Merry Humbug Christmas (7 page)

“Yes, sir. I can get one for you.”

“She’s seated on this side of the holiday tree. Can you bring it to us?”

“Give me ten minutes.”

“Thank you.”

Patrick felt a wave of relief push through his chest as he made his way back to his mother’s side.

“Shall we head up to our rooms, dear?”

“Let’s wait here for a bit,” he answered. “So you can ride upstairs in style.”

“Oh, Patrick,” she said. “What have you done?”

“I’ve arranged a chariot. It will make Christmas week far more

enjoyable for you.”

His mother sighed, gracing him with a warm and familiar smile.

“You’re a very thoughtful son.”

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“I am, aren’t I? I’ll bet you thank the Lord above every morning

for such a blessing as me.”

When the boy arrived with the wheelchair, Patrick thanked him

and helped his mother into it. “Tell me, Mother,” he said as he began to wheel her toward the elevators, “what’s Irish and stays outside all year long?”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Paddy O’Furniture,” he replied. He pushed the call button

and leaned down to kiss her cheek before repeating the punch line.

“Paddy O’Furniture.”

“Yes, dear. It’s a sophisticated take on Irishmen, but I do understand the joke.”

“BEFORE YOU SAY ANYTHING,” Charlotte said by way of answer-

ing Joss’s early morning call, “I can’t find you a flight home within the next four days, Joss. I’ve tried every airline out there, and I can’t get you home. I’m so sorry.”

“Actually,” she replied, slipping one leg over the other and relaxing into the wingback chair by the window, “I’m calling to wish you a Merry Christmas, Char. Do you have big plans?”

“What?”

“Plans? For Christmas? What are you doing?”

“Oh. Well.” She’d obviously caught her executive assistant com-

pletely off guard. “I’m waiting for Justin to pick me up, and we’re headed to his parents’ for the day.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“Joss? Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

In a raspy whisper, she asked, “You’re not drinking, are you?”

Joss chuckled. “No, Char, I’m not drinking. You know I don’t

drink.”

“Well, you sound a little . . . out of character for . . . you . . . on Christmas morning.”

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“Oh. That. Well, that’s another reason that I’m calling. You won’t believe who turned up on this boat with me.”

“Who?”

“Rodney Jenkins!”

“You’re joking. The CEO of Vandermere Hotels & Spas?”

“The very same,” she exclaimed. “He’s here with his family. The

guy has . . . like . . . a dozen kids.”

“How weird is it that you were rebooked on a completely differ-

ent cruise than the one you signed up for, and—”

“I know!” Joss interrupted. “I tried to call Ryan, but I just keep getting his voice mail.”

“He’s up in the mountains. Maybe there’s no service.”

“Maybe. But be sure and tell him next week, will you?”

“You’re staying on the ship then.”

“I think I should.”

“Are you having any fun at all?”

“Some.” Joss swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat.

“There’s Kathleen, this really lovely woman from Ireland . . .” Her words trailed off, and she smiled as Patrick Brenneman strut-ted across her mind. “She’s traveling with her son and some family friends.”

A strange tapping noise—accompanied by jingling bells keeping

perfect time—sounded against her door, and the moment she heard

Connie singing to her from the other side, she pinpointed the origin of the noise immediately.

“Come on, sugar,” she yodeled through the door. “It’s Christmas

mooornin’
!”

“Char, I’ve gotta go. I have three-inch fingernails and a herd of reindeer tapping at my door.”

“Pardon? Is it the woman from Ireland?”

“No,” she replied with a chuckle. “Connie Rudolph couldn’t be

any more different from Kathleen Brenneman. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

Joss made her way to the door and tugged it open. She couldn’t

contain the guffaw that flew out of her at the sight of Connie, her Merry Humbug Christmas.indd 48

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platinum blonde beehive surrounded in a halo that doubled as a shimmering Christmas wreath. Large reindeer head earrings stared back at her from both of Connie’s earlobes, and Joss felt a sudden urge to shield her eyes from the reflection of her color-blocked Christmas tree blouse.

“Wow. That is quite the festive . . .”—she struggled for the

word as she waved her hand from Connie’s neck to her waist—

“. . . ensemble!”

“Oh, thanks, honey.” Connie floated past her and bounced down

on the corner of the bed. “I brought you a little present.”

Joss restrained the groan that threatened to rise into her throat.

“That’s . . . so . . . well, it’s sweet of you.” She let Connie push the small package into her hands. “But you really shouldn’t have.”

“Oh, sure I shoulda, honey.” Wrinkling her nose, she gleefully

exclaimed, “You’re gonna love ’em!”

“No, no,” she insisted as she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid from the box to reveal a pair of blinking candy cane earrings like the ones Connie had been wearing when they first met. “You really shouldn’t have.”

“I thought Christmas just called for something a little more

fun than what I see around this place,” she said with a wide—and

extremely white—grin. “These little darlings will doll up even the blandest outfit in your closet.”

Joss lifted one of the earrings from the box and held it up in front of her face to inspect it more fully. “You’re sure right about that!”

“So go on. Get dressed. I’ll wait for ya, and we’ll wiggle on

downstairs together.”

Joss shook her head and meandered toward the closet.

“And while you’re in there, give me the lowdown on what hap-

pened with that Irish cutie pie you left with last night.”

“Connie, he only walked me to my door. That’s all.”

“Oh, what a shame,” she whimpered. “Don’t worry, honey, you

have the whole week for him to make his move. And when he does, I want to hear all the yummy details.”

“I’ll be sure and pass you a note after study hall.”

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Joss emerged from the closet, planting herself in the doorway

with her hands on her hips, waiting for Connie’s reaction.

“Oh, honey,” she said, looking like she’d just gotten an unex-

pected whiff of spoiled food. “Is that what you’re wearin’?”

“I thought I might,” Joss replied, and she resisted the urge to

release the chuckle building in her throat. Pulling her hands out of the pockets of her black trousers, she flicked the row of clear beads around the scoop neck of the gray tank shirt. “It’s kind of sparkly, right?”

Connie laughed out loud and smoothed her blonde hair with the

palm of one hand. “Oh, honey. If you think that’s sparkly, you must think I’m a gaudy light show.”

“Of course not,” she fibbed. “But I’m pretty sure they can see you from space.”

Connie pushed her small frame to her feet and shifted atop the

four-inch, red-patent leather spike heels. “Not funny,” she said, and she picked up the reindeer earrings and handed them to her. “Let’s go see what they have on the breakfast buffet, shall we?”

“We shall,” Joss replied, stuffing the room key into her pocket as she followed Connie out the door, walking to the beat of her jingling bracelet.

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On the fifth day of Christmas,

Murphy’s Law gave to me . . .

five cold sardiiiines!

four dirty words,

three French friends,

two hearty shoves,

and a Partridge with the first name Keith.

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5

Patrick tried to peel his eyes away from Joss as she moved

through the buffet line, but he couldn’t seem to manage it.

When her friend—the platinum blonde Christmas tree—said some-

thing that amused her, Joss’s sparkling laughter lit up the whole room. Jutting out her hip, she bumped the blonde as she plucked a pastry from the table and dropped it to her plate.

Victor stepped into Patrick’s line of sight. When he couldn’t look around him, he glanced up and met the waiter’s waiting smile.

“More coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.” On second thought, he turned over the cup

from the setting next to him and tapped it. “This one, too, please.”

When Joss made her way to the table and began to sit down

across from him, Patrick nodded toward the coffee cup beside him

and told her, “Over here. Hot coffee with your name on it.”

She brightened and rounded the table. “Thank you.” She set

down her plate and dropped into the chair beside him, adding, “I’m happy to see you decided against your mother’s bonnet. Very nice.”

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“I was going to, but it interrupted the overall look.”

She swept him with a lingering glance. “You look . . . really nice, Patrick.”

He looked down and grinned. He’d removed the suit jacket and

draped it over the back of his chair, and he’d loosened the knot of his black tie and unbuttoned the top button of the starched white shirt.

“Do you have a hot date, or do you have a gig with the rest of the boy band later?”

He wanted to laugh, but instead he arched an eyebrow toward

those horrible blinking candy cane earrings tucked into the nest of wavy reddish hair on her shoulder. “And you’re meeting up with the other elves after breakfast?”

“Oh, right,” she said, lifting her hands to touch one of them.

Nodding toward her blonde friend on the other side of the table, she added, “They were a gift from Connie. She thought I could do with some sprucing up.”

“I’d say they do the trick.”

“We missed you at church this morning, dear,” his mother com-

mented to Joss from the chair on the other side of Patrick. “It was a beautiful service.”

Joss raised both eyebrows and grinned at Patrick. “You took your

mother to church on Christmas morning. How sweet of you. That

explains the suit.”

He wanted to tell her he’d have gone to church whether his

mother had been around or not. He wanted Joss to know his Christian faith played a deep and abiding part of the man he’d become. Out of nowhere and in no time at all, he wanted to share things with this virtual stranger, personal things, things that mattered—

“How did you rest?” Patrick’s mother asked Joss, interrupting his private soliloquy.

“Very well,” Joss replied. “Once I stuck on one of the patches for seasickness, I drifted right off. What about you, Mrs. Brenneman?”

“Please call me Kathleen.”

Joss nodded. “I will. Kathleen.”

“I had a very nice night of sleep. Thank you for asking.”

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“The woman can sleep anywhere,” Patrick interjected, and he

paused to pop a sardine into his mouth before dropping his fork. “I’m in the adjoining cabin, so I looked in on her. Out like a light.”

“Clean conscience,” his mother commented, and she squeezed

his hand. “It makes for an effortless sleep each night.”

“I’ll have to try that,” he teased.

Patrick suddenly noticed Joss staring at him, her lips parted