there are times when I don’t even think that Derek likes children. Which would be a crying shame if he ended up being Gabs’s father. That child needs a daddy who will love her and treat her like the angel she is.”

While Rory stood in stunned silence, she continued. “Yes, I think that’s the best plan. I’m going to call Patrick right now and have him go over to Gruber’s Toy Store where Amy is taking Gabby to see Santa. Christmas is the perfect time to declare your love for someone.”

“Rory.” Mary Katherine came back into the kitchen. “I’m glad you’re still here. Your father’s about to blow a gasket. From what I can get out of him, it has to do with Slumber Suites. He tried to get ahold of your sister, but she’s not answering. So why don’t you go into his study and see if you can’t calm him down.”

For a moment, Rory looked like he was going to listen to his mother. He set the mug down and turned in the direction of Big Al’s study. Wheezie had to do some quick thinking to get him back on track.

She reached out and picked up the phone. “What’s Patrick’s number again, Mary Katherine?” Less than a moment later, Rory had his jacket and gloves and was slamming out the door.

“What in the world?” Mary Katherine turned to her.

Wheezie shrugged. “It beats me. Who can figure out young kids?” She slipped off the stool. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a phone call.”

Mary Katherine rattled off Patrick’s phone number, but
it wasn’t her nephew’s house that Wheezie dialed as she walked into the living room. If things were going to work out between Rory and Amy, she needed some backup. God must’ve agreed because the person who answered was exactly the person she wanted to speak with.

“This is Aunt Wheezie,” she whispered. “You know that Christmas gift you’ve been wanting? Well, I think I just figured out how to get it for you.”

Chapter Eleven

Rory McPherson could not remember the last time he’d been in a toy store—not that he didn’t buy toys for his nieces and nephews. He just didn’t buy them at a store. He bought them, like most childless men, on the Internet, where he could have them wrapped and delivered with very little effort.

Which explained his stunned shock when he stepped out of the revolving doors and into the mayhem of a toy store two days before Christmas. Hordes of adults and children swarmed around the aisles of stuffed animals, games, dolls, and action figures like roaches around a restaurant Dumpster. Except roaches went about their scavenging quietly. The noise level in the store was deafening.

Stressed-out parents yelled at dazed salesclerks. Babies in strollers screamed in exhaustion. The Christmas cartoon that played on the television monitors competed
with a high-pitched version of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” And mixed into the cacophony were the sirens, beeps, and screeches of every electronic toy the hyped-up kids could get their hands on.

Rory froze.
What in the hell am I doing here?

The answer came only seconds later, when his gaze shifted down to the lower level of the store, where a long line of people waited to see Santa. Amid all the frazzled Christmas shoppers, the petite blonde stood out like a beacon of light on a dark, cold night. And Rory found himself moving closer to the railing.

Today, Amy wore a fuzzy pink sweater that accented her small, perfect breasts and pointy-toe high heels that stuck out beneath the hem of her form-fitting jeans. High heels that drove Rory crazy every time they strutted past him in the hallways of M & M. He spent many a lunch break picturing that cute, compact body in nothing but heels and fantasizing about them being wrapped around his hips.

But it wasn’t the heels that had sealed his fate the night before. It was the rosebud mouth. All it had taken was one mind-blowing kiss from those lips for the truth to come out.

Rory McPherson loved Amy Walker.

And time, distance, and marriage hadn’t changed the truth.

For five long years, Rory had tried to hide it from his family, his wife, and mostly, from Amy. He’d tried to hide it behind a veneer of hateful words and indifference. It had worked as long as he didn’t see her. Or touch her. Or taste her. Okay, so it hadn’t worked at all. All he’d succeeded
in doing was hurting a lot of people who hadn’t deserved to be hurt.

Like his ex-wife. Poor Tess. She was arrogant and self-absorbed, but she hadn’t deserved to be saddled with a man who didn’t love her. A man who lost himself in work just so he could forget about a nineteen-year-old blonde in sexy high heels. Rory wasn’t at all shocked when Tess left him for some exercise dude. If he’d been her, he would’ve left a lot sooner. He’d been the worst sort of husband.