Hunk for the Holidays (29 page)

“Thank you, Father,” she said as she got to her feet.

“You’re most welcome,” Father Thomas said. “Perhaps
you should bring in this young man so I can talk with him.”

She paused with her hand on the door handle. “I don’t think that’s going to work, Father.”

“Why not, my child?”

“He’s Jewish.”

Chapter Twenty-five

Well, Mr. Sutton,” the short fireman with the abnormally large upper body said, “you’re a lucky man. A minute or two more and your entire roof would’ve gone up in flames.”

Sitting on the front steps of his porch wrapped in a blanket because he couldn’t find his ski jacket and his sheepskin had been taken by a lunatic pyro, James didn’t feel very lucky. Just exhausted. And stunned. What kind of a woman brings you a tree, gets naked, has sex with you, then almost torches your house? She was nuts. Completely nuts. And he was nuts for not keeping a closer eye on her.

“Even your tree looks like it will survive.” The fireman leaned back and stared up at the charred branches of the maple tree. “So I guess you learned your lesson about waiting until Christmas Eve to pick up a tree. By this time, they’re nothing but fire starters. One tiny spark and whoosh.”

Oh, James had learned his lesson, all right. About Christmas trees and hot-tempered women. At that moment, he wanted nothing to do with either one ever again.

“It’s a good thing you hadn’t taken it inside yet,” the fireman continued. “I’ve seen dead trees burn entire homes straight down to the ground.”

James nodded, wondering if that had been Cassie’s plan to begin with. Snuff out the competition with a dead tree and a match. He rubbed his eyes. God, he needed to get some sleep.

“Well, it looks like the guys are all packed up and ready to go.” The fireman held out his hand. “Hopefully, you won’t need to call us again.”

James stood to shake the man’s hand, forcing the gray cat that sat on his feet to move. “Listen, I really appreciate how quickly you guys got here. You’re right; a few minutes more and I’d be looking for another place to live.”

“Not a problem. It was a slow night. Nothing to do but miss my family.”

“I know what you mean,” James said. What he wouldn’t give to be in Pittsburgh with his family at that moment, as far as he could get from Cassandra McPherson.

“So you got kids?” the fireman asked.

“No.”

The fireman pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and flipped it open. “I’ve got two. A girl and a boy.” He pointed to the picture. “That’s my wife, Haley.”

James studied the picture in the light from the porch. The woman was dark-haired with pretty brown eyes. The kids were teenagers but still cute.

“Nice family.”

“Yeah.” He looked at the picture for a few seconds before he closed his wallet. “I got the bad rotation this year. But next year I’ll be off.” When James didn’t say anything, he put the wallet back in his pocket and lifted a hand. “So take care, man.”

James nodded. “Thanks again.”

“All in a night’s work,” he said. Halfway down the path, he stopped and turned. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” James mumbled. Suddenly too tired to make it the short distance to the door, he sat back down and watched as the firemen clambered up into the truck and pulled away. The other two fire trucks and the ambulance had left as soon as the blaze was under control. Along with all of his neighbors. It wasn’t as exciting to watch the cleanup as it was to watch flames shoot up in the sky. Still, it was nice of them to come over and try to help him. The guy next door had invited him over for a drink, and it was the busybody’s blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders. What were their names? Drew? Ms. Ellison? Hell, he’d just met them, and he couldn’t even remember their names?

His father was right. He needed to start letting people in or he was going to end up a very lonely old man. But for now, he needed to get some sleep. He started to get up when Sierra’s bright yellow Volkswagen pulled up to the curb. After the emotional roller coaster of the last few hours, a familiar face was a welcome sight.

“Hey.” She scampered up the icy path in her knee-high boots and a pink coat. “Guess I missed all the excitement.” She flopped down on the step next to him and stared at the
large circle of charred remains in the center of the yard. “I heard it was a doozy.”

“A doozy? And just how did you hear about the doozy of a fire?”

“Ms. Ellis.”

“Ellis, that’s it. The woman with the cat zoo.”

She giggled. “The same.”

“And how did Ms. Ellis get your number?”

“She takes in a lot of stray cats that would otherwise get gassed, and I help her find homes for them when I can.” She reached out and scratched the cat that had plopped back down on James’s feet. “Like One-eyed Willie here.”

James hooked the edge of the blanket around her shoulders and hugged her close. “You’re a nice person, Sierra. Even if you have ugly tattoos.”

“Whatever.” She ducked away. “So what happened?”

“I got a Christmas tree, and on the way inside, I let it get a little too close to the luminarias.” It was the same lie he had told the firemen. He wasn’t willing to mention Cassandra, not when it would involve talking about the events that took place before the tree burning. Unfortunately, Sierra had connections.

“Was this before or after the woman got naked on your porch?”

He turned to her. “Ms. Ellis?”

She nodded. “She likes to look out her window.” She waved at the house across the street. It was dark, but James had little doubt that the woman was watching.

He lifted a hand in greeting before looking back at Sierra. “How much did she see?”

“You tell me.” Sierra counted off on her bright, orange-gloved fingers. “Beautiful woman drags a tree up to your front porch; you reject tree; she gets naked; you pull her inside for an indecent amount of time before you toss her back out.” She paused and glanced over at him. “She torches the tree.” She grinned. “I like this girl.”

“Figures.” He stared out at the yard. Up until then, there was still hope that some wild neighborhood kids had gone on a tree-burning rampage. Now he was forced to accept the fact that the woman he couldn’t get out of his mind really was a raving nut with pyro tendencies.

“So? I’ll ask again.” She leaned over and rested her chin on his shoulder. “What happened? And I’m not talking about the tree. What happened to turn the smiling, dopey guy who couldn’t wait to get back to his new girlfriend to the sad, depressed guy who has nothing better to do on Christmas than sit on his front porch step with his cat and stare at a pile of tree ashes?”

He might’ve denied ownership of the cat if something else she’d said hadn’t caught his attention. “Christmas?”

She grabbed his wrist and turned up the face of his watch.

“Crap,” he said.

“You can say that again. Ms. Ellis pulled me away from a very in-depth discussion I was having with Slater on the pros and cons of getting married.”

“Married? You’re twenty, for Christ’s sake.”

“Not me, stupid. You.”

“Me?” He shook his head. “Not likely. Not to some crazy woman who gives fire hazards as gifts.”

“Whatever. Although bringing you a Christmas tree doesn’t make her crazy. It makes her thoughtful.”

“It barely had any needles on it.”

She glanced back out at the yard. “It looks like it had enough.”

“My point exactly.” He jumped up, dislodging Willie from his feet again. “Hell, she could’ve burned down my entire house.”

She stood. “If she’d wanted to burn down your house, she would’ve left the tree on the porch. She was just sending you a message.”

“Burn in hell?”

She laughed. “Something along those lines.”

“Great.” He stomped the snow off his boots. “I got the message.”

“I told you love makes you do stupid things.”

“Believe me, this woman doesn’t love me.”

“If you say so. But take it from a woman who squirted Krazy Glue in her boyfriend’s hard drive when he kept e-mailing an old girlfriend: Women who don’t care don’t waste their time on revenge. They just leave.”

For being twenty, Sierra made a lot of sense. Or maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t slept well in three nights. Two because of hot sex. And one because of hot sex followed by an even hotter fire. If he wanted to think clearly, he needed sleep. Minus the sex. And fires.

“I’m going to bed,” he proclaimed.

“Not until you open my present.” Sierra pulled a package out of her coat pocket that looked like it had been put through a paper shredder. “Sorry. The new puppy I got Slater for Christmas used it as a teething biscuit.”

He smiled as he took it from her. “A new puppy, huh? Is that what you spent your bonus on?”

“No. You’ll be happy to hear I saved my bonus. The puppy I got at the pound.”

“Good girl.” He ruffled her hair, too tired to worry about the consequences.

Excited about her present, she let it slide. “It’s Christmas, so it’s okay to open it.”

The chewed-up paper fell away with little effort.
“A Christmas Story.”
He flipped the DVD over and looked at the back. “Thank you. As a kid, I loved this movie.”

“So did I.” She grinned from ear to ear. “Which is why I think we should watch it.” She pulled another package out of her other pocket. “I even brought some microwave popcorn.”

“Listen, Sierra—”

She held up a hand. “Believe me; no matter how tired you are, you won’t sleep a wink. You’ll just lie there, thinking about naked women and flaming trees. What you need is a distraction.” She jerked the DVD out of his hand and marched into the house.

Figuring she might have a point, James followed.

“How did you get so smart?” he asked. He waited for the cat to come in before he closed the door. He couldn’t very well leave the animal out in the cold. “I thought Slater was your first true love.”

“He is. But I have three older sisters who fall in love every other week.”

“That would explain it.” He flopped down on the couch and slipped off his boots, ignoring Willie when he jumped up next to him.

As she struggled with the shrink-wrap, she glanced over at him and smiled. “I think we’re making progress.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the first time you didn’t claim you weren’t in love.”

Somewhere before Ralphie got his Red Ryder BB gun but after he beat the shit out of the bully, James fell asleep. Not a deep sleep, but a troubled sleep, involving a really bizarre dream.

Or more like a nightmare.

He was back in his old Pittsburgh neighborhood, walking home from school with two of his best childhood friends, Kevin and David. The snow was piled high along the shoveled sidewalks, the air crisp and cold. They were doing what boys do on the way home from school, dawdling. Right before the alleyway, the neighborhood bullies jumped out in front of them. Kevin and David took off, but James was too scared to move.

“Look at the little wimp.” Sierra marched up and shoved him in the chest with her orange-gloved hands. “He’s shaking in his snow boots.” She unwound the striped scarf from her neck and wound it around and around his body until his arms were pinned to his sides. “He’s over thirty and doesn’t know the first thing about love. So what do you want to do with him?” She stepped back to reveal the worst bully of all.

Cassie stood on the path in front of him, wearing the sexy red dress, spike heels, and a look that made his knees weak. Her dark hair fell around her shoulders, her green eyes sparkled, and her lips were a glossy red.

“So say it.” She took a step closer. “I dare you.” She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him, a warm, wet, and delicious kiss that clouded his mind. “Say it. I double-dog dare you,” she whispered right before her tongue slipped into his mouth.

He tried to shove her away, but he couldn’t. His tongue was frozen to hers. He pulled and tugged, but it wouldn’t come off. It was stuck.

“One spark and whoosh.” The disproportionate fireman appeared next to him. “Just one spark.”

Suddenly, his tongue was free. Except now he was tied to a dead, brittle Christmas tree with the entire McPherson clan standing around him dressed in pink bunny costumes like Ralphie’s aunt had given him.

“Say it!” Cassie jerked the flaming torch away from Big Al Bunny.

James opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He watched in horror as Cassie set fire to the pile of condoms that surrounded his feet. He looked out in the crowd for help, but no one lifted a hand. Not the Bunny McPhersons. Not his business associates. Or his neighbors, including Ms. Ellis and her three thousand cats. Not even his own family—his father, Marge, and Robby.

Or his mother.

She stood closest to the fire, her golden eyes bright and loving, her smile soft and caring. She wore the same robe he remembered from his childhood. A tattered blue chenille with large pockets that held tissues, Band-Aids, and peppermints.

“Don’t fight it, Jamie,” she said. “It’ll be all right. I promise.”

But he had to fight. If he didn’t, he’d die. He struggled against the knit scarf as Sierra raced around the tree, flashing her creepy fish tattoo and chanting, “You really love her! You really love her!”