A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree (5 page)

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Authors: Janet Dailey

BOOK: A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree

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Up on blocks, with battered siding and cloudy windows, the trailer looked like heaven. Sam was more than tired. He was exhausted.

He mounted the wooden stairs with his hands in his pockets, glancing toward the city permit pasted on its side that allowed the Tsianakas family to operate their lot on the street and park the thing at the curb. They’d been there every December for the last fifteen years. For a few days, it had been his home away from home in the big city, but he was looking forward to a little privacy.

Sam awoke to a loud noise that made the trailer jiggle. He rubbed his eyes and opened them, then realized it was Theo banging on the side.

“Hawt caw-fee!” the old man yelled.

It took Sam a few seconds to auto-translate the last two words. Hot coffee. That sounded good. Whichever cousin had the dawn shift had brought tall cups of takeout and a bakery box from a place in Astoria, owned by another relative. Sam hadn’t met him yet.

“Rise and shine, Sam! You up?”

“Yeah,” Sam yelled back. The banging stopped. He’d gotten off easy. Yesterday morning it had been a street repair crew with jackhammers getting an early start.

He sat up and swung his legs out of bed. Blearily, he peered at the small battery-powered clock. Five minutes to six. He was good.

Sam ran a hand over his chin, then scratched the stubble. He would take care of that at the deluxe gym a block away. Just in case the sublet fell through, he’d paid for a one-month membership, so he could shave and shower and even take a sauna now and then. They supplied the grooming products and the towels.

He stood and stretched, glancing at himself in the small mirror on the door and frowning. Same old smoky blue eyes, not exactly bright at the moment. His tangled hair looked like the definition of bed head. He turned away and shucked his thick flannel pajamas and athletic socks, trading them for clean work clothes for the day. Everything went into a drawstring bag.

Theo had introduced Sam to the nice ladies at the laundry place on the corner. All he had to do was hand over the bag and they took care of the washing, drying, and folding for him. It was a great system.

Dressed, he opened the trailer door and stepped outside. Theo was already sipping his coffee, standing next to a young guy.

“You haven’t met Apollo. Fifth cousin, third uncle,” Theo said.

Same family resemblance, Sam thought. Apollo was shorter, but he had hair as black as Greg’s.

“Morning. Nice to meet you.”

“Gonna be a cold one,” Apollo replied with a grin. “The pastry is still warm. Help yourself.”

Theo held up the open bakery box. “Cheese Danish? Baklava? Croissant?”

“Baklava, I guess.” Sam helped himself to a bite-size piece and popped the whole thing in his mouth. Soaked with honey and rich with chopped nuts and butter, the flaky pastry was delicious.

Fortunately, he had swallowed before Theo slapped him on the back. “Good, huh?”

Sam coughed. “It really is. Thanks, guys.” He accepted the cup of coffee that the younger man handed him.

A boy with light brown hair wearing a plaid jacket that was a little too big for him came toward the group, a school backpack hanging from one shoulder. He looked to be about ten, if Sam had to guess.

“Hi, Theo!”

The older man looked his way. “Hello, Douglas. Where’s your mother?” he asked as the boy reached them.

“She’s coming. Takes her a while to get my baby sister into her snowsuit. Amanda is only three, but she sure can fight.”

That clicked with Sam. He remembered being enlisted to help zip a very reluctant Annie into hers from November through April. New York was cold, all right, but it had nothing on Colorado.

The boy glanced casually toward the trees. “How’s business, guys?”

Sam was amused by his grown-up tone. He didn’t look Sam’s way, but moved to the A-frame.

“Oughta pick up by the weekend,” Theo replied. “People aren’t ready to buy the big ones yet. ”

“This one is perfect,” the boy said. He had stopped in front of the tallest tree for sale, shielding his eyes from the morning sun to look up at it. “Except for that crooked little branch up at the top.”

“What? I don’t see anything crooked. That’s the best tree on the lot,” Theo told him.

Fumbling a little because of the gloves he wore, the boy examined a white tag attached to a low branch. “Hey, it has my name on it,” he said, grinning at his own joke.

Sam looked at the tag, which was marked with a price he knew was negotiable and the type of tree.
Douglas Fir.

“Very funny.” Theo laughed. “Want us to save it for you?”

The boy shrugged and stepped back onto the sidewalk.

“Mom hasn’t decided about getting a tree yet. She’s been pretty busy.”

“Well, you let me know when she does,” the old man replied.

“I think she’s going to let Amanda choose,” the boy said resignedly. “I want a real tree, though.”

A gleeful giggle interrupted them. A nicely dressed woman—in her thirties, by his guess—was pushing a lightweight stroller toward them. She was blond, her hair streaming over her shoulders, holding a knit cap with a pom-pom and a pair of gloves, as if she hadn’t had time to put them on. The tailored lavender coat she was wearing flared open with her quick steps.

Sam pegged her as Douglas’s mother—they looked alike, with the same light freckles on high cheekbones, though her son’s hair was more brown than blond, and his green eyes were darker than hers.

The giggling little girl in the stroller was a variation on the same theme, with pale, silky bangs and a chubby face. Amanda reached out pink-mittened hands that matched her snowsuit to her big brother.

“Good morning, everybody,” the woman said.

“You’re up early.” Theo looked curiously at her. He seemed to know everyone on the block and their routines, Sam thought.

“Yes. I have a job interview at eight. I have to get Amanda to my aunt and drop Dougie at school. He’s having breakfast there.” She ruffled her son’s hair with her left hand. Sam didn’t notice a wedding ring.

“Ma-a!” The protest was softened with a smile he didn’t try to hide.

“A job interview! That’s why you look so pretty,” Theo said gallantly. The woman blushed and seemed embarrassed. “But you oughta put on those gloves.”

“Okay.” She laughed lightly and looked toward Sam as she stuck the knit hat in her coat pocket and drew on the gloves. A flicker of curiosity lit up her sage-green eyes. Theo rose to the occasion.

“Allow me,” he said. “Maureen Fulton, this is Sam Bennett. Sam is my nephew’s pal from Colorado. Greg hired him for one of his Christmas crews.”

“Oh,” she said, extending a gloved hand to him. “Well, welcome to New York. Is this your first time here?”

“Yeah. I love it. The energy is amazing.”

Maureen looked down when her little girl squealed. Amanda was tugging needles off a thin branch.

“Honey, stop that.” She moved the stroller away from the Christmas tree, and the little girl let go. “We have to run. Nice to meet you, Sam.”

“Same here. And best of luck on that interview. ”

“Thanks. I hope—” Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a soft click that registered on her maternal radar. “Amanda, don’t unbuckle yourself. And sit down.” She bent over the stroller to find the loose ends of the belt.

Douglas waited, looking up at the tall fir.

His preoccupied mother got his sister buckled up again and said good-bye, and the trio headed down the street.

Sam noticed the way the boy held one curved handle of the stroller and kept pace with his mother. Douglas was watchful for his age. He grabbed her arm to stop her when a truck barreled down the street too close to the curb and she was looking the other way.

Young, but somehow the man of the family. Sam wondered what the story was.

December was a tough time of the year to be a single mom, but it looked like Maureen Fulton was managing. He shook the thought away, suddenly remembering where he was supposed to be.

“Hey, I gotta get going myself,” he said to the two other men. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

“No problem. Say hi to Greg.” Apollo sat down in the folding chair, taking over for Theo, who clumped up the trailer stairs as Sam hastily finished his coffee.

He waved and walked fast, reaching the corner before the light changed. No time for the gym. The stubble would have to stay where it was until quitting time. He would treat himself to a shower and a sauna tonight.

At least he wouldn’t be seeing Nicole today. Sam hurried along, thinking about her, until he glimpsed the time on a digital sign atop a towering office building and broke into a run.

Chapter 3

J
ust to test the number in his cell phone’s memory, he called Nicole the next morning at quarter to eight. She answered after several rings.

“Hey, Sam.” He heard her say something else, but he didn’t catch it as her voice faded away.

“Where are you?” he asked. There was a fair amount of noise in the background on her side of the call, people sounds. Then a loud
bing-bong,
followed by a
whoosh
and a clatter of footsteps.

“On the uptown bus,” she said. “What’s up?”

There was another
whoosh
as air brakes released. She must be standing near the exit door.

“I was just thinking I could pick up coffee for you and the crew on my way. Five, right?”

“No. Russ and Keith can’t make it. So get three black coffees plus a cup of milk and sugar packets. The guys can fix their own.”

“Anything to eat?”

She laughed. “You’re too much. I’ll take a bagel with cream cheese. Thanks.”

The rolldown shades were in place when he reached the boutique, and the door was closed. Sam shifted the take-out bag with the coffees and extra bagels in case anyone else was hungry to his left hand, and tried the knob. It turned, unlocked. He entered and looked around for Nicole.

She came toward him, not wearing shorts and tights today. Too bad. He really liked that getup. But the slim-fitting jeans she was sporting were nearly as cute. And the black turtleneck over them showed her curves better than the plain shirt.

“Here’s your breakfast.” He held up the bag.

“Thanks. That really was nice of you. I thought you were calling to cancel at first.”

“I wouldn’t do that. What happened with the other two?”

“They stayed late at Bob’s workshop, so their part of the construction is done. Then Russ got an emergency call from the owners of the Coney Island carousel.”

“Runaway horses?”

“Hah. The calliope is on the fritz. He does repairs for church organs. Russ is a big fan of Bach and Handel.”

Sam didn’t remember Russ that well, but he was willing to believe it.

“Anyway, I told him that was fine with me. He might stop by later to pick up his pay.”

“Keith?”

“He went to a party that ended when the sun came up. Dead to the world, according to Russ. Did I mention that they’re roommates?”

“No.” He wondered if she had one. The subject hadn’t come up.

She fished out the paper-wrapped bagel and put it on a radiator, taking one of the coffees next.

Sam helped himself to another while she found a low-sided cardboard box. “Here’s a tray.”

He dosed his coffee with milk and sugar and replaced the lid, walking over to the window, where he almost tripped over a pile of miscellaneous objects he hadn’t seen.

“Careful,” she cautioned him.

Sam looked down at what seemed to be a pile of junk, then up at Nicole.

She was smiling like a little kid on Christmas morning. “I got lucky at the thrift stores yesterday.”

It was kind of hard to tell what everything was, but he spotted a vintage record turntable missing its needle arm and knobs, and a crazy-looking lamp with Chinese dragons painted on its paneled silk shade.

Nicole picked it up, spinning the shade. “Fabulous, isn’t it? It revolves. I’ve been hunting for a lamp like this for ages.”

Sam looked at it. Fabulous? Not quite. The finial was missing, and some old lady’s cat must have hated dragons. There were claw marks all over the silk.

“You did get lucky.” It was the only tactful thing he could think of to say. He had no idea how she could use the lamp in the new design. Or any design. Watch and learn, he told himself.

Nicole set the lamp down and removed the shade, ripping off the painted silk, laughing at his puzzled look.

“You’ll see.”

Bob arrived, the down jacket he wore adding to his physical bulk. Hank came in a few minutes later, parking his skinny body by the radiator.

“I’m freezing,” Hank complained. “Can we turn up the heat?”

Munching on her bagel, Nicole shook her head and handed him the bag with the coffee. The younger man kept his jacket on while Bob shucked his.

“You need to eat more,” Bob told him. “Keeps ya warm.” He patted his substantial paunch and adjusted his suspenders.

“Did you find a spot for the van?” Nicole asked.

Hank launched into an explanation. “Me and Bob could hardly get the new framework into it. We wanted the van close in case we had trouble getting it out. It’s double-parked on a busted hydrant around the corner.”

“Busted or not, you’re begging for a ticket,” she told him.

“Nah. The car next to the hydrant will get ticketed. Double-parking isn’t that big of a deal.”

She looked hopefully at Sam.

“Can I lift the framework by myself?” Sam asked the older man. Bob and Hank were suddenly very interested in the free breakfast in the paper bag. They weren’t about to budge from the warmth.

Bob dug in the pocket of his ample chinos and tossed him the keys. “Your grandmother could lift it. Thanks.”

Throwing on his denim jacket and Stetson just in case he was out there long enough to get cold, Sam headed out. He found the van and opened the double back doors. The second framework didn’t look too different from the first one.

He unhooked the bungee cords that kept it from rattling around in the back of the van and took a closer look. It
was
the first one, with a whole lot of new additions nailed and glued to it.

Bob wasn’t wrong about its being light. It was just awkward.

Sam felt a tap on his shoulder. A parking officer fixed him with a stern look when he rested the framework on the rear floor of the van and turned around.

“You planning to move that van, cowboy?”

He held up his ticket printer in warning.

“I just have to take this thing to a shop around the corner. Give me a minute.”

The officer made a big show of looking at his watch. “You got exactly sixty seconds. Then you better giddyap on outta here.” He chuckled at his own joke and continued on down the line of cars, stopping at the next double-parked vehicle.

“Understood.”

“Fifty-nine,” the officer called over his shoulder. “Fifty-eight.”

“I hear you,” Sam muttered.

He watched the officer write up a ticket on the gizmo and slap it on the windshield of the car in front of the van.

Sam hesitated, then took out his cell phone to call Nicole. He explained the situation. In another minute, Hank came around the corner, still huddled inside his jacket. He took the framework and went back.

After slamming the double doors and getting behind the wheel, Sam turned the key in the ignition and moved on, tapping the horn when he passed the parking officer.

Dodged that bullet. Now to find a legit space. How hard could it be?

He drove around the block. And around another block. And another. He saw cars that had been parked for so long, the asphalt under the tires was a different color. There was not a single free space anywhere in the immediate vicinity that was big enough for a van.

A while later, he called Nicole. “Tell Bob I had to put it in a parking garage. Twenty bucks plus tax for two hours and an extra charge for an oversize vehicle! Can you believe it?”

“That’s cheap,” she said. “He’ll be thrilled.”

Sam shook his head, tucking his cell phone into his shirt pocket as he exited the cavernous garage under a large apartment building. At least it was close to the boutique.

The other men and Nicole had gotten a head start on the first window in his absence. She was bending over a worktable they’d improvised with a sheet of plywood over two sawhorses, smoothing out a huge piece of very thin vinyl by lifting it.

Sam guessed it was the vintage photo, blown up to wall size.

Lettering she’d cut out backward to reverse in the window had been set aside to be applied to the glass.

The boutique was open for business. A salesclerk had cordoned off the part of the store they were working in with colorful scarves strung between two undressed female mannequins.

Sam averted his gaze from the mannequins’ perky plaster bosoms and ducked under the scarves. He moved to the window, not wanting to distract Nicole, who was cutting into the vinyl with an angled craft knife, her brow furrowed with concentration.

She scarcely seemed aware that Sam was watching. When she was done, she straightened, rubbing her back.

“There. That’s done.” Nicole bent over the table again to check her notebook, and crossed out a few lines. “Now we put it all together.”

“Just tell me what needs doing.”

Nicole explained the next steps, and they got to work. Sam did his best to keep a gentlemanly distance. To wrangle the half-completed framework into the store window, they had to climb over it and each other, while Bob and Hank did the shoving.

Sam didn’t dare to look at Nicole’s curvy body, keeping his gaze on her face or the back of her head when he didn’t need to look at the work he was doing. That wasn’t as effective as he’d hoped. He held the framework in position, his arms extended and locked, while she tacked the vinyl in place, edging in front of him step by step.

“Don’t let go,” she said absently.

“I won’t.”

Then she turned within his outstretched arms, staple gun in hand to tack a projecting part of the framework. Sam could feel her breath on his neck. Hell, he could feel her eyelashes flutter.

Nicole seemed completely unconcerned. Might be all in a day’s work for her, but his self-control was seriously tested. He tried not to think about the reasons for that.

She dodged under his arm and jumped down from the window. “You can let go now,” she said.

Sam stepped to the side and rubbed his stiff biceps. Maybe he could volunteer for a solo task that the other two men didn’t want. But no, there was no way around it. They were a team.

She was a good boss and she knew her stuff, calmly telling all three of the men exactly what she expected them to do and when. The slight nervousness that Sam had chalked up to city-girl attitude vanished when they were in the midst of working.

By late afternoon, the window was nearly complete. Sam was tickled at being able to make the connection between her sketches on the napkins and the winter cityscape as it took shape.

The backdrop was simpler now, a rich, shaded blue that evoked twilight and brought out the whiteness of the artificial snow that drifted over the painted sidewalk. The greatly enlarged photo of the original storefront on the street had changed in the printing, its gray tones translated into graphic black and white that enlivened the foreground.

The doors and windows of the street scene were what Nicole had cut out in the vinyl, becoming display niches when she used spray adhesive to attach the vinyl to the finished framework. Accessories were tucked in each niche: sparkling bracelets, coiled scarves in gleaming silk, belts with elaborate buckles. Here and there, delicate crystals were glued to fine details of the vintage photo to attract—and delight—the eye.

The old record player had been transformed into a skating rink with white paint and drifts of snow, complete with paper people in tiny metal skates and one little dog.

Nicole installed the lamp last of all, but not where anyone could see it from the street. The lampshade frame was now covered with heavy paper in which she’d made a number of cutouts. She switched it on, and it began to revolve from the warmth of the bulb.

“Let’s go outside,” she told Sam. “That should do it.”

“Lead the way.”

She went ahead of him, eager to see how it all looked. Neither of them stopped to put on a jacket.

From the sidewalk the full effect was breathtaking. The hidden lamp cast soft bits of light that looked exactly like falling snow on the deep blue backdrop. The cityscape was silhouetted against it, the niches glowing with light. The rink revolved, as charming as a music box. She had even added a young couple, also cut from paper, gazing in the window of the storefront as it had looked long ago, just as she and Sam were doing right now.

“What do you think?” she asked Sam.

“It’s really beautiful. You’re amazing.”

“Did you notice the theme? I got the name of the boutique into it.” She pointed to the corner of the window glass.

Now ...
AND THEN
. H
APPY HOLIDAYS
!

Sam smiled. “Nice touch. The whole thing is fantastic. I don’t know how you did it.”

That she could make something so magical out of a heap of junk and lumber really did amaze him.