Merry Humbug Christmas (6 page)

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Merry

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When the rest of their table began to hoot and applaud, and Doug

Denture rose to his feet and pointed his clapping hands at Patrick, a bit of the color drained from his handsome face.

“No.” He swiveled and looked toward the emcee. “Is he
codding
me?”

Joss could only guess what it meant to be
codded
in Ireland, but she felt secure in assuring Patrick that his finalist status was no
cod
.

“Come on up here, finalists,” the emcee insisted. “Let’s get a look at you all standing next to each other.”

Patrick reluctantly stood up. Before heading toward the stage,

he paused between Joss and his mother. Pulling his crazy red sweater away from his body with both hands, he leaned down and stated,

“Really, Mother. Abuse of an adult child? I’d thought you above such things.”

“What would make you think that?” she replied.

Patrick kissed his mother’s cheek and gently squeezed Joss’s

shoulder before he met up with another finalist, and the two of them navigated the jungle of chairs in disarray.

Thinking her new friend was by far the best-looking finalist on the stage, Joss could hardly peel her eyes away from Patrick Brenneman as he grinned and waved for the crowd. When he shook a finger in

the direction of his mother, onlookers erupted with laughter.

Good-natured and somewhat playful, he seemed to charm most

of the large room, but first prize ultimately went to a welder named Jorgen from somewhere in Minnesota for his three-dimensional

Christmas tree on both front
and
back of the sweater—a decision that was met by an unabashed string of surprising obscenities from the sweater wearer next to Patrick in the line.

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On the fourth day of Christmas,

Murphy’s Law gave to me . . .

four dirty words,

three French friends,

two hearty shoves,

and a Partridge with the first name Keith.

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4

“I was robbed, I tell ya,” Patrick said when he returned to

the table.

“Don’t be dense, boy,” Kathleen teased. “That’s a horrible

sweater.”

“Why’d you give it to me then, woman?”

The two of them shared a chuckle as Joss pushed her chair away

from the table.

“And if I ever hear you speak like that gentleman next to you on

the stage,” Kathleen told Patrick, “I don’t care how old you are, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

“You have to forgive the oaf, Mother,” he said. “You saw that

sweater of his. He was quite invested in the competition.”

Joss giggled as she leaned over toward Kathleen and touched the

woman’s hand.

“It was so nice to meet you, Mrs. Brenneman.”

“Are you leaving us, child?”

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“Yes. I really just came for the cheesecake,” she confided with

a grin. “But I had to stay long enough to see how the great sweater adventure played out.” She glanced at Patrick and added, “You really were robbed.”

“This is what I’m sayin’,” he agreed.

“Patrick, be a gentleman and escort Miss Snow back to her

cabin.”

“Oh, no. That’s all right.”

Patrick stood up and nudged his chair toward the table. “You

never know when some rogue elf might jump out at you,” he told

her. “I’ll just be along in case one of them needs a good beating.”

Joss smiled at Kathleen. “Well, I can hardly turn that down, can

I?”

“I’ll come back for you, Mother. Don’t go anywhere.”

Kathleen crossed her heart with one finger and smiled. “I

promise.”

Connie’s cat-that-ate-the-canary grin said it all as Joss passed her with Patrick in tow. “See ya tomorrah,” she sang.

A small choir of costumed carolers crooned “Silver Bells” at

them, and a random “Ho! Ho! Ho!” followed them down the hall.

“This is what I’d hoped to avoid when I booked the Humbug

cruise,” she remarked as they boarded the elevator and Patrick’s hand hovered over the panel of buttons. “I’m on Frosty. Where are you?”

“Blitzen. What’s a Humbug cruise?” he asked.

“Oh, it was canceled, so they rebooked me on this floating

extravaganza. It was for all of us Bah! Humbuggers who can’t stomach a whole season of this stuff.”

“What stuff is that? Christmas?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged.

“You don’t like Christmas?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Long story.”

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Once Upon a Jingle Bell

43

“It’s a big boat,” Patrick commented. “By the time we hike it,

you’ll have gotten the whole long story out of you. Think of it as festive therapy.”

Joss looked at him and arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. I can’t take you seriously in that sweater.”

“Imagine how I feel.” The elevator doors slipped open, and Patrick backed against the opening, holding the doors for Joss to pass. “Now step out here to my office and tell me why you hate Christmas.” He shook his head. “And with a name like Snow.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

“Of what? Your name?”

Joss chuckled. “Well,” she said with a one-shoulder shrug. “Yes.”

She moved past him into the corridor and headed toward her

cabin without looking back.

PATRICK LOOKED AROUND AT the garland-draped hallway as they

meandered along, Joss explaining how she and her longtime friend

always spent the holidays playing the diversion game.

“But Damian—that’s her boyfriend . . . well, her fiancé now—

proposed, and years of Christmas avoidance came to a screeching

halt,” she explained, only pausing long enough to poise her index finger and thumb into the shape of a gun to fire off an imaginary shot at a large cardboard Santa hanging on the wall. She made the sound effect of the shooting with her curled-up mouth, barely missing a beat in her monologue. “I mean, I’m happy for her and everything.

Damian’s a great guy, and they’re really suited to one another, but doing this without her is just a little daunting after all these years, you know?”

“I can imagine,” he said, nodding. “But you still didn’t tell me

why you’re so opposed to Christmas.”

“I’m not opposed to it exactly,” she said. “I mean, I like a cel-

ebration as much as the next person, and the Lord and Savior

of the whole world certainly has every right to celebrate His

birthday and to want us to celebrate with Him. But the whole

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Santa-elves-evergreens-mistletoe thing, well, what does that really have to do with Jesus anyway?” She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him expectantly. “Can you explain that to me?”

Patrick raised both hands in surrender as he continued down the

corridor. Joss hurried to catch up to him.

“So I guess you’re one of those Christmas-spirited humans then,

huh?” she asked him.

“Well, I wouldn’t turn down a glass of eggnog and some wreath-

shaped cookies,” he replied. “But it’s not really what gets my holiday spirit revved up.”

“No?”

“No. I prefer a more relaxed Christmas celebration without all of the accouterments. I like to keep in mind the reason for the season rather than the colorful, conspiratorial assault on our senses.”

“This, from the man in the manger sweater, cruising to the

Mexican Riviera on a 12 Days of Fun Christmas cruise.”

“Hey, I wouldn’t be here if not for my mother. She asked me to

join her and her friends, and I’m one of those blokes who likes to buy his mother’s love by wearing hideous sweaters and escorting her to tree lightings.”

Joss snickered. “Hey, far be it from me to criticize a man who

loves his mother.” After a moment, she added, “And your mom is

quite sweet, by the way.”

“That she is.”

They strolled on in silence until Joss stopped at her door, reached into her bag, and produced her room key. Patrick took it and swiped it for her.

“Thanks,” she said, and he handed it back.

“I still don’t know why you hate Christmas the way you do, Miss

Snow.”

“I hear the Irish love a good mystery,” she replied, and the pirate smile that slipped across her face made Patrick’s pulse start to pound.

“Consider me a mystery.”

“Wrapped in an enigma,” he remarked.

“Inside a conundrum.”

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Once Upon a Jingle Bell

45

“All of it baked inside a nice Christmas fruitcake,” he added with a broad smile, and Joss swatted his arm.

“Hey!”

“See you at breakfast tomorrow?”

“More than likely.”

“It’s Christmas, so I didn’t know if you’d come out long enough

to see your shadow. But I think I’ll step out in faith and save you a chair.”

Joss started to close the door, and then she suddenly stopped. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll wear,” she teased him.

“I was thinking of Mother’s Christmas bonnet,” he volleyed back

to her. “Too much?”

“I think you can carry it off.”

An instrumental version of “O Holy Night” serenaded his walk

down the hall toward the elevators, and Patrick sang softly along with it as he mentally replayed the conversation with Joss.

“She’s a corker, that one,” he muttered, shaking his head and

grinning like an idiot.

He boarded the elevator with several other passengers, all but

one of them women.

“Merry Christmas!” one of the ladies sang as she touched him on

the arm.

When he looked into her eyes, he noticed a little something

more than passing interest there.

“And to you,” he replied, returning his attention to the closed

metal doors in front of him.

The moment they opened, Patrick gave them all a nod and

headed immediately toward the lobby and past the carolers, still

crooning at passersby. His mother waited for him near the doorway to the banquet room where they’d had dinner, and she smiled as he approached.

Sliding her arm through his, she commented, “Miss Snow is quite

a pretty girl, don’t you think so, Patrick?”

“Indeed she is, Mother.”

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As they slowly walked along, Patrick couldn’t help but notice the slight lumbering quality of his once-elegant mother’s gait.

“Are you doing all right?” he asked her.

“Fit as a fiddle.”

They stopped to join the gathering crowd forming a semicircle

around the costumed singers. Patrick had to admit their melodious voices did far more justice to “O Holy Night” than his had done just a few minutes earlier.

He felt his mother’s hand trembling against his arm, and he cov-

ered it with his own hand and smiled down at her. “Do you need to sit down for a few minutes?”

She nodded tentatively, and Patrick led her toward an open seat

on the oak bench surrounding the enormous Christmas tree in the

center of the lobby.

“Sit here for moment, and I’ll be right back, yes?”

The instant she nodded, Patrick hurried away to catch up with a

passing uniformed member of the ship’s crew.

“Excuse me,” he called out as he touched the boy’s shoulder. “Hi.

Can you help me? I need to find a wheelchair for my mother. She’s feeling a little shaky on her feet.”