Kentucky Christmas (4 page)

She counted seconds, hours, before his head finally tilted down toward hers. He was taking forever, making sure she was sure. Oh, she was sure. She wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and closed the distance between their mouths.

And that was it. Her inner beast was unleashed, and she gave Andrew credit for keeping up. His hands roamed down her arms, up her waist, and she gasped and his tongue was in her mouth, battling her, matching her. She tangled her hands in his hair, dark and smooth, and held him close as he explored her with his mouth and his hands.

She had a fever. She must. She was burning, and Andrew's body lowering on top of hers was the only thing keeping her alive. She let go of her death grip on his hair to run her hands down his back, and he flexed under her touch. She moved up to his shoulders, down his arms—dang, this hipster was
built
—squeezing and caressing and arching into his touch. He slipped his hand under her sweater and she gasped again at the first contact of his skin on hers. He rubbed her belly, moving slowly—why was he going so slowly?—up to the edge of her bra. She was melting, twisting under him, squirming to get closer.

Suddenly, Sniffer and Pepe were up and barking just a second before the doorbell rang.

“Whoever that is, they can rot in the ice,” Billie said, her eyes closed and her mouth an inch from his.

“I don't think that's how ice works,” Andrew said over the insistent banging on the door that accompanied the doorbell.

“Ugh,” she grunted as she rolled off the couch. “Stay right there.”

So he sat up, adjusted his pants, and tried not to make eye contact with PeeWee, who blinked at him from across the room. He heard shouts from the foyer, but they sounded friendly.

PeeWee was making him nervous enough that he was just thinking about getting up to investigate when a woman appeared in the doorway, her coat dangling off one arm and an enormous red tin in the other. She was tall and blonde and looked vaguely pissed to find him there. Cats and women. He always struck out with cats and women.

“Oh, you have company.”

Billie peeked over the woman's shoulder and gave Andrew an apologetic smile. “Andrew, this is Katie.”

“And Jack!” came a voice from the hallway.

“And Jack. I forgot they were coming over today.”

“You forgot! We decorate cookies every year on Christmas Eve Eve! How could you forget?”

A small-framed man, not quite as tall as Katie but just as blond, poked his head in the doorway. “Oh, I see how she forgot.” He pulled his gloves off and stepped toward Andrew. “Hi, I'm Jack.”

“Hi. Andrew,” said Andrew, shaking his hand.

“I hope we're not interrupting.”

“Yeah, Billie, what's the deal?” Katie's eyes hadn't left his, although she still hadn't said a word to him. “And where's my wreath?”

“Calm down, Katie. Andrew had a little accident, so he's staying here tonight. He can help us.”

Recognition dawned on Katie's face. “Oh! You're the guy who ran into the Cold Spot!”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “You're the one who can't drive in the snow? I thought you'd be older. And less cute. Lucky Billie. And lucky you.”

“Knock it off, guys. Give me those,” said Billie, taking the tin from Katie. “I have the stuff in the kitchen.” The three of them headed out. Andrew continued to stand in the living room. PeeWee continued to stare.

Jack turned back. “Come on, Lucky,” he said, grabbing his arm. “Let's go decorate some cookies.”

Billie was tearing through the kitchen cabinets, pulling out jars of sprinkles and doo-dads, some of which looked barely edible. She tore the lids off a few cans of atomic-colored icing and laid everything out on the kitchen table. Katie stuck a CD in the player on the kitchen counter and Stevie Wonder started singing about what Christmas meant to him. Jack started dancing while he pulled sugar cookies out of the red tin, which seemed to be bottomless. Half the table was covered, and the tin still wasn't empty. Then Stevie started repeating himself as the CD skipped back and forth.

“This stupid thing,” muttered Billie, balancing an open container of sprinkles while reaching for the machine.

“I got it,” said Andrew, and he reached around her and tapped the CD player gently. Stevie Wonder went back to normal. Billie looked at him, wide-eyed. “It's a gift.” He shrugged. “What else can I do to help?”

“Put this on, Fonzie,” Katie said, plopping a red Santa hat on his head. “And drink this.” She handed him a mug with cold, brown liquid in the bottom.

He took a gulp. And then he died. “Is this whiskey?” he gasped.

“It's bourbon. Hello, you're in Kentucky.” She put the kettle on the stove and lit the burner. “You can't make Christmas cookies without hot toddies.”

Billie rolled her eyes. “Tradition,” she shrugged, laying out three more mugs and pulling a bear of honey out of the cabinet.

“Katie can't do anything without a hot toddy,” said Jack, sitting down at the head of the table and stuffing a cookie into his mouth.

“Hey!” Billie yelled. “Don't eat them until they're decorated!”

“It was broken,” Jack shrugged.

Billie took Andrew's mug from him and stuck a tea bag in it. Katie poured the boiling water in, then added more bourbon. “What? He drank most of it,” she said to Billie's raised eyebrows.

He sure had. The room started getting a little brighter as the bourbon worked its way through his system. Andrew plopped down in the chair next to Jack, who broke a cookie in half and handed it to him. “This one was broken, too,” he said with a wink. Billie shooed Sniffer out of the kitchen and put a child-proof gate across the doorway. Diablo looked on pitifully from the other side. PeeWee just stared.

They sat, they decorated, and as the hot toddies flowed, they shrieked and laughed like old friends, which most of them were. Jack stopped after one (“Designated driver,” he said with a shrug), but that didn't stop him from playing heavy-handed bartender. It also didn't stop him from decorating some truly depraved elves.

“Jack! I'm supposed to bring these to work tomorrow!”

“What, you think Keith can't handle fornicating elves?”

“His wife looks pretty happy,” Andrew offered, trying to get the red sprinkles onto the points of a star.

“Sister in the room!” Katie shouted.

“Oh, hush, all of you. Don't get mad because Keith and Mal are so happy,” Billie said.

“All thanks to you, right?” Katie asked.

“Well, somebody had to marry them.”

“Billie performed their wedding,” Jack told Andrew. “She's a real minister.”

Suddenly Andrew felt like he shouldn't have been rubbing Billie's feet. Or he shouldn't have been thinking the thoughts he was thinking while he rubbed her feet.

Billie snorted. “Yeah, I got my certificate on the Internet.”

“She can do funerals, too,” Katie said. “In case you don't learn how to drive in the snow.”

“What are you doing here, anyway, Mr. Andrew?” Jack asked, struggling to get the rainbow sprinkles to line up on his reindeer. “Besides running into bars and corrupting the innocence of poor country ministresses?”

“Leave him alone, Jack,” Billie said, sipping her drink. She shivered. Jack was a very heavy-handed bartender. “He's in sales.”

“Oh! Sales! How thrilling. What do you sell?”

“Veterinary supplies.”

“Now, why do I detect a tone of defeat and sadness when you say that? Is veterinary supplies not your calling?”

“No. I mean, it's great. Vets need supplies, right?”

“Yes, doggie catheters are very important to humanity. Or dogmanity. Think of all the trouble we'd be in if it weren't for you.”

“He fixed our ultrasound machine,” Billie said, coming to his defense.

“You fixed it?” Katie asked him. “You didn't try to sell her a new one?”

“He's not very good at sales.” Billie, his greatest champion, turned traitor.

“I'm just helping my cousin out. Well, he's helping me out. I got laid off and he gave me a job.”

“Well, that was big of him,” said Jack. “Got you a job and sent you out into the boonies. What is your chosen field, then?”

“I like computers.”

Jack looked at him expectantly. “That's it? Just ‘I like computers?' That's not much of a field. How did you get laid off? Certainly not for lack of enthusiasm.”

“Jack,” Billie warned.

“I'm just trying to see what makes our guest tick, that's all.”

“I worked for a big law firm in the city.”

“In Lexington?”

“No, New York.”

“New York City! You're a big city boy! And what, they downsized?”

“Yeah. I mean, I didn't love my job, but I liked fixing computers. I just didn't like any of the people I fixed them for.”

“I would tell a lawyer joke right now but I happen to be very fond of lawyers at the moment,” Jack said. “They are excellent kissers and they always pick up the tab. Even if they won't take you home to meet their wives.”

“Jack!” Billie laughed. “Last week you said you were done with . . . what did he call them?”

“Closeted self-hating paper-pushers,” said Katie. Jack shot her a look. “What? That's what you said!”

“That was last week. I am in a giving, holiday mood.”

“And a receiving one,” snorted Katie.

“Anyway! Enough of these sad stories. It's Christmas! We should be reminiscing and basking in the warmth of our love of humanity.” Jack stood up to pour more water over his tea. “And this conversation is too depressing to have sober. So. Somebody. Happy Christmas memory. You.” He pointed at Andrew.

“Um . . . I don't know. The holidays aren't really big in my family.”

A spoon clattered to the floor and Andrew looked up to see three sets of incredulous eyes staring at him.

“You live in New York City!”

“Technically, I live in the suburbs.”

“You live near New York City,” Katie continued, undaunted. “Are you telling me that you never went ice skating in Rockefeller Center or saw the Rockettes or any of that stuff?”

“No . . . ”

“You're breaking our poor hillbilly hearts,” said Jack. “Billie's most of all. She's the Hollow Bend Christmas Elf.”

“That's just because I'm short.”

“And you're obsessed with Christmas.”

“I am not!” she said, brushing the jingle-bell tassel from her elf hat out of her eye.

“But why no big Christmas for you, Andrew? Family tragedy? Was your grandmother involved in a reindeer accident? ” Jack asked.

“No . . . my mom always worked in retail, so she was really busy. And when she opened her own shop, she got sick of holiday stuff. When she got home, she didn't want to look at any more sparkly crap.”

He saw Billie look nervously at the snowman potholders above the stove.

“I mean, I don't have a problem with it,” he lied quickly. “It's just, in my family, that always meant more work.”

“What about your father? He didn't dress up as Santa Claus or kiss your mom under the mistletoe?”

“I don't know. I don't know my father. He ran off when my mom was pregnant.”

Billie coughed. “Something you have in common, then,” said Jack.

Andrew wasn't sure what he meant, but Billie looked like she wanted to hide under the table, so he let it go.

“Anyway, my mom keeps the store open until midnight on Christmas Eve. If you want to see the worst of humanity, hang out in a store at 11:30 on Christmas Eve.”

“Ever have to break up any fights?” Katie asked, chewing on a candy cane.

“That was more my cousin's style. Ed is pretty . . . aggressive. I think he likes the rush.”

“Sounds manly.”

“And now on Christmas day, we go to his house, watch his kids tear open a million presents, and my mom and his wife, Tina, fight over who makes the best gravy, and I drink too much eggnog and get sick.”

“Every year?”

“It's a tradition.”

“You, my friend, are a bummer,” said Jack. “Billie, help us out. Christmas tradition.”

“Well . . . ” Billie tapped a snowflake cookie on her chin. “Cookies, obviously. And the huge tree in the office. And the pet presents. And we have a photo shoot with Santa in the school auditorium. And, of course, Libby's Christmas dinner.”

“Oooh, Miss Libby's Christmas dinner,” Katie said, leaning back in her chair. “Same food every year, and it never gets old.”

“That stuffing.”

“Her mashed potatoes are like clouds.”

“Sweet potatoes with marshmallows.”

“Pecan pie. Andrew, she puts bourbon in the pecan pie,” Billie said, grabbing his arm. “Bourbon. In the pecan pie.”

“And when there's a white Christmas, forget it,” Katie said. “Even my dad is in a good mood. And he hates everyone.”

“Everyone except Miss Libby,” Jack corrected.

“I remember the first time it snowed on Christmas. Do you remember, Billie?” Katie asked. “We were in first grade. Luke stole trays from the school cafeteria and we went sledding.”

“He got into so much trouble for that,” Billie said. “I was totally in love with your brother.” Then she added quickly, “I got over it.”

“The first time I ever had a hot toddy was at Christmas,” Katie said, laughing. “I think I was still in junior high. Your mom gave it to me, Billie. God, I was wasted. Your dad was so pissed . . . ” She stopped, and Andrew felt tension descend on the room.

Billie gave a half-hearted laugh. “My mom had a way with Christmas. She gave the worst gifts. One year she wrapped up six of my dad's ties and gave them to him. As if he wouldn't know.”

Jack went over and rested his head on top of Billie's. “Your dad always had really nice ties. Maybe she thought she couldn't top them.”

“Yeah, well.” Billie's eyes started to tear up.

“To holiday spirit!” Katie said, and tipped her mug back.

Andrew looked down at the reindeer cookie he was decorating. All of the sprinkles and sugar and icing, Billie had it all in her kitchen, ready to go at a moment's notice. He'd never decorated cookies before. He'd never even seen icing in that shade of red before. And he was having a really good time. Her friends were funny and they obviously loved her. Billie's elf hat was askew and she'd looked adorable, though now she just looked sad, and he felt his heart bursting out of his chest, reaching out across the table to her. He wanted to make her feel better, but didn't know how to do this stuff.