Coming Home for Christmas (10 page)

“She mentioned it to me when she gave me the details about this job. She said that houses were hard to sell this time of year because kids are in school and the holidays are coming up. But according to her, the one thing that helps sell a house even around Christmas is highlighting the season, emphasizing that warm, fuzzy, greeting card commercial kind of thing. Ergo, getting a really terrific Christmas tree and displaying it in a prominent place in the house.”

He couldn't believe he was hearing her correctly. A house was a house. It was either a good buy or it wasn't. How was adding what amounted to disposable gingerbread supposed to change that?

“You're serious?” he asked in disbelief, giving her the opportunity to recant.

“Are you serious about selling the house?”

To his credit, he managed to contain his impatience. “Yes.”

“Then I'm serious. It's not my suggestion,” she pointed out. “It was hers.”

A wave of frustration washed over him. “I don't even know where to find an artificial tree,” Keith began.

It had been ages since he'd even had a Christmas tree. The last time was roughly ten years ago, in his dorm room. He didn't bother celebrating the season these days. Once Amy was gone, Christmas had ceased to mean anything to him.

Kenzie shook her head. “No, not an artificial tree. A
real
Christmas tree,” she insisted.

He blew out a breath. “Even more of a mystery,” he told her.

She held up her index finger as if that would somehow hold him in his place. “Give me a few minutes.”

“And you'll do what? Conjure up a Christmas tree?” he asked, only half kidding. At this point, he wasn't sure just what MacKenzie Bradshaw was capable of, but he put nothing past the woman.

“No,” Kenzie told him. “I'm going to ‘conjure up' reinforcements.”

If he were thinking clearly, he would have just waved a dismissive hand in her direction and gotten into his car, going in search of not a Christmas tree—that was just absurd—but some peace and quiet. Most of all, in search of some much-needed rest from all of Kenzie's seemingly never-ending, relentless cheerfulness.

He always liked to believe he was a clear thinker.

And yet, for some reason, against all logic, he stayed where he was—just as she'd asked him to.

Chapter Ten

“E
xactly who are you waiting for?” Keith asked her impatiently ten minutes later.

As he spoke, he circumvented the long display table to get on the other side, where she was standing. He knew she'd placed a call when she'd asked him to wait—and then she'd gone back to business as usual.

He turned his back to the eager-looking older woman who had just, in her words, “scored a really fantastic deal.” The woman had one arm wrapped around each of the two tall, sturdy antique lamps, lamps that had stood on the nightstands that flanked his mother's bed for as far back as he could remember.

Though he had told Kenzie to get rid of everything, seeing the lamps being carried off by someone else felt decidedly strange.

With effort, he focused on the question he'd put to Kenzie and not the oddly bittersweet memory.

“Them,” Kenzie answered with a touch of relief in her voice, happily pointing to someone directly behind him.

Turning around, Keith saw that Kenzie's mother and one of her sisters—the one who wasn't pregnant—were coming toward them from the curb where they'd parked a car.

Kenzie's mother smiled at him first before addressing her daughter. “Keith, how nice to see you again so soon.”

If he closed his eyes, he could have sworn he'd just heard a deeper version of Kenzie's voice. “The feeling is mutual,” he replied. The lawyer in him produced automatic responses.

Andrea Bradshaw turned her attention to her daughter. “You're lucky you caught us.”

“Talk about giving short notice,” Marilyn commented, shaking her head. “This has to be your all-time best—or worst, given your point of view.”

“Desperate times, desperate measures,” Kenzie said to her sister, then turned toward her mother. She paused to kiss the woman's cheek first. “Hi, Mom. Thanks for coming.”

“What's so desperate?” Andrea asked. She was directing the question to her daughter but looking at Keith, making it rather obvious that she thought the source of the emergency might very well lie with him.

Without a second's hesitation, Kenzie said, “We need to go Christmas tree shopping.”

Keith was about to deny her statement, saying that not only there was no need but also he wasn't about to go shopping for anything, much less a Christmas tree. He noticed that Kenzie's mother appeared to take the whole thing in stride, as did some of the women who were browsing through his mother's possessions.

Only her sister, Marilyn, appeared confused. “Come again?” she asked, giving him a very curious look.

He began to issue his denial, but Kenzie cut him off. “Long story. I'll explain later,” she promised, getting her purse from a box she had tucked beneath the long table. “Besides, I knew you two miss the thrill of selling unique things.” Kenzie paused to brush a quick, affectionate kiss against her mother's cheek. “We won't be gone long.”

“Take as much time as you need,” Andrea told her youngest, waving Kenzie on her way. “Make sure you pick a good one,” she added, addressing her words to Keith before turning her attention to the next woman in line.

“The thrill of selling?” Keith echoed. With her arm through his, Kenzie was hustling him away from the driveway with its teeming buyers and eager customers and toward the light blue SUV she had driven today.

“My mother ran the business before she opted to retire and sell it to me. Marilyn worked at the store part-time when she was in college, same as me.” Kenzie smiled at him over the hood of her car just before getting in. “See, I didn't leave your goods in the hands of amateurs.”

He shrugged, doing his best to cling to his aloof stance. “Wouldn't matter if you did. Whatever's left, you can have some charity pick up.” Getting in, he pulled the door shut and then buckled up. “Just so we're clear, I'm not looking to fund my 401-K with the net proceeds from this sale.”

“We're clear,” she assured him, turning on the ignition. “And just for the record, you don't have to justify anything to me. Whatever you want is fine with me.”

Whatever he wanted.

Funny how that choice of words seemed to nudge thoughts into his head that hadn't been there a moment ago. Thoughts that had far more to do with this whirlwind behind the steering wheel next to him than with the business of wrapping up loose ends.

Whatever he wanted...

What if what he wanted wasn't some formless thing or a concept but something a great deal more real than that? What if he wanted to step out of the moment and into a scenario that had far more to do with the needs and desires between a man and a woman?

Between himself and Kenzie?

What was going on with him? The woman was talking about his mother's possessions, not about anything personal.

Maybe this concept of not having any ties to anyone was getting to him, and subconsciously he was trying to make a connection,
any
connection.

Could that be why he suddenly found himself having feelings
for
and feelings
about
Kenzie?

Ridiculous. He didn't have feelings for Kenzie, he silently insisted. He needed to get a grip.

What he really needed was to be away from her, not confined with her in a space that was smaller than the average closet.

He had to get out.

“Look, why don't you just drop me off somewhere and go on ahead by yourself?” he suggested, scanning the area they were passing to see if it looked familiar to him.

Kenzie spared him a glance as she quickly squeezed through a yellow light. “And why would I want to do something like that?”

“Because you have more experience at this tree-buying thing than I do, and you obviously like the idea of shopping for a Christmas tree.” Shifting so that he could reach the wallet in his pocket, he wrapped his fingers around the smooth leather and extracted it. “You can get two of them. One for yourself—my treat,” he emphasized, producing two hundred-dollar bills.

“You're too late,” she told him, amused.

“You've already got a tree?” he guessed, surprised.

Kenzie looked at him as if she couldn't believe he was actually asking the question. “Christmas is in a few days. Of course I have a tree.”

“Of course,” he echoed.

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than he had to brace his hands against the dashboard to keep from leaning into her. Kenzie had taken a sharp turn into a parking lot. It was located before a cluster of stores. A supermarket filled up more than half of that area.

“Why are we—? Oh.” Keith had started to ask why they were stopping here, but then he saw the answer.

There, in a roped-off section before the entrance to the grocery store, was a collection of Christmas trees of varying sizes. They were clustered over to one side, each apparently in need of a good home. At least, that's what he assumed she'd say to him if he happened to ask.

Kenzie turned off the engine, unbuckled her seat belt and slid out of her seat. She was about to close her door when she saw that he still hadn't budged.

“Well, c'mon,” she urged. “The tree isn't about to select itself and jump onto our roof. We have to single it out and pay for it first.”

This whole trip was silly. It only made him acutely aware of the fact that being in an enclosed space with Kenzie aroused him, which was just about the very last thing in the world he wanted.

“You know, having a tree in the living room or wherever isn't going to sell the house any faster,” he told her cynically.

“Maybe not, but not having one might just send a bad message to the prospective buyer about the so-called ‘vibrations' that came with the house,” she told him. “Trust me, you need to do just about everything you can to tip the scales in your favor. And it never hurts to take your agent's advice. Real estate can be a rather a cutthroat competition at times.”

Maybe she had a point, after all. In any event, they were here. Shrugging, he said, “Sure, why not? I'll get a tree. Anything else? Warm kittens? A fuzzy puppy?”

“If you had a fuzzy puppy, that wouldn't hurt, but it's too late to get one and try to train it to respond to you on cue for the buyers' benefit. That sort of thing always backfires. But having a pretty Christmas tree should do the trick,” she assured him. “Not to mention that putting the tree up and decorating it might just cheer you up, as well.”

His back went up automatically. “Who says I need cheering up?” he asked. When she started to laugh, he decided to drop that line of questioning. But she'd also said something else he couldn't just ignore. “What do you mean, ‘decorating'?” he asked.

“Decorations. You know, balls, garland, some tinsel.” She paused, looking at him, waiting for the light to dawn or, barring that, the frown to fade. When it didn't, she asked, “What part of that don't you understand?”

“The part where I'm the one doing it,” Keith answered bluntly. “I don't decorate Christmas trees,” he informed her flatly.

“Ever?” she questioned incredulously. She remembered Amy talking about the ritual that had been involved in decorating her family Christmas tree. One day just for setting the tree up, two days for the lights and then one day for all the rest of the decorations. Her friend had never indicated that Keith wasn't part of this tradition.

“Not in the last ten years.”

It seemed to her that everything of any true meaning in Keith's life had come to an abrupt stop with his sister's death. Her heart ached for him.

“Then maybe it's about time you got back in the game,” she told him gently.

Though he got out of the vehicle, he felt wounds opening up. Old, painful wounds. “Why? Because you say so?”

“No, because it's the right thing to do,” she answered quietly.

He looked at Kenzie pointedly. She was trying to manipulate his life. What gave her the right? “According to?”

“Everybody,” she answered without hesitation. “Don't resist so hard,” Kenzie gently cajoled, treating him with kid gloves. “Why not put that energy toward getting the job done?”

He knew exactly what he wanted to do with that energy, and putting up a Christmas tree was not it.

Even so, he fell into step beside her as they went to look at potential Christmas trees. But he didn't want her to think that it wasn't under protest. “I'll help you get a tree, but I'm not decorating it.”

“Uh-huh.” Kenzie smiled.

* * *

“About time you got back,” were the first words out of Marilyn's mouth when she saw her sister and Keith getting out of Kenzie's vehicle. “I was beginning to give up hope.”

“Don't let her snow you,” Andrea spoke up, handing a young boy who had just bought his mother a Christmas present his change. “She's been having the time of her life.”

Marilyn tossed her head, her hair bouncing against her shoulders. “That's because I'm such a good actress.”

Andrea ignored her older daughter's play for sympathy. She smiled warmly as she scrutinized the fruits of Kenzie and Keith's hunt.

“I see you got the tree. Very nice,” she approved. “Marilyn and I can stay on out here while you decorate it.”

Marilyn groaned, then murmured, “Sorry,” to the woman in front of her who was examining an intricately carved vase.

Kenzie laughed. “That's okay, Mom. You and Marilyn have done more than enough. The tree'll keep. Keith and I can decorate it after we close up for the day.”

Her comment surprised Keith. He thought that this argument had been settled earlier when they had gone looking for this damn Christmas tree she'd been so set on finding. He really should have known better. “Wait, what?”

“The tree can keep for a few hours,” she said to him before turning back to her mother. “I can take over now, Mom. And thanks for all your help,” she added with sincerity. Turning toward her sister, she said, “You, too, Marilyn.”

Her sister muttered something unintelligible in response. Kenzie knew better than to ask Marilyn to repeat it.

* * *

The first day of the estate sale lasted until the appointed time on the flyers she'd posted around the development: five o'clock. At exactly one minute after five, Kenzie tendered her regrets to the handful of stragglers left, promising to reopen the estate sale in two days, at which time the remaining items would be available.

“Why not tomorrow?” one woman asked.

Aware that Keith might be within earshot, Kenzie worded her answer carefully. “The lady who owned this house is being buried tomorrow. It wouldn't seem right to hold the sale during her funeral.”

“Oh.” The single word was laced with contrition and unspoken apologies.

“Thank you for your business, ladies,” Kenzie announced, officially closing down the sale.

She waited for the women to leave the driveway and make their way to their vehicles. Satisfied that the last of the potential customers had left the premises, Kenzie began to pack up the items that still hadn't sold.

As she tucked them into boxes she'd kept under the tables, she was surprised, not to mention pleased, to have Keith pitch in. He began putting the remaining items away without saying a single word.

“You don't have to do this,” she told him. This was really her job, not his. That had been part of the initial arrangement.

“It'll go faster this way,” he responded.

Finished packing, he realized that she was planning on closing up the tables and putting them into the garage for the time being. He was about to tell her to leave them out when it occurred to him that she wanted them cleared away because of the funeral reception tomorrow. She seemed more concerned about decorum than he was.

Blowing out a breath, he got on one side of the table and pushed after she'd removed the extension, closing the section so that the table was one half its original size. Done, he dragged the table into the garage, then closed it.