Once Upon a Christmas (2 page)

O
nly in cartoons did the person on the end of a dog leash go airborne, feet straight out from a horizontal body. Or at least that’s what Blythe assumed, until she found herself in a similar state.

“Harley! Stop!” She yelped as she was ploughed through scrub brush. “Harley! Sit! Sit, Harley!” Her knees bumped against a hillock of sea grass and her hand automatically released the lead so she could catch her fall.

“Oomph! Ouch. Harley, when I catch you…Harley, come!” She slammed a gloved palm against the ground and pushed herself to her feet. “That dog. Anyone who owns a basset needs her head examined. Harley!”

She stared around the brushy terrain that alternated with tall grasses, sneaky mud pits and swamp. She heard his deep woof from off to her right, and it escalated to a frenzy of higher pitched barks. Another dog answered.

At the same time a deep human voice yelled, “Matty!”

No need to worry about Harley. He’d found his best
friend. But the voice calling the dog was definitely not Josie. She was an alto at the lowest, not deep baritone or high bass.

Blythe brushed the detritus of her fall from the front of her jacket, frowned at the mud on one jeans-clad knee and jogged toward the reunion. She could hear the two dogs whining and yipping their delight.

She’d heard that dogs often grew to look like their owners, or vice versa, but not in this case. The man walking toward her was a dead ringer for a younger Sam Elliott. Same dark hair, bushy brows over eyes that right now were snapping with fury. Only the luxuriant mustache was missing. The loose-limbed swagger had a purposeful side as he reached for the trailing leash.

“Matty, come. That’s enough!”

Who in the world is this?
Meg Ryan in person? A pixie in purple? Her gloves matched her eyes. Purple boots and everything packaged nicely in between. And she owns that monster?

“Miss, can’t you control your dog?”

“Me? Matty looks to be running free, too. You ever hear of a leash law?” Even at five foot five, she had to crank her neck to glare toward his face.

Thane grabbed both leashes and handed her the blue one. “Your dog, Miss.”

“His name is Harley and he and Matty have been walking buddies for months. Where is Josie, is she all right?” She barely kept from patting her chest in the hopes of slowing her heart.

Easy, man. This one is dynamite. Thane took a step back. “Why is everyone so interested in Josie? Can’t a man walk his own dog?”

Blythe swallowed. His voice flowed like rich fudge syrup drizzling down the sides of vanilla ice cream. “You own Matty?”

“Why is that so surprising?” He reached down and patted her fawn head. The minx sat at his feet like she’d never had a dream, even of hightailing it across the marshes to sniff noses with her friend.

Blythe looked down at Harley who now gazed up at her, adoration in his eyes, innocence dripping from his lolling tongue, his tricolored body vibrating with the joy of being with her.

He always did guilt well.

“I’m Thane Davidson.” Please don’t tell me you’re married.

“Blythe Stensrude.” She stuck out her gloved hand. “I’m pleased to meet you. Any friend of Matty’s is a friend of mine.” Oh brother, how inane. Come on mind, let’s work. Surely she wasn’t standing on a charging battery or anything. She almost glanced down to make sure packed dirt held her up.

“So you usually walk with Matty and Josie?”

“Often, when I can get away.” She gathered Harley’s leash into one hand and stroked his head. “This is Harley.”

“Harley the tank?” He eyed the broad shoulders and deep chest. “When he barked I thought it must be a mastiff or something.”

“Or something is right. He usually doesn’t get away like that.” She felt his gaze travel down to her muddy knee.

“He dragged you?”

“No, more like flew me like a kite.” She stroked her dog’s rust colored head. Rust dots on white decorated his nose. Anything to keep her shaking hand busy.

“He’s a handsome dog.”

“Thank you. I’ve always thought Matty was a beauty.” Come now, there must be more to talk about than our dogs. “Pardon me, but I need to keep walking so I can get back to work.” She started up the path toward the duck pond.

“What do you do?” He fell in beside her.

“I’m a graphic artist.” Now, why don’t I have any business cards with me? The first rule of networking—always have business cards in your pocket. She checked out her pockets. A disintegrating tissue, big help. Besides, she was a graphic designer. Why had she said artist?

He strolled beside her, both dogs now dutifully walking slightly ahead of their owners so they could point out good sniffing places to each other.

“And you?”

“Troubleshooter for software companies.”

Surely not a computer geek. He didn’t fit the image at all. The warmth from his side heated through her jacket and the long-sleeved, turtleneck sweater she wore underneath.

He shortened his steps. “You live near here?”

She nodded toward the houses climbing the western
hill above the road that followed the curve of the bay. “What about you?”

“A condo off Alhambra. I’m not home a lot so that makes it easier. You interested in a latte? There’s a place by the old train station.” Now that popped out before thinking. Thane Davidson, what is the matter with you?

Oh yes, oh no, I can’t, I have to finish that project. If I say no, will I ever see him again?

Say yes. Perhaps coffee will kick my mind into some kind of rational ability to carry on a conversation. After all, it’s a simple latte?
Isn’t it?

“S
ugar-free vanilla syrup, please.”

Thane smiled down at his companion. “Not straight up, eh?”

“Nope, but extra espresso. I need all the help I can get.” Blythe waved two fingers at the perky blonde behind the counter.

“Make mine a double, no syrup.”

“Latte?” The smile she gave him had ramped up the voltage.

“Yes.”

She wrote the instructions on the cups and disappeared behind the espresso machine.

“So why the extra caffeine?”

“I’ve got deadlines up to here,” Blythe said, waving her hand over her head. And tonight will most likely be sleepless. But that wasn’t something she really wanted to share with this striking hunk of manhood. Better to come across as capable. She’d been accused of flakiness in the past,
more than once if she were to be honest. Amazing how slights of years ago still pained like barbs under the skin. She’d heard enough dumb blonde jokes to write a book of them and every one of them managed to irk her. Not that she was always a blonde, but it was the principle of the thing. As if the color of one’s hair had anything to do with brain power. Or common sense for that matter.

Both of which she knew she had in plenteous supply, except when it came to succumbing to the pleadings of her regular clients, in spite of the sign on her wall that read, “You running behind does not constitute an emergency for me.”

While these thoughts skipped through her mind like deer over fences, she kept her lashes covering the interest she knew showed in her eyes. Who would have thought a runaway dog could have brought such a man into her life? She reached down to pat Harley’s head as he sat right by her knee, the perfect picture of doggy obedience. Thank you, hound dog, thank you.

They took their lattes outside and strolled between single-story brick buildings to Main Street, turning right as if they’d done this many times before.

“So, tell me about your business.” Thane smiled down at her.

She forced her attention from a smile that reminded her of twinkling Christmas lights. Come on brain, a simple answer would be sufficient, promptly would help.

“How long have you been a graphic artist?”

“Ah, forever.” She shook her head. “No, as my own business for five years now. I’m really more a designer
than artist. I mean I do projects for other people, not like creating my own art. Mostly advertising.” Why don’t you stutter and stammer like a real airhead?

“And you love what you do?”

She nodded. “Usually, but right now everyone needs their things finished by Christmas. You know how that is. Time gets away.” After another sip, she asked, “How about you? What is it you do?”

“My company goes in to fix mainframe computer problems for midsized companies. Interfacing programs, not so much hardware but software.”

“Do you write software, too?”

“I can but that’s not usually the case. More like puzzle solving.”

“Did you like puzzles as a kid?” She glanced up at him. When he smiled, his right cheek creased in a dimple.

“Was there anything else?”

“Computer games?”

“Death to the invaders.” He waved his latte like a sword.

“You still play them?”

“No, not really. I’d rather solve real puzzles.” He took a swig of cooling coffee. “What do you do when you’re not up to your hairline in deadlines?”

“I love music, my church…”

“What kind and where do you go?”

“Everything but heavy metal and acid rock. Oh, I don’t care much for rap, either—hate the violence. I attend the Alhambra Community Church, have all my life. One of the things I need to finish are the programs for the singing Christmas tree. Do you like music?”

“About the same as you, but heavy on the classical side.”

“Really? Are you going to the sing-along Messiah concert?”

“Hadn’t thought about it.”

“Are you a sports fan?” Every guy loved to talk about sports.

“When I have time. You?”

“My family is divided.”

“Divided?”

“Mom and I love the A’s, Dad and my sister are bone-deep Giants fans. Good thing they rarely play each other during the regular season or there might be bloodshed at our house.”

“Surely you jest.”

“I might be stretching it a little, but you get the point.”

“Did you get tickets to the Bay Bridge World Series games?”

“No, World Series tickets are out of our league.” She tipped her head in a sort of shrug. “And after the earthquake, we were glad we stayed home.”

“Clients give me tickets to a game now and then. Maybe we could go sometime.”

“I’d never turn down a ball game. You like football better?”

“Not really. I just don’t have a lot of time to keep up with any team.”

“So, you’re a workaholic?”

“That’s a rather offensive word.”

“Sorry.” Hey, it takes one to see one and on the plus
side, workaholics rarely want kids. Her inner voice tried to join the conversation.

“I do what needs to be done.” His eyebrows drew together, eyes narrowing.

Touchy subject. What might be safer? “Look at those two, trotting along like they’ve never broken free, just well-mannered dogs out for some air.”

“Bassets, ya gotta love them.”

“How old is Matty?”

“Three. I thought about showing her, but even with a trainer…”

“It took up too much time?”

Blythe glanced ahead. End of walk coming up soon. “Read any good books lately?” She’d have missed his shrug if she hadn’t glanced in the passing window.

“I don’t read a lot for pleasure.”

Why am I not surprised? She stopped at the corner of Alhambra. “We go up the hill.” Draining her cup, she tossed it in the trash. “Thanks for the latte and the visit.”

“I’m taking Matty home and going to Briones for a run. Are you interested?”

“I wish I could, not that I’m much good on the hills.” She chewed on her lower lip. “No, I better not.” Please ask me for something else. I’ve got an extra ticket to the concert, will you go? Her mother’s voice blasted her. Nice girls do not ask men on a date. This nice girl hasn’t gone on a real date, as in asked out by the man, for who knows how long.

“See you in the morning then?”

“The morning?”

“Walking the dogs.” He smiled that lazy, megawatt smile again.

“Ah, sure.” The sun came back out. “Eightish?”

“Good.” He waved and started south.

“Come on, Harley, we’ve got work to do.” She waved and headed across the street. Would she ever see him again?

“Blythe.”

She caught her toe on the curb and half stumbled. “Yes?”

“I’ll call you. You’re in the book, right?”

“Yes.” The sun brightened indeed.

“Good—see you.”

She waved again and tugged on the leash. “Come on, dog, we got lots to do.”

Harley dragged his feet, looking over his shoulder as his friend trotted up the street.

“Sorry, dog, but you’ll see Matty tomorrow.” That is—if her owner lives up to his word and if I’m able to sleepwalk down there.

Harley only stopped her twice for smell breaks as they climbed the hill toward home, her mind on the man, not the dog.

While she hung up her coat and Harley’s leash, she thought of calling her sister to share the good news. I’ve met a man, a triple-scoop kind of guy and you didn’t even have to find him for me. But then, what if he didn’t call? How embarrassing. No, how normal. That thought brought her back to earth with a teeth jarring jolt. That same thing had happened far too often. But this time
there had been chemistry. The tingle kind and surely not just on her part.

She sighed and plunked herself down in front of the computer. Get to work and quit daydreaming. If he calls, great. If he shows, greater. If not. Chalk up another one in the loser column.

Several hours and as many cups of tea later, she twisted in her chair, trying to pull out the kinks. She headed for another potty stop, then on to the kitchen to check out the fridge. She dragged a hand through hair that wore the dragged hands look and whooshed out a breath. Harley stopped at the back door, glanced over his shoulder and when she didn’t respond, gave a gentle woof reminder.

“Just a minute.” She pulled a bag of grated cheese and another of flour tortillas from the interior and set them on the counter. The dog woofed again, sharper this time. “I’m coming, you know patience is a virtue.” His wagging tail bruised her shins as she passed him to open the door. “I should get you a doggy door but half the wildlife of the area could come in without invitation if I did.” Ears flapping, he charged down the steps and across the back lawn to the doggy area she’d covered in wood chips. Her backyard really needed some help, as in tearing out the summer annuals and weeds that littered the curved beds. A rose camellia dropped rain-rusted petals on the bark underneath the shrub, the boxwood next to it wearing dying camellia blossoms among the small evergreen leaves. Perhaps she should hire someone to come in and do fall cleanup before spring came.

“Come on, Harley, I have work to do.”

Bassets lose their hearing when their nose snuffles ground smells. She knew that to be so. But hope springs eternal and all that. “Harley! If I have to come get you…” He’d always ignored her dire threats and today was no different. “Fine.” She shut the door and returned to fix her lunch, spreading cheese on the tortilla, putting it on a paper towel and into the microwave.

A sharp bark announced the dog’s change of mind.

“Now you have to wait.”

The phone rang. Could it be him? Mr. Sam Elliott look-alike himself? She crossed her fingers, all the while scolding herself for being so childish. “Blythe’s Graphics. How can I help you?” She made sure her smile was in place. “Hi, Mom. No, sorry I haven’t checked my machine. Forgot to.” She cradled the phone between ear and shoulder and pulled her quesadilla from the oven, all the while mentally castigating herself for not checking the machine. She always checked the machine immediately upon returning home. After all, some important client might have called.

But when she checked the display of her answering machine, one call, and that would have been her mother’s, was all there was. She listened to her mother, juggled the hot food onto a plate, and poured herself tea over ice. “I know, but there is no chance I can come this weekend. Mom, I’m sorry.” She ignored her mother’s remonstrances. “I know it’s my birthday tomorrow…I’m going to skip it this year. Listen to me, please. I have work to do, as in some very important, very tight deadlines including the programs for the singing Christmas tree, so I am
gluing myself to my chair. Make me a list and I’ll see how I can fit it in. No, I cannot go out to the Christmas tree farm with the entire family.” I’m not putting up a tree, I’m either canceling or postponing Christmas this year. But she didn’t dare tell her mother that—yet.

“I’m sorry.” She rolled her eyes skyward. What part of
no
didn’t her mother understand? Understand? Ha, she didn’t even hear it. “Look, I’ve had my break and I have to get back to work. Call you soon. Bye.” Blythe hung up the phone on her mother’s stutter and, plate in one hand, glass in the other, paused at the door, juggled, let the dog in and headed for her office. Harley danced at her side, his happy grin telling her he was sure going to enjoy sharing the treat she’d made. She set the food on the desk and herself in the chair, tapping the space bar to call up her work again.

Nothing. She moved the mouse. Nothing. The screen had frozen. “Not today!” Her shriek made Harley drop to the floor, eyes pleading as only basset eyes can, tail barely brushing the carpet.

“Okay, Blythe, take a deep breath, that’s right, let it out, shoulders relaxed.” That was about as helpful as moving the mouse. She followed her instructions once more and felt a bit of air between her shoulders and her ears. Again. If only her heart would settle down like her shoulders were doing.

She swallowed, ordered herself again to relax and hit control, alt, delete. Right, her program was not responding; now wasn’t that a surprise? Control, alt, delete again and nothing happened. Not today, please not today. I
should have defragged it.
Okay, Lord please fix this thing and not later, but right now. I need to work today.
She glared over at the old computer on a table across the room that looked as if Hurricane Ivan had passed through it. Being a horizontal sorter instead of a vertical one inclined to take up a lot of space. At least she had a backup machine. But when had she last backed up the files in question?

Her screen went dark. Not good. It hadn’t followed the normal procedure for shutting down.
Lord, I thought you said you would answer when I called. Well, I’ve been calling and all I see is a dead computer.
Her stomach twisted itself in a half hitch.

Her hand automatically reached for the ringing phone, but she stopped before answering it. Right now was not a good time to talk to a client, or her mother or a friend, or anyone. The machine could pick it up. What was wrong with the computer?

“Hi, this is Thane Davidson.” He had the kind of voice that sounded good even on an answering machine.

He called—like he said he would. A man who lived up to his word. And a computer genius.

She picked up the phone. “Hang on, the message will click off in a minute.” She glanced down to meet Harley’s expectant gaze, gave him a bit of her lunch and smiled when the machine clicked off. “Hi.” Brilliant conversationalist that she was. “How was your run?”

“Good. How’s the work going?”

“Not good right now. My computer is acting up.” She pressed the start button, having given the monster time to
sort itself out. But when it groaned instead of booting up, she felt like pounding it with something solid. Like a baseball bat. Calling it names failed to help, either.

“What’s happening?”

“Can you hear it?” She held the receiver close to the tower.

“Yes. Pathetic.” For the next half hour he talked her through various labyrinths of her computer, places she’d never seen nor had any desire to see again. Finally, he sighed. “How old is your computer?”

“Not quite two years.”

“How long since you did a backup disk?”