Sweet Christmas Kisses (94 page)

Besides, he needed to get home to bed. He had a phone conference with a new client tomorrow that would take every bit of his brain power, not to mention his time.

Jim paid the bill and headed out to the parking lot where he'd left his car, the Chrysler 300M with the full option package and the big price tag. Cecilia had raised an eyebrow when he'd bought it and asked if he was going through an early mid-life crisis. No, he'd simply wanted something newer than the eight-year-old sedan he'd been driving, some tangible symbol of his success, something to prove the risks he’d taken had been worth it.

Now he had the car, but something else he longed for had eluded him. Peace. Contentment. Having his kids with him and being the kind of father he knew he hadn't been so far because he'd been so focused on work.

Work
. It seemed as though work had always been the foremost thing in his mind. He'd barely begun his first job with an international construction firm when he’d met Cecilia.

Beautiful and brainy Cecilia Cross. She had been irresistible. They had dated and slept together carelessly. When she told him she was pregnant, he had done the right thing. The only thing. Would he have married her if Ryan hadn’t been on the way? Would she have married him? He was only twenty-three, Cecilia twenty-one, when Ryan arrived.

Jim started the car and backed out of the parking space on automatic pilot. His thoughts were still on the past, on their excited plans to make his jobs around the world family affairs, he and Cecilia and Ryan traveling together. But Ryan had been a sickly baby, prone to bronchitis and ear infections. There’d been no question of traveling with him. Then Yvonne had come along and developed asthma soon after her first birthday.

He had insisted they needed to own a home. He hadn’t told Cecilia why it was so important to him, but he wasn’t going to let his kids grow up the way he had. They’d purchased a house they could barely afford, and he’d taken the higher-paying overseas assignments to help pay for it. The money he’d made had provided them a lush lifestyle—and no doubt about it, he’d loved the challenge of the job and the excitement of travel, too. Cecilia had gone back to work only part time, and she’d seemed happy. Or so he’d thought.

It seemed strange, when he thought about it now, that she’d been so willing to let him take those overseas assignments when they were newlyweds, barely able to keep their hands off each other. Other men’s wives had complained about their husbands being gone, but when it had been time for Jim to leave, Cecilia had helped pack his bags and driven him to the airport, never complaining. Perversely, Jim had wondered why, but he hadn’t asked her. He thought he probably wouldn’t have liked the answer.

Over the years, there had been many things they had never talked about, he thought. Things they’d never brought up. She had her secrets, he had his.

Two things had driven Jim his entire adult life: he never wanted to be hungry again and he was determined to prove himself a success. Maybe he should have spent more time pushing to be a better husband and father. It wrenched his guts to realize he hadn’t done that.

At least when the divorce finally came through, he’d never have to worry again about Cecilia being angry with him for coming home late. She wouldn’t slap down a cold dinner in front of him, or tell him to warm it up in the microwave because he’d arrived long after suppertime, long after the kids had gone to bed. He wouldn't have to bear her silence, just as cold as dinner and much more unpalatable.

"What a mess," he muttered as he slowed for a red light ahead. He was getting close to Doug’s house, and he’d had every intention of going straight to bed when he got there, but the closer he got, the more he thought about Cecilia and the kids, and Judge Carpenter's decision.

An idea popped suddenly into his head. He didn't have to go back to Doug's. He could do as Cecilia’s attorney had suggested—pack up his few belongings and go home. He almost added to himself,
where he belonged
, but he shook his head. He didn't really belong there—and he sure as hell knew he didn’t belong in the maid’s quarters. Sometimes he thought he didn't belong anywhere except at the offices of Warwick Engineering.

So maybe he didn't belong at his old house—it was where he had to be, at least for the next couple of months. Cecilia wouldn't like it, but he was no longer in the business of pleasing her. He'd failed at it, anyway.

When the light turned green, he shot ahead, experiencing the first stirrings of purpose he'd felt since he'd heard Judge Carpenter's decision.

He was going home. Home for Christmas.

"Ryan, Yvonne," Cecilia called from the kitchen. "It's time for bed. You two need to pick up your toys in the family room."

When she didn't hear an answer, Cecilia threw down the dishcloth she'd been using to wipe the counter and walked to the bottom of the stairs. She called again and got a faint response that sounded vaguely like a siren's wail, Yvonne's usual answer to the nightly reminder to pick up her toys.

When she reentered the kitchen, Cecilia’s heart flew to her throat. Coming through the back door was her almost-ex-husband.

Emotions exploded inside her: surprise, regret, longing. Rattled, she spoke sharply. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here, remember?" he said dryly, setting a suitcase down just inside the door. "By order of the honorable Judge Dallas Carpenter." He reached back around the doorframe and hauled in two more cases, then shut the door.

"But I haven't made up the bed in the maid's quarters." They'd never had a maid, or any other type of live-in help, so there had never been a reason to use that room. Still, she'd bought a new queen-size bed for it last year when she'd thought about hiring help.

"Why should you have to?” he asked.

When she didn’t answer, because she was too flustered to
have
an answer, he went on, “I can do it." Bags in hand, he walked through the kitchen to the bedroom door on the other side. "The sheets and blankets are in the closet, right?"

"Um, yes." He disappeared and she slumped against the counter.

It was bad enough when she knew she was going to have to see him. She could steel herself, discipline her face to show none of the sorrow and dismay that filled her heart. When she saw him unexpectedly, it was all she could do to keep her feelings under control.

Cecilia reached up to rub her forehead. She couldn't do this, she thought. She absolutely couldn’t have him here. She heard the turn of the knob to his room and quickly straightened, grabbing the dishcloth to continue her cleaning.

"The counter is spotless," he said as he reentered the kitchen. "It's always spotless. A little dirt isn't going to hurt anything."

Cecilia bit her tongue to keep from snapping back. She wasn't going to get into yet another argument about her cleaning standards. He said she was obsessive, she said she was simply careful. She had to be because of Yvonne's asthma.

"We need to decide exactly how we're going to divide the kids' care," she said instead. "Day by day? A week at a time? What?"

"A week at a time," he answered quickly. "That way I can arrange my schedule."

"Arranging your schedule has never been a priority before, has it?" she asked, giving in to the resentment she felt. The truth was, caring for Ryan and Yvonne hadn't
had
to be a priority for Jim because Cecilia had always made it
her
priority. All Jim needed to do was show up whenever he was finished with work.

Anger flashed in his eyes. "Well, it’s a priority now, isn't it?"

Cecilia turned away and threw the cloth into the sink. She was furious with herself for not having better control. She was determined to get through this in as civilized a manner as possible. Other people did it, she told herself. They got divorced and remained perfectly civil, sometimes even friendly, with their former spouses.

Which made her wonder if there had ever been any passion or love in such marriages. How could you truly love someone, then part from them and have a relationship that was as cool and friendly as two casual acquaintances?

She and Jim would never have that, she was sure. They had come together in a flash of lust that she'd mistaken for love, and she had tricked herself for ten years that their lust had developed into abiding love.

What a fool she’d been.

She walked over to the stairs and called once again for the children. At last, she heard their footsteps cross the landing and then thump down the stairs. When they reached the bottom step, they yelled "Daddy!" in unison and launched themselves at Jim.

"Are you back, Daddy?" Yvonne asked, bouncing excitedly around his feet. "Is the Vorce over?"

"No," he said, picking her up. He exchanged a glance with Cecilia, who folded her hands at her waist nervously. "The divorce isn't over, but I am back." To Cecilia, he said, "Have you told them about the Judge's arrangement?"

"Not yet." She fought down the feeling of defensiveness. "I was going to discuss it with them at bedtime."

"Well, it's bedtime. Come on, Ryan." Jim led the way into the family room. Settling himself in his favorite chair—hardly worn since he was rarely home to use it—he set Yvonne on his lap.

Cecilia glanced around, trying to recall the last time they had sat in this room together. She couldn't, so she sat on the sofa opposite her husband, scooting back into the cushiony leather that always made her feel as if she'd been safely placed in a catcher's mitt.

Jim cleared his throat, stalling while choosing his words carefully. "When we were at the courthouse today, we got a big surprise."

"What?" Ryan and Yvonne asked in unison, their wide eyes obviously expecting it to be something good.

Jim seemed to hesitate as if he hadn't expected that reaction. Cecilia broke in. "The judge said Daddy and I are…are still married…for now, at least.”

“We’re not divorced,” Jim clarified when there was no reaction from the children.

Relief rushed over Yvonne’s face. “You mean the Vorce didn’t get you?”

Jim’s lips quirked ironically. “No, and we didn’t get it, either.”

While Yvonne considered that, Cecilia went on, “But the judge also said that the house, this house, now belongs to you two."

"Huh?" Ryan asked. He wrinkled his nose and stared at her in a way that reminded her of Stephanie.

"For now, the house belongs to you and Yvonne so that you can always stay here and not have to worry about moving away from your friends and your school."

"You mean we don't have to move?" Ryan asked, careful, as always to get the details exact.

"That's right."

Yvonne drew in a sharp breath, then squealed with delight, an eardrum-bursting sound. "I've got to go tell Mandy." She started to wriggle off Jim's lap, but he hauled her back.

"It's bedtime," he reminded her. "You can tell Mandy tomorrow."

Yvonne opened her mouth as if she wanted to argue, but he gave her a direct look. She nodded and settled down.

"And the judge said we have to take turns taking care of you," Cecilia added. She smiled, putting a positive face on this arrangement. "I'll take one week and Daddy will take the next week. I'll start. This is my week, so whatever you need, I'll take care of it."

“But you always do that, Mom. How’s it any different?” Ryan asked, glancing from one parent to the other.

Cecilia couldn’t help it. She looked at Jim. A faint redness seemed to touch his cheeks. He cleared his throat and said, “Your mom and I will share things equally. Everything.”

“And you won’t fight now, right?” Yvonne asked. Her little face was anxious and tears began to fill her eyes.

“Right,” Jim said. “No more fighting. We’ll settle everything peacefully. And your mom and I will share taking care of you.”

“But there are some things you don’t know how to do, Dad,” Yvonne pointed out. “Like braiding my hair.”

“I can learn,” he said in a tone that fought exasperation. “And if I don’t know how to do something, I’ll ask your mom.”

Which actually wasn't much different than the way things had always been, Cecilia thought as she watched Yvonne frown doubtfully.

She didn't say it aloud, though. She was determined to keep things happy and positive in front of the children, and it seemed that Jim was doing the same thing. After all, the kids had seen plenty of their parents arguing. It was time for them to see Jim and Cecilia behaving better.

Ryan frowned as he stared at first one of his parents, then the other. "This whole big house belongs to Yvonne and me?"

"Yes, so the judge says," Cecilia answered. She could see where this was going. Ryan liked being the boss. "But your dad and I are still in charge of you. We're still your parents and you still need to listen to us."

"But not about the house?"

Thank you, Judge Carpenter, she thought dryly
.
You've created a monster.

"Yes, about the house, too. We know more about houses than you do." Frustrated, she looked to Jim for help, but she could see amusement in his eyes.

"Well then, Mom," Ryan said seriously. "You need to get somebody to help you clean the house. You work too hard."

She stared at him. "Oh, really?" Across the room, Jim broke into a grin.

"Uh huh." He turned his attention to Jim. "And Dad, you need to fix the shower in mine and Yvonne's bathroom. It drips. And you need to set up my model train. You said you would and that was for my birthday and that was in September."

The grin was wiped clean from Jim's face. "All right, Ryan. We'll set it up this weekend."

"What time?"

"Time?" He sent a glance toward Cecilia, who shrugged, enjoying his discomfort.

"I have a basketball game on Saturday morning,” Ryan said. “We'll have to set up my train after that."

Jim ran his hand over his chin. "Right. Yes, after your game."

“And you won’t be going to work, right? You’ll come to my game, then we’ll come back and set up my train?” Ryan asked anxiously.

“Yes, son, that’s right.”

“And then the Christmas tree,” Ryan said.