Christmas On Nutcracker Court (22 page)

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Authors: Judy Duarte

BOOK: Christmas On Nutcracker Court
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They stood like that for a couple of beats, even though the poor man was turning into an icicle out here.
So why hadn't she shooed him off, telling him to take a hot shower before he caught pneumonia?
Because she actually liked the guy, more than she would admit. She liked talking to him, looking at him. . . .
Of course, she wasn't falling for him. Goodness, she couldn't do that.
But rather than spinning her wheels, trying to figure out all the internal confusion she was experiencing while he was standing just inches away, she said, “I'd better let you go inside before you can claim that Helen's friends are going to be the death of you, either by fruitcake poisoning or by freezing.”
He laughed, and the way his eyes glimmered like warm embers in the fire, the way her heart flip-flopped, had her scurrying for some kind of explanation for it all.
Lynette didn't need a man;
Carly
did.
To think otherwise made her feel a little like a home wrecker, and Grant had yet to take Carly out on their first date. But things wouldn't go any further than this. Lynette couldn't—and
wouldn't
—let it, even if Grant asked her out. Because now she had a good reason to tell him no.
She didn't date men she was attracted to.
Chapter 13
Carly left the salon early on Thursday, right after Donna Ferris, her last client, walked out with a smile and a fresh new perm.
It was only half past three, so on any other day, she would have stuck around, hoping for a walk-in client to request a service, but with Max coming over for dinner, she needed to get home and start cooking.
She told herself that the two hundred dollars he was paying her for reading his manuscript would cover any services she might have missed out on by leaving before five this afternoon.
Hopefully, by the end of the weekend, she'd have those three hundred pages read and his check deposited into her account. She owed her landlord a payment on Monday, and by giving him a little extra than she'd planned, he might let them stay in the house through Christmas.
The two hundred dollars from Max wasn't quite the miracle she'd been praying for, but she was grateful to have it just the same.
On her way home, she stopped at the market and picked up the fixings for tacos, something she hadn't made in months. Knowing she ought to provide some kind of dessert for her guest, she also purchased a generic brand of vanilla ice cream and a jar of chocolate syrup.
When she finally arrived home, she parked in the garage, then entered the house through the kitchen, where she set down the bag of groceries on the table. She could hear the TV blasting in the living room, so before doing anything else, she went in search of her sons.
Sure enough, Mikey was sitting on the sofa, watching
SpongeBob SquarePants
on television, while Josh, whose open backpack rested beside him, was seated on the floor using the coffee table as a desk. His open math book and several papers were spread before him as he did his homework.
“I'm home,” she said, realizing she'd better use some window cleaner on the glass-top coffee table before Max arrived.
Mikey gave her a glad-to-see-you smile and a “Hi, Mom,” then went right back to watching SpongeBob and his under-the-sea friends.
Josh, on the other hand, continued to solve a long-division problem. She supposed she ought to admire his focus, but she would have felt better if he'd at least greeted her.
Deciding to let it go, she asked, “Did I tell you guys that we're having company for dinner?”
At that, Josh looked up from his work, breaking his concentration. “No, you didn't. Who's coming over?”
“Mr. Tolliver.”
“Why's
he
coming
here
?”
Even Mikey grabbed the TV remote and turned down the volume at the news. “Is he
mad
at us again?”
“No, it's nothing like that. Mr. Tolliver and I met at the grocery store the other night, and since we're kind of neighbors, I invited him to dinner.”
Mikey's eyes grew wide, even without the help of the new glasses that she was supposed to pick up at the optometrist's office next week. “He's not going to yell at us about something, is he?”
“No, he won't do that.”
Mikey turned to his brother. “Hey, Josh. I wonder if he'll come over in his robe and slippers. That's all he ever seems to wear.”
Both boys laughed.
“Actually,” Carly said, “Mr. Tolliver asked me to do a favor for him, and he's coming over to talk to me about it.”
Josh leaned back from the table, resting against the sofa. “What did he ask you to do?”
“He's writing a book, and he wants me to help with the editing.”
Surprise splashed across her oldest son's face. “No kidding?”
What did he find so hard to believe? That Mr. Tolliver had created a work of fiction? Or that his mother had the ability to edit something literary?
“I can't believe that guy is writing a book,” Josh added. “What kind is it? A murder mystery in a haunted house?” He chuckled to himself. “I bet it's a horror story about a zombie who eats kids.”
“It's an action/adventure novel,” Carly said.
Mike scrunched his face. “What's that?”
“It's the kind of book that has a bunch of ticking bombs that are about to go off in a city,” Josh explained. “And a lot of guys get shot and killed trying to find them before they blow up.”
Carly supposed he was close to being right, but rather than agree, she added, “Best of all, he's paying me to do it.”
“Cool.” Josh lit up at that bit of news, reminding her of the child he'd been just months ago. “Does that mean that, if you do a good job, he'll hire you full-time to edit all his books? And then you can stay home and not work at the salon anymore?”
“No, I'm sure this is just a one-shot deal.”
Disappointment slid across his face, wiping away all evidence of the little boy who'd once liked holding her hand when they were out in public.
She couldn't help wondering if there was any other way she could support the family while working from home, but there really wasn't.
“That's cool about you helping with his book,” Mikey said. “Maybe he'll hire you to do other stuff for him. I think he's super rich.”
That was an interesting thing for him to surmise. “Where would you get an idea like that?”
“Because he's weird and stays in his house all day.” Mikey turned to his brother. “Hey, Josh, remember that show we watched about that guy who got stuck in his house?”
“The hoarder?” Josh grinned and nodded, then turned to Carly. “It was really cool, Mom. You should have seen it. This old man had so much junk in his house that he was practically buried alive with books and boxes and garbage. And when the firemen finally broke in and found him, they had to take him to the hospital. Then, when his kids came to clean out the house, they found about a million dollars stuffed in coffee cans and boxes and stuff.”
“I doubt that Mr. Tolliver is a hoarder. And I've seen him outside of his house. He was definitely wearing street clothes and not a bathrobe.” Carly did have to admit that she really knew very little about the man.
“Well, he's gotta be rich, though. He doesn't have to work at a job, and he can stay home all day writing books. A poor guy couldn't do that.”
She supposed her son had a point. Some rich people preferred to live a simple life and not flaunt their wealth.
“By the way,” she added, “I told Mr. Tolliver to bring his dog when he comes over tonight.”
At that, Mikey shot up from his seat, nearly dislodging the cushions on the sofa. “He's going to bring Hemingway with him? Did you hear that, Josh?”
“Yeah, I heard.” Josh shot a look of disbelief at Carly. “You invited a
dog
to dinner?”
Carly could understand why he'd think that was an odd thing for her to do, and she wasn't really sure why she'd mentioned it to Max.
Before she could try and explain her reason, which had something to do with making an awkward situation easier on the kids, Josh began to chuckle. “Actually, I think that's kind of cool, Mom.”
She was both relieved—and glad—to know he was on board with the idea, so she tossed him a playful smile. “Well, it's not
that
cool. The dog isn't going to sit at the table with us and eat tacos.”
“We know that,” Mikey said. “But thanks for inviting Hemingway, too. We like him a whole lot better than we like Mr. Tolliver.”
She'd figured as much. “I thought you boys might like to play with the dog while Mr. Tolliver and I talk about his book.”
“Sure, we can do that,” Mikey said. “We'll take Hemingway out in the backyard to play. Can we eat our dinner out there, too?”
“No, the humans will eat inside.”
Josh shrugged, then returned to his homework, while Mikey turned up the sound on the television.
Carly couldn't very well remain in the living room, wasting time when she had a meal to prepare.
And a house to straighten up.
Not that it was messy. It's just that it wasn't ready for company, even if she had no intention of giving Max Tolliver—or his dog—the red carpet treatment.
 
 
Max had spent a little more time than usual in the bathroom, shaving, splashing on a bit of his favorite cologne, and getting ready to go to Carly's for dinner.
He could make a lot of excuses as to why that might be, but the truth was, he was actually looking forward to seeing her again.
She'd told him he could bring the dog with him, but he'd decided against that. He might have grown fond of the crazy mutt over the last few months, but he wasn't what you'd call an animal lover, if that's what she'd been thinking. So why go overboard on that sort of thing?
He removed his car keys from the small table near the front door, turned on the porch light, then exited the house. As he locked up, he heard footsteps and glanced over his shoulder to see Maggie heading up his sidewalk with a small paper sack in her hand.
“I hoped that I'd catch you before you left,” she said. “I have something I wanted to give you.”
Max wasn't sure how she'd known that he had plans for the evening, but even more surprising was the fact that she'd brought something to him. “What is it?”
She opened the bag, reached inside, and whipped out a red-and-green knit dog collar. “It's a gift for Butch.”
If the dog hadn't responded so many times to that name, Max might have corrected her. Of course, he wouldn't put it past Maggie to toss doggie treats over the fence, training Hemingway to answer to Butch.
But why would she do that? She couldn't be that loony, could she?
He watched as she fiddled with the collar for a moment, turning on a little switch. The next thing he knew, the thing lit up and started blinking.
“It's a battery-operated Christmas collar,” she said. “Isn't it great? The boys ought to get a kick out of that.”
The woman was either psychic or a basket case. How had she known he was going to see any children tonight?
He chuffed. “What kids are you talking about?”
“Joshua and Michael. Aren't you going to their house for dinner?”
If he asked how she'd known where he was going, she'd probably tell him Hemingway had told her—which wasn't possible, since Max hadn't uttered a word to the dog, as crazy as that would have been.
More likely, she'd probably talked to one of the Westbrook boys earlier today. Or maybe she'd chatted with Lynette, who could have found out from Carly. Either way, Max would almost prefer to believe that the dog
had
told her rather than think he was becoming the subject of idle feminine chatter and gossip.
Still, he went ahead and took the collar from Maggie and thanked her.
“You're welcome.” Her eyes, the color of the wild blue yonder, glimmered with apparent delight. “Have a great time this evening.”
He stood on the porch for a moment, watching her head back to Helen's house.
The woman was nice enough, he supposed. She was also related to his neighbor, who seemed completely sane.
So what was the deal with cousin Maggie? He still hadn't decided if she was a dog whisperer, a psychic, or a snoop.
Shaking his head, unable to decide which, Max returned to the house, planning to put the collar away until he began to have second thoughts.
He only pondered the decision for a moment or two.
“Why not?” he muttered. Hemingway would probably be a good icebreaker this evening. He'd also keep the kids occupied while the adults had some time to themselves.
So he went to the back door and called the dog in.
“Do you want to go play with your friends?” he asked.
The wooly mutt responded with a little bark and a wagging tail.
“Okay, then. Let's put this on you. We can't very well go without looking our best, huh?”
For a moment, Max's thoughts took a romantic turn, but not for long. He wasn't about to compete with another man for a woman's affection. He'd been in that position once before and had refused to play the game. Instead, he would talk to Carly about the manuscript.
He'd dropped it off at her house Tuesday morning. Of course, she probably hadn't had time to read it yet, but he was looking forward to talking to her about it anyway.
Five minutes later, with Hemingway in the backseat, Max arrived at the Westbrook house, a single-story tract home on Canyon Drive.
“I probably ought to have my head examined for bringing you along,” he told the dog, as he got out of the car and opened the passenger door.

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