Merry Humbug Christmas (34 page)

7/23/13 1:07 PM

On the eleventh day of Christmas,

Murphy’s Law gave to me . . .

eleven houses burning,

ten carols screeching,

nine cornball sleigh rides,

eight geese a-roasting,

seven backs a-blazing,

six ER visits,

five frozen thiiiings!

four yapping dogs,

three wrenched necks,

two mismatched gloves,

and a big rockin’ Harry Winston ring.

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11

“The thing is, Damie, I’ve never even held a football before,

much less played the game.”

“You’ll do fine. Just stick close to me. It’s our Christmas Day

tradition.”

“Yeah. So you said,” she replied. Pressing her lips together, she gave him an odd little smile. “But you know, I don’t really enjoy getting knocked down, even if . . . or maybe especially when . . . there’s a lot of snow to cushion the fall.”

“It’s just touch football, Reese. No one’s going to knock you

down.”

Just as he completed the thought, a crunch of bodies caught their attention, and a pile-up of brothers and children thumped to the

ground a few feet away. Reggie stood next to Damian and Reese, and she let out a peel of laughter.

“Hey!
Touch
football, morons!” he shouted, but Matthew just snorted at him as he grabbed the ball and took off running.

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Merry

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“Mom, Daddy’s cheating,” Sarah called out. “Tell him he can’t

just pick up the ball and keep on running.”

“Matthew, you can’t just pick up the ball and run,” Courtney said from the sidelines in a lackluster tone of disinterest.

“Ha!” Matthew cried from the tree-lined end zone. “Touchdown!”

Damian tried to frown as he watched his brother dance around,

waving the ball over his head, but he just couldn’t manage it. Despite his ridiculous behavior, Damian found Matthew entertaining. He

always had.

“All right, enough with the warm-up,” Eli exclaimed. “Everyone

under the age of forty out on the field.”

“The field,” Sofia muttered as she and Courtney headed into the

snow. “
Eet’s
a lawn covered in snow, Elijah.”

“Keen observation,” Eli announced. “That’s why she’s on my

team.”

Damian could almost see the anxiety simmering in Reese. Just

as he began to formulate some sort of excuse for her to bow out,

resolve crested in her crystal blue eyes, and she grinned at him.

“I can do this!” she assured him, and she straightened her sweater and stalked out toward Eli. “Which team am I on? Just tell me what to do.”

Eli’s eyebrow quirked as he stared at her for a moment. “Well,”

he finally said, “you line up with your team. And you protect your quarterback at all costs.”

“Okay!” she said, nodding. Her expression melted a bit as she

added, “Who is my quarterback? And how . . . exactly . . . do I protect them?”

Damian snorted and placed his arm around her waist. “When Eli

runs with the ball, you just block anyone from Matthew’s team so

they can’t get near him.”

She nodded vehemently. “Got it. Block . . . protect.”

Damian’s chest tightened as he looked at her, so eager to find her place in his world and so obviously out of her element. As she lined up next to Abigail, she mimicked the young girl’s stance by hunching over and pressing both hands to her legs, mid-thigh.

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Damian chuckled. “Okay! Let’s play ball. It’s two-handed touch,

and there is no tackling, Matthew. This is touch football. Women and children are present.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Matthew returned, and he took his place at the cen-

ter of the opposing team. “Just try not to get in my way,
Nancy
. That way, you won’t get hurt.”

“Hush yourself, Matthew,” Sofia snapped. “
Tochito
already.”

Matthew laughed as P.J. hiked the ball to him, and he fell back

and surveyed he field. His eyes met Damian’s for only a split second before he sent a perfect spiral sailing toward Sarah. When it became clear the throw had no chance of connecting, Damian rushed toward the other side of their makeshift playing field.

“Oooh, I got it! I . . . I think . . . I got it!” Reese squealed, and she scrambled toward the hurtling ball over her head.

It might have been a brilliant interception, too, if not for the

thud of her body slamming into Abigail’s, sending Damian’s small

niece crashing to the ground beneath Reese.

Abigail wailed as P.J. recovered the ball and lifted it over his head with a victorious shout.

“Oh, Abigail, I’m so sorry!” Reese cried.

“Come here,
mi bebé
,” Sofia cooed, placing her arms around her crying child and lifting her from the ground.
“Que está bien, bebé.”

“Really,” Reese said, almost frantically. When her eyes met

Damian’s, she shrank. “It was an accident. I would never—”

“I know,” he said, offering both hands to her.

She took them, and he pulled her to her feet.

“I didn’t see her,” she continued as he led her to the sidelines.

As they passed Sofia, rocking Abigail in her arms, she added, “I’m so sorry.”

Damian’s mother stood up and touched Reese’s arm. “Reese,

sweetheart . . .”

“It was an accident,” Reese exclaimed. “I didn’t see her.”

“I know, dear. Would you mind going inside for me?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, and she tossed Damian a sweet and grateful

smile. “Of course!”

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“I think I forgot to turn down the heat on the tomato sauce for

tonight’s lasagna. Would you give it a quick stir and turn down the burner?”

“Absolutely!”

His mother had saved the day yet again. Reese eagerly disap-

peared before Damian could even swat her with his scarf. A clamor of angry barking accompanied her entrance to the house, and Reese cried out.

“Hey! Cut it out!” A moment later a doggie tirade of barks and

snarls ensued that Damian felt certain, if translated, included some very offensive language. He hardly heard Reese underneath it as she exclaimed, “Seriously, Paco? Tell it to someone who cares.”

REESE GLARED AT PACO as he unleashed an ear-splitting rant,

apparently over the simple fact that she dared enter the house. When he lunged at her for the third time and sunk his sharp little Chihuahua teeth into the pant leg of her jeans, she grabbed the dish towel hanging on the oven door and swatted at him.

“I’m not kidding, dog,” she exclaimed, dancing out of his way.

“Kids and animals love me! What is your—” And one more jump

away from him. “—
problem
!?”

Standing on one foot while maneuvering her other one like a

jousting lance against Paco’s advances, she stirred the chunky tomato sauce in the large simmering pot. She checked the setting on the

burner and smiled. Set on the lowest temperature possible, she realized Jeane had concocted the mission with the idea of relieving Reese of her position on the field of touch football.

She tapped the wooden spoon against the side of the pot before

cradling it in the wreath-shaped spoon rest and replacing the lid.

When she spotted the plastic baggie of miniscule dog treats on the counter, an idea sparked, and she snagged a handful of them. Using the dish towel as a defensive weapon, she planned to cast herself as the bait that would lead the barking dog around the center island, but he bit down on the end of the thing, and she was able to drag Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 276

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him around it by the teeth instead. When he relaxed his clenched jaw enough for Reese to snap the towel away from him, she scattered

the smelly treats on the floor; and as Paco scurried after them, she tossed the towel back into the kitchen, bustled out the back door, and slammed it behind her.

An ingenius plan
, she congratulated herself, hoping no one would notice her return and force her into the Palmer reindeer games.

With her head down, she stalked across the snow to where Jeane sat, holding Abigail. Reese descended into the empty folding chair next to Jeane and smiled.

“How did the sauce look?” Jeane asked her.

“Good enough to eat,” Reese replied with a grin. “The fire was

already set on low, so I just gave it a stir.”

“Thank you, dear.” She looked down at Abigail and rocked her

slightly. “Do you have something to say to Reese, sweetheart?”

Reese’s stomach lurched. She couldn’t even imagine.

Abigail peered up at her while still shielding part of her face with the collar of her grandmother’s coat.

“I know you didn’t mow me over on purpose, Reese,” she offered.

“No, I really didn’t,” she replied. “And I am so sorry.”

“I know. Grandmom says we always have to forgive somebody if

they mean it when they say they’re sorry.”

Reese grinned at Jeane. “That’s a really good rule. I think I’m

going to keep that one for myself.”

“So you shouldn’t feel bad about it, even if I get a bruise on my arm.”

“Well, I won’t be able to help that,” Reese told her sincerely. “I mean, I hate to think of you with a bruise. But you know what helps bruises?”

“No,” the young girl said, perking. “What helps them?”

“Cookies,” she answered. “Like the ones in the tin on the kitchen counter. When this game is over, what do you say you and I go and get ourselves a couple?”

“Did you get a bruise too?”

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“I don’t think so,” she admitted. “But I have a different sort of boo-boo.”

Reese glanced down at her leg and swirled her finger around in

the small tear in her jeans.

“What happened?”

“Paco,” she stated. “Man, oh man, but that dog really doesn’t like me.”

“He
bit you
?” Jeane exclaimed.

“Well, it was more of a good strong gnawing, I suppose. I tried

to reason with him and explain that kids and animals usually like me, but he was having none of it . . . or me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Do you need a Band-Aid, Reese?” Abigail asked her.

“No,” she assured her with a shake of her head. “He didn’t even

break skin. Just denim.”

Jeane chuckled. “Still. I’m very sorry.”

“So who’s winning?” Reese asked as she surveyed the field of

snow.

“Team Damian by one,” Paul answered from Jeane’s far side.

Reese grinned. “Any injuries?”

“Not in the last few minutes. Unless you count yours in going up

against Paco,” Jeane teased.

Sofia heaved the ball in a sort of underhanded, two-fisted pitch, and Matthew intercepted it. Paul hopped up from his chair so hard it fell over behind him, and the audience of three at the sideline shouted as he passed it to P.J.

“Get him, Damie!” Reese yelled.

But P.J. ran ahead of him, Matthew and Reggie backing him up,

all the way to the far side of the yard for the touchdown.

As Reggie, P.J., and his father danced around like roosters,

Jeremy consoled Sofia for the incomplete pass to Eli.

“Uncle Mattie’s just taller than you, Mama.”

Damian shot Reese a quick little wink and headed toward the

equivalent of the fifty-yard line. Just then, however, Paco’s incessant barking from the house drew Sarah’s full attention.