The Baby Beneath the Mistletoe Read online

  “You’re leaving during the hiatus?” Because things were ahead of schedule, the company could afford to knock off during the week between Christmas and New Year’s.

  She nodded. “Now that my plans are no longer in jeopardy of being trashed—” she looked at him significantly “—I can move on. I’ve got another project lined up.”

  And two more after that, hopefully. Her designs for both had already been submitted, and she was just waiting for the final verdicts to come in.

  He glanced at the calendar on the wall. An elf trying to dig out a snowbound reindeer hovered over the dates. Christmas Eve was approaching quickly. “So Justin and I only have to put up with you for another week?”

  Mikky inclined her head. “Looks like.” Was he happy about that? Happy that he wouldn’t be seeing her again? She didn’t think she really wanted an answer. Not if it was the wrong one.

  “Busy on Sunday?” he asked before he could think better of it and stop himself.

  She didn’t even have to think. “No more than usual.” “Usual” entailed doing laundry and catching up with her life. This week that meant wrapping presents. Mikky cocked her head, studying him. Frustrated, she couldn’t read anything in his expression. The man could play poker with the best of them. “Why, what did you have in mind?”

  “Nothing.” No, that was as far from the truth as day was from night. Tony had plenty on his mind, some things that he fervently wished he didn’t.

  She was turning away, and he knew that he was better off letting her go. But then he heard himself saying, “Aunt Bridgette cooks a big dinner every Sunday.”

  Clearing away the wet diaper, she restored her desk to order. Or some reasonable facsimile thereof. “So I heard”

  He sighed loudly. “She likes the family to gather.” “Nice tradition.” Mikky hunted up her set of pens. If he was taking Justin, then maybe she could get a little work done on the house that had been haunting her mind. She had no developer on tap yet, just an idea that refused to leave her alone.

  Tony could tell she wasn’t going to make this easy. He’d been half hoping that if he gave her her lead, she’d invite herself over. After all, that was her style, but suddenly, middance, she’d changed tempo. It figured.

  He pushed the envelope a little further toward her. “She likes keeping an extra place set for anyone who might drop by.”

  Mikky raised her eyes to his innocently. “Very considerate of her.”

  He strove to hang on to his patience. Even when the woman was being nice, she found a way to do it that irritated him. Shifting Justin to his other side, he moved closer to Mikky, trying to corner her undivided attention. “Would you like to drop by?”

  She set down her oversize pad. “Not without an invitation.”

  “From her?”

  Mikky brushed past him to the refrigerator to get a can of soda. “Or a designated representative.”

  It took only three steps to be next to her again. “All right, damn it, would you like to come?”

  Popping the top, she took a long sip of the soda before looking at him. Her eyes were dancing. “You know, I have no idea why the U.N. hasn’t already come by and scooped you up for their diplomatic corps. You just exude charm all over the place.”

  She’d been stringing him along. Why couldn’t he find it in him to get angry and rescind the invitation? “I do, just not around you.”

  The laugh told him that she’d believe it when she saw it. “Why is that, do you think?”

  Damn it, he should never have given in. Some impulses were meant to be ignored. Like the very strong one he had now—to kiss her just to shut her up.

  And to taste her mouth again.

  He pretended to be preoccupied with Justin’s shoelace. “Like you said, we rub each other the wrong way.”

  They did, Mikky thought, but the key word here was rubbed. It was the constant contact that was getting to both of them. “And yet you’re asking me to dinner on Sunday.”

  “Family dinner,” he emphasized. “And you can come or not, it’s all the same to me.”

  With a laugh Mikky patted his cheek. He drew his head back. But not too quickly. “You make it hard to resist. Where and when?”

  Tony gave her the particulars, then left. Striding back to his trailer, he told Justin that he really needed to have his head examined.

  Trouble was he knew it hadn’t been his head that had prompted him to invite her in the first place.

  Sunday dinner at Bridgette’s was served at five, but guests were required to arrive by two or earlier. Tony had decided to arrive late to spend as little time as possible with Mikky.

  Instead, he arrived early and spent more than half the time slanting covert glances toward the door.

  “You are expecting someone?” Bridgette finally asked him innocently after observing his behavior for over an hour.

  “Um...”

  How did he answer that without making it seem more than it was? Without letting his aunt make more of it than it was? Aunt Bridgette was the kindest woman in the world, but she had a tendency to want to see the entire world in terms of couples. Even couples who had no business being together.

  The single unintelligible sound coming out of his mouth told Bridgette all she needed to know, confirming all her suspicions. Pleased, she picked up another potato and began peeling it quickly.

  “Don’t worry, if you asked her, she will come. Now, why don’t you make yourself useful? Your cousins have finally stopped fighting over who’s to be the straw boss of this thing and have put up the tree. Why don’t you go over and help them decorate the tree? You’re of no use to me in the kitchen.” She took away the knife and potato he had been holding on to for the past five minutes.

  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be out there with the others. Although Aunt Bridgette had a matchmaking bent, she knew how to keep her questions veiled. His cousins had never acquired that skill.

  “I don’t—”

  Bridgette gave him a look that would have caused five-star generals to rush to obey. “That wasn’t a suggestion, Tony. Go.”

  Saluting, he got off the stool. “Yes, ma’am.” He felt her eyes on his back as he walked out of the kitchen.

  He had dreaded the approach of Christmas, dreaded facing it alone with its memories of seasons past. Even in the midst of his family, he felt alone. There were things that lingered in his mind, haunting him. A certain word, a certain tune. So many things to bring to mind what he no longer had.

  But now the dread had begun to dissipate, as if by magic. Things were different. There was Justin to care for and other things to take his attention away from his once-all-consuming hurt.

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked into the family room. It was amazing how much activity could be shoved into a relatively small room. When he built this house, Salvator had purposely made the ceilings in the living room and family rooms vaulted to give the house an open, airy effect—and to accommodate the ten-foot Christmas trees he foresaw standing there during the holidays.

  The tree his cousins had chosen had come in just shy of eleven feet, necessitating a little surgery before it could wear its crown—a circle of three angels holding hands. Bridgette said each of the angels represented one of her children.

  What space the tree didn’t take up, his cousins and their children did, all getting in each other’s way as they scrambled for lights, garlands and decorations.

  Tony took in the joyful madness, shaking his head. “It’s a wonder you guys ever build anything if you have this much trouble decorating a Christmas tree.”

  He glanced at the door, wondering if that was the doorbell he’d heard or if it was just his imagination.

  Balancing on the next-to-the-top rung of the ladder, Angelo gave him a condescending look. “You gonna stand there, growing into the rug and criticizing, or are you going to help?”

  “He’ll help, right, Tony?” Without waiting for a reply, Alessandra put a string of lights into his ha
nds. The top of her head brushed against his shoulder. The last time he’d been home for a visit, she had been a gangly fourteen, no longer a child and miles away from being a woman. The miles, he noticed, had melted away.

  “You’ve become as bossy as Aunt Bridgette,” he murmured.

  Alessandra laughed, delighted. He couldn’t have given her a more treasured compliment. There was no blood between her and her stepmother’s foster mother. But Al felt that Bridgette Marino was as much her grandmother as Louisa, her late mother’s mother was. More, because Bridgette was always there to talk to, to dispense love and wisdom along with batches of pignolia cookies that always seemed to just be coming fresh from the oven.

  Of late, Al had cut back on the cookies, although not the supply of love and wisdom. A girl had to watch her figure when she had an eye on catching a certain someone’s attention.

  That was the doorbell. Tony looked impatiently over his shoulder. Didn’t anyone else hear it?

  “Isn’t somebody going to answer that?” he asked irritably.

  “You’re somebody, right?” On the floor, testing another tangled line. Shad looked up at him. “We figured you’d let her in.”

  Tony’d almost taken a step to the door before the full impact hit him. He looked at Shad. “What makes you think that I’m—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Two hands at the center of his back, Dottie pushed her cousin in the direction of the front door. “Just let the poor woman in before she comes to her senses, gets back into her car and drives for the county line.”

  “She’s already circled the block twice,” Frankie announced from the living room.

  Over by the playpen, Dottie frowned. They all took up a great deal of the available parking spaces. “Looking for a spot?”

  “Looking for courage would be my guess,” Allison interjected. She knew what it was like, facing this warm, exuberant family on their own territory. A little overwhelming at first. She’d been leery of it herself, but then, she’d never encountered family warmth to this degree before. Or any degree for that matter. Raised as an only child by a succession of nannies, she had a father who had thought that showing affection was a capital offense that only made the recipient the weaker for it. The Marinos and McClellans had taken some getting used to.

  But it had been well worth it.

  Muttering something unintelligible under his breath about the burden of having a family who never minded its own business, Tony went to answer the door.

  “Hi.” Feeling uncustomarily awkward, Mikky held up the bottle of wine she’d impulsively purchased an hour ago, after passing up a cake at a bakery. She’d been afraid that Bridgette might take it as an insult to her culinary abilities. Mikky felt pretty confident that the woman didn’t make her own wine. “I didn’t know what to bring.”

  Before he had a chance to take the bottle from her, Bridgette was at his elbow, gently nudging him aside. “Just yourself would have been enough.” She took the wine, glancing at the label. Expensive. It meant the young woman was nervous. Good. “Come, it’s cold outside.”

  It was a typical Southern California winter’s day. The air was crisp, the sun warm. “Aunt Bridge, she works in construction,” Tony protested. Besides, Mikky wasn’t some fragile, hothouse flower in need of protection. Mikky struck him as a woman who would promptly knock anyone’s block off who even remotely suggested she needed protecting.

  To his surprise Mikky smiled her agreement.

  That cinched it. He hadn’t a clue how to read people. He was better off keeping company with Justin.

  “Don’t tempt fate,” Bridgette admonished him. “Not over small things, anyway.”

  He had no idea what she was talking about and wasn’t about to ask. He figured it was a lot safer that way for everyone.

  “Come say hello to everyone.” Making good on her instruction, Bridgette took Mikky’s arm and ushered her into the family room. A cacophony of hellos came sailing her way. “Then pick your task.”

  Mikky looked at her, puzzled. “My task?”

  “Nobody eats without working today. You can help me in the kitchen.” She gestured toward the room beyond. “Or help them decorate the tree.” Bridgette glanced toward her nephew. “Tony, as you can see, has taken the part of the wooden Indian.”

  “It’s Native American now, Ma,” Angelo corrected her as he patiently worked out the knots in the string bunched up before him. He slanted a look toward his sons, playing beside Dottie. “You guys didn’t play jump rope with this, did you?”

  Three towheads vigorously shook their denial.

  Bridgette shrugged. “Wooden person,” she amended with a smart nod of her head, calling an end to it. “We are all people before someone decides to put us into categories.”

  It was hard to tell where one person started and another ended in this tangle of decorations, people and tree. Mikky looked around. “Where’s Justin?” Was the baby sleeping through all this commotion? And how could they hear him if he cried?

  “Supervising,” Bridgette pointed toward the wide playpen on the floor. “You’ll pick decorating the tree,” Bridgette announced to Mikky.

  Amused now, Mikky said, “I thought I was supposed to choose.”

  Bridgette was already on her way back to the kitchen. “You were taking too long to make up your mind.”

  “She tends to steamroll over people sometimes,” Dottie told Mikky, open affection in her voice. Getting up from the floor, she dusted her jeans off. “God comes by for advice every Monday morning.”

  Shea leaned over his wife, brushed a kiss to her lips before getting back to the string of lights he’d been presented. “She passed that trait on.”

  Mikky rocked slightly on the balls of her feet. She looked around, trying to determine who was in charge now that Bridgette had left the room. “So, what do you want me to do?”

  Shad looked at Angelo. Tony noticed the grin that passed between them. Now what?

  Slipping his arm around Mikky, Shad drew her aside to the table where all the various decorations had been meticulously laid out. “Why don’t you put hooks on the decorations?”

  Seemed simple enough. Mikky glanced around. “Where’re the hooks?”

  Shad looked thunderstruck, then embarrassed, neither managed very convincingly. “That’s right, we haven’t brought them up yet. They’re still in the storage cellar.” He turned around to look at his cousin. “Why don’t you go show her where the storage cellar is, Tony?”

  Basements and attics were not part of the buildings that went up in Southern California. Intrigued, Mikky looked at Shad. “You have a storage cellar?”

  “Doubles as a wine cellar,” Angelo told her. With triumph, he set aside one untangled string, then sighed when his wife handed him another one. “Dad came from back East. Always missed having a basement. The cellar was his way of compromising.”

  “C’mon,” Tony muttered. “Let me show you.”

  He led the way to the back stairs and then went down ahead of her. Following, Mikky stood on the steps behind him, waiting until he opened the door.

  The space was cramped. The light he turned on only made it look that much smaller and eerier.

  Wondering if he was being quiet because he was embarrassed, Mikky tried to put him at ease. “Could they have been more obvious?”

  At least she was being a good sport about it, Tony thought. Some of this was at her expense, too. “Not unless they hung a sign out saying Quiet, Matchmaking in Progress.” He looked around, trying to remember where his aunt usually stored the decorations.

  Mikky ran her hands along her arms. The cellar was chilly. “Too bad they don’t know about our agreement not to get involved. They could have saved themselves a lot of needless planning.”

  He turned around, brushing against her. He hadn’t realized that she was standing so close behind him. But he should have. “Yeah, too bad.”

  And too bad, he thought, that he didn’t take it to heart himself.

  Glancing up, he
saw it. Small and pale green, it was festively decorated with a red ribbon. And hanging just over her head. “Mikky?”

  She turned around in the tight corner, the tips of her short hair brushing against his chin. Just enough to arouse him. Just enough to make him want exactly what he’d told himself he didn’t want.

  “What?”

  He pointed toward the low ceiling. “Somebody put up a sprig of mistletoe here.” It wasn’t much of a stretch to figure out who.

  Mikky raised her eyes to look at it. “You know,” she murmured softly, “I hear it’s bad luck to go against tradition.”

  Why did she have to fit so well against him? And why was his resolve breaking apart so easily? He’d made his peace with the world the way it was, and now it was being thrown into chaos again.

  But it was such tempting chaos. “Where did you hear that?”

  Mikky couldn’t take her eyes off his. Anticipation sent tiny electrical currents charging all through her. “Some place.”

  “Oh.”

  You would think that a man his age would have built up more willpower by now.

  But he hadn’t, Tony realized.

  So he stood there, in the center of his aunt’s storage cellar, having a ridiculous conversation with a woman he was having an increasingly great amount of difficulty getting out of his mind. Wanting her badly. It was a good thing she would be leaving soon. Before he wound up doing something really stupid. Something he would regret. “Wouldn’t want any bad luck hitting the site.”

  Very slowly she moved her head from side to side. “Nope.”

  He framed her face with his hands, tilting it up toward his. Telling himself to go. Now. “Guess this means I have to kiss you.”

  “Guess so,” she barely whispered.

  Resistance is futile.

  The sentence, uttered by a robotic, conquering race in one of his all-time favorite series, throbbed in Tony’s brain like a mantra. No doubt about it, the creatures must have been thinking of Mikky when they coined the phrase.

  Like a man who has had a vision of his own doom, Tony lowered his mouth to hers.