'Tis the Season: A Collection of Mimi's Christmas Books (23 page)

“You’re welcome.”
A grim tone in his.

Frank’s face darkened, and his hands clenched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he waited until Marcus stood, and then he sidestepped him and scooped the girl into his arms, calling to the vicar as he headed to the door, “Can we borrow the blanket, Vicar? We’ll need something to cover her on the trip.”

“Certainly, my boy, certainly.” The vicar held out the afghan, only to have Marcus snatch it before Frank could.

“Thank you, Father. And thank you so much for your hospitality. If I may, I’ll check back as soon as we know something.”

Delighted, the older man smiled. “Please do, Marcus. Come back to visit anytime.”

Frank blocked the doorway with Abbie snug in his arms. “Where do you think you’re going? I have no time to deliver you anywhere. We’ll be heading straight to the hospital.”

“Not to worry. I live close by there and can easily make my way home after I find out about Abbie. I feel responsible for her, somewhat, and wouldn’t dream of leaving her now.” He didn’t elaborate that the fear and sadness seeping into every pore of his body hammered at his conscience, and he could no more ignore that than he could ignore any hurt or helpless soul.

Without another word, he stepped out in front of the fireman and jumped into the seat now damp from the cover of snow. He bent over and motioned for Frank to pass him her body and, after a slight hesitation and an encouraging agreement from the vicar, the angry man lifted her up and took his seat across from them, then leaned down to pick up the reins.

“Thank you, Lord.”
Her heartfelt words echoed in his mind.

“You can just call me Marcus.”
He grinned when she groaned.

****

Once they’d arrived at the hospital and consulted the doctors, Abbie couldn’t believe it when Marcus, without any fuss whatsoever, accepted their lack of diagnosis. As her spokesperson, he’d been somewhat assertive at the beginning, she had to admit, but not nearly enough to suit her. She knew she could be full on, sometimes, but only after her endless patience wore thin. Why she’d let him stop her from ranting her frustration to the blokes in white, she didn’t know.

“I don’t understand the doctors around here. Or why they haven’t figured out what’s wrong with me. Have they run all the available tests?”

“Abbie, quit fussing. I’m sure they’ve done everything they can up to now.”

“I wish I knew more about the normal procedures for coma patients. Surely, at one time or another, they’ve come across other cases like mine?”

“Can’t say for sure. They’re assessing your condition, so you have to give them time.”

“Hang on, Marcus. I want to get back to my normal life. I have a million things to do before Christmas. I can’t be lying here in a hospital doing nothing.”

“I’m sorry, Abbie. I’ve done all I can for now. Look, we’ve been here for hours. I have to get home before Mother calls the police and declares me a missing person. She’s a bit high-strung and doesn’t deal well with difficulties.” Her humming in his head made him add, “We can return tomorrow and check again.”

Seeing herself clad in a hospital gown, all hooked up to the various breathing apparatus and medical paraphernalia, made her sigh but also concede. Although she didn’t suppose it was going anywhere, leaving her body was difficult
. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry for being so selfish. Your mother shouldn’t be left to worry any longer.”

Chapter Three

“Marcus, finally! Figured I’d have to send the coppers to drag you out of your office kicking and screaming. I know you’re not anxious to have me stay with you, but really! You could just tell me to go, rather than disappear.” The woman who floated into the foyer sounded slightly annoyed and wholly mischievous. Her fake American accent irritated the hell out of him, and she knew it. That it was very apparent probably meant she wanted to pay him back for his negligence.

Her strawberry blonde hair, dyed, of course, and done up in a bouffant style suitable for a much younger person, nevertheless seemed to suit her bubbly personality and accentuate her charm. The long, bright green caftan covering her slim body shimmered from the gold threads running rampant throughout the wild pattern. Not only did the shade of the garment harmonize with her eyes; the glitter resembled the sparkle in her riveting gaze.

“Oh, Marcus, your mum’s delightful.”
Abbie couldn’t stop the gushing words.

“She’s daft. She’s been in America for the last ten years and loves to torment me with her slang every chance she gets. She calls it being witty. I call it maddening. Drives me around the bend.”

“But…”

“But, I try. Trust me, it’s not easy. But I do try.”

“Hold it, buster. I’m inside here and can feel your emotions. You love her dearly, so don’t put it on with me.”

“I suppose. But she does drive me batty, always after me to smell some silly roses or read inspirational poetry, trying to help me find my inner soul or whatever. She calls it adding culture into my life, and I call it pure lollygagging. I really don’t understand her most times.”

“Hello, Mother. I’m sorry to have worried you, but it was unintentional. Seems I fell asleep on the bench in front of the vicarage, and then I… Yes, well, then I had to seek shelter with the vicar for a little while to wait out the storm.”

“First, why would you have fallen asleep on a bench, for heaven’s sake, when you have a perfectly good bed here at home?”

“Sleep deprivation, I suppose. I have been working rather long hours lately.” The dryness of his tone brought a twinkle to his mother’s eye. Abbie could actually see the devil in her lurking, waiting to get out.

“My educated guess would be that you’ve followed such a hectic routine in order to spend as little time at home as possible. Truly, Marcus. Sometimes I think for a thirty-year-old man you’ve turned into an old fuddy-duddy. Can’t you ever just relax and have fun?”

“Who, pray, will be minding my business while I’m acting like a lunatic, playing silly games with you?”

“Silly games? My dear boy, I suggested we have a fun game of Monopoly. Not snakes and ladders or some such nonsense. Since all you think about is money, I’d thought it a rather brilliant suggestion.”

“Chess is more my style. Maybe one day we could have a game of chess.”

She threw up her hands in dismay. “Over my dead body. And don’t smirk. It’s unbecoming.”

He wiped the naughty look off his face by rubbing at his whisker growth. “Look, dear. I’m damp and tired and need a hot bath—”

“Do not tell me you’re going to bed.” Her shoulders slumped dispiritedly. “Marcus, I’m so bored here alone, I could spit nickels. Please come and have a drink with me. Look, go have your bath, put on your warm pyjamas, and come back down. I’ll make some toast and tea for you, just the way you like it.” It wasn’t the tone of whining in her voice that had him acquiescing, nor the yearning look in her eye. The screeching in his inner ear, on the other hand, played a large part in his agreement.

Within a few minutes he had run up the winding staircase and entered a large square room that was wholly masculine. The many shades of brown, from his damask drapes to his bed coverings to his furniture and even the carpeting, were depressing but not surprising. One small handworked pillow in brilliant colours, with jewelled flower designs, nestled in the corner of a winged chair and was the one lively item in view. It caught Abbie’s attention immediately.

“What a lovely pillow. Without that, your room would be a total disaster.”

“What’s wrong with my room? It’s functional and it’s spacious. The pillow is the only discord to an otherwise perfect color scheme.”

“Then why keep it?”
Sarcasm? He certainly knew how to push her buttons.

“Because my mother made it for me with her own useless hands. I do believe it’s the only thing she’s ever tried to make and not just buy.”
He strode over to the article under discussion and flipped it over to show the brown satin backing.

“Figures it’s brown on the back. Shows how well she knows you. And don’t try to sound heartless. You’ve kept it because it means a lot to you, and you know it. Now I know it.”

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings.”

Abbie had a sneaking suspicion that this suite would be out-of-bounds to his mother, who would never really know if he exhibited the article or not. But she sensed his discomfort with the subject and, being Abbie, respected his privacy.

Marcus approached the armoire and stopped when his reflection appeared in the mirrored door. “
Hold it! Abbie, you’re able to see through my eyes, right? So, therefore, everything I look at, you can see also. Is that correct?”

“I suppose that’s how it works, yes. I have all your five senses, from what I’ve been able to determine. If you touch something, I feel it also. I smelled the horse’s breath when we left the vicarage, and the overpowering aroma at the hospital reminded me of when I broke my leg a few years ago. As you already know, I hear whatever you’re hearing, so I guess it works the same way with our sight. I’m not sure about taste, since you haven’t actually eaten anything, but I do hope we have a similar palate in food. I love to eat; it’s one of my favourite pastimes.”

Maybe it was the eagerness in her voice, or maybe just her words, but whatever she said made him laugh. Up till then, he’d seemed like a stranger looking back at her. Then his smile changed everything. Unfortunately, it didn’t last too long. But she’d seen enough to decide then and there that he had a dear face. Not what one would call handsome. More like interesting. She’d bet the full head of messy hair, cut short and worn close to his head, didn’t normally look so scruffy. That wouldn’t be his style at all.

His piercing green eyes didn’t have the same sparkle as his mother’s. They were ruthless and compelling, slightly haughty and intense—the shrewdest stare she’d ever come across. She felt as if he were trying to find her inside him by staring intensely into his own eyes.

“Can you see me?”
she teased.

“I do believe I can. I went slightly cross-eyed for a moment, and I have no doubt that was you sneaking a peek.”
When he grinned, dimples appeared on both sides of his mouth and created a whole different impression. This man devastated her with his looks, his charisma.

Unequivocally Abbie knew, at that moment, not only had her spirit joined with his, but also her heart now faced a challenge. She’d never believed in love at first sight, more fool her.

She shut down her corridor to him and curled up into a small ball lodged inside his body. This needed a great deal of thought. She had to talk herself out of this nonsense, and quickly.

****

Marcus anticipated her reply and had to give up waiting once he felt her shutting down. How strange. She was gone. He knew it, like one knew when a pain released its hold and the torment eased. He grinned again at the analogy and wished she had stuck around to hear that witticism. Somehow she’d loosened up his tight control, and all the pithy comments he usually thought, but blocked, could be shared with someone who appreciated his cleverness.

He supposed it would be safe to shower, of course being careful not to look into any mirrors in the process. Then he’d return to his mother and keep her company for a short time.

Losing her first husband had been very difficult for her at such a young age—his father had died from a brain aneurysm in his forties—but having her second husband recently leave her a widow once again was a tragedy he knew she struggled every day to overcome.

Most times she wore a cheerful demeanour, but he knew. She suffered. And he mustn’t let that happen without trying his hardest to salve the pain. On the other hand, the woman provoked him to the point where he could cheerfully throttle her—either that or become an alcoholic. He swore if she had her way all the time she’d drive him to drink.

Maybe, if he insisted she keep her promise to make him tea and toast, she’d give him a break tonight. Couldn’t hurt to try it on, anyway. He tied the sash of his velour robe and ran down the stairs to join her in the sitting room. As soon as he appeared, he knew his plans were to be sabotaged.

“Have a drink with me, Marcus. You know I hate to drink alone. Just a small nightcap before turning in.” She was at it again.

“Mother, you know I don’t like the taste of alcohol. That’s why I don’t drink.”

“How do you know you don’t like the taste when it’s never crossed your virgin lips?”

“For your information, I am not a virgin—”

“I should certainly hope not.” Her fake shock and slight shudder did not amuse him, and he hoped his expression relayed how absurd he thought her teasing.

“And, I certainly don’t need alcohol to change my single status. For the time being I am without a close female friend—”

“You mean a girlfriend?”

“You know very well what I meant.” Her raised eyebrows made him back off. “Yes, a girlfriend. For the time being, I’ve got enough on my plate without having to worry about keeping a female acquaintance satisfied.”

She giggled like a young girl and handed him a crystal shot glass full of a golden liqueur. “Quit changing the subject. Just take a sip.”