Mistletoe and Holly (10 page)

“Not right away. Initially I only entered competitions in the Rocky Mountain area so I could keep Holly with me most of the time. When you compete, you have to go all out every time. You can’t worry about accidents or injuries. Suddenly I couldn’t do that, because I had Holly. I never felt like that when I got married; but I suppose I knew Cindy was old enough to take care of herself. Holly needed me, especially with Cindy gone. My present to her on her third birthday was to hang up my racing skis, and buy a resort in the Colorado mountains.”

“Then you sold it and came back here to Vermont,” Leslie guessed.

“That’s about the size of it,” he agreed. “It was a good business, but it didn’t give me enough time to spend with Holly.” His shoulder lifted in an idle shrug. “Maybe I just got burnt out on skiing. I have no more desire to be on the slopes. Maybe that will change someday and I’ll enjoy the sport of it again.”

“In the meantime, you’re going to practice law.”

“I enjoyed studying law,” Tagg told her. “I suppose
the skiing interlude in my life was part of the wild oats I needed to sow. I don’t regret it. It gave me Holly and sufficient funds to know that her future will be secure if anything happens to me.” He flashed her a white smile. “And there you have my life story, my credentials, and even a glimpse at my bankbook.”

“Was I being nosey?” She hadn’t thought so. But most of the information, he had volunteered.

“No.” He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “I think you have the right to know something about the man who asked you out for a sleigh ride.”

“That’s true. I couldn’t go sleigh riding with a total stranger,” Leslie responded with the same bantering lightness he had used.

“I should hope not,” Tagg mocked, then glanced at his wristwatch. “Everything is turning out perfectly this morning. I’ll be able to take you to your aunt’s, get the presents hidden in the house, and still have time to pick up Holly.”

“That’s good.”

“I thought so, too.” He squeezed her hand affectionately, a warm sensation spreading through her.

In the lull that settled, Leslie thought over the things Tagg had told her about himself, his life and his previous career in professional sports. It started her thinking about the comment Holly had made.

“When you were skiing, I imagine you had all sorts of beautiful women for company. I suppose that’s where Holly got the idea that girls always fell in love with you.” The minute she made the comment, she regretted it. “Now, I am being nosey. You don’t have to answer that.”

“I don’t mind.” He smiled at her briefly, letting his glance leave the road for a scanning second. “I didn’t lack for female company, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say there was an endless bevy of beauties. But it was the glamour of the ski slopes that attracted them—like Cindy. I doubt if it would have mattered to some of them if I was five feet tall with a receding hairline.”

But he was six feet tall and unconventionally handsome. Leslie wasn’t fooled. Those vital statistics had increased the attraction of the members of the opposite sex for him. She had no illusions about her own sex. Some were positively brazen in their pursuit of a man—single or not. She suspected the attentions of other women might have been one of the reasons for his marriage to go bad.

When they arrived at her aunt’s house, Tagg parked the car in the driveway. “Do you need some help getting out?” he asked as she gathered up her unwieldy crutches.

“No, I can manage.”

“I’m glad you came with me today.” His hand
lightly fitted itself to the curve of the back of her neck, holding it while he leaned across the seat and kissed her with lingering force.

Leslie was conscious of the triphammer beat of her heart when she finally opened the car door. Her lips could still feel the warm pressure of his mouth. It was a decidedly pleasant sensation.

He waited until she had reached the door and turned to wave to him. Then he reversed out of the drive to pick up his daughter from school.

T
HE BAY MARE
tossed its head in a show of eagerness, jingling the bell strap on its harness, but the horse stood calmly while Tagg lifted Leslie into the shiny black sleigh with its red leather seats. The fur robes that had kept her warm on the dogsled ride were folded on the seat.

“Where on earth did you find this horse and sleigh?” she asked in amazement. “It’s something out of a Currier and Ives print.”

“The horse and sleigh belong to a local farmer. He usually rents them out for the winter through the ski resorts in the area,” he explained and swung Holly into the sleigh, then climbed in himself to sit between them. The fur robes were spread out
lengthwise to cover all three of them against the numbing chill of the night air.

“Are we going to go ‘dashing through the snow,’ Daddy?” Holly was bouncing on the seat, unable to sit still.

“Not unless the snow is on the road,” Tagg informed her dryly, just in case she had visions of them racing across some meadow.

Picking up the reins, he lightly slapped the horse’s rump with them and clicked his tongue to signal the mare forward. There was a slight jerk, then the sleigh was pulling smoothly onto the snow-packed dirt road.

A huge silver-dollar moon gleamed brightly on the white ground and highlighted the snow clinging on dark tree branches. It was a magical wonderland of sight and sound, muted bells jingling in rhythm to the horse’s trotting hooves. The cold air was sharp and invigorating and rosied Leslie’s cheeks as she sat shoulder to shoulder with Tagg, unconsciously snuggling closer to his body warmth. Her hands and arms were buried under the thick, furry robe that insulated them against most of the frigid air.

“Let’s sing, Daddy,” Holly suggested.

“Let’s don’t,” he replied. “Mr. Grey told me the horse stops every time people start singing.”

“Smart horse,” Leslie murmured
sotto voce
.

Holly leaned forward to look her father square in the eye, skeptical and challenging. “Is that true?”

“No,” Tagg admitted. “But let’s spare the horse’s ears anyway.”

“Okay.” She sat back in her seat and hugged the fur robe around her chin.

All was quiet and still around them as they traveled down the back road. It didn’t seem to matter where Leslie looked, some nostalgically familiar scene would leap out at her, painting a picture that she was certain she’d seen before. Whether it was the glitter of the moonlight on a meadow of snow or a farmhouse with lights shining from the window and smoke curling out of the chimney.

Tagg’s hand found hers under the robe and curled around it. His head tipped slightly towards her. “Are you having fun—jingle bells and all?” A teasing light sparkled in his night-darkened eyes.

“Yes. Jingle bells and all.” She smiled the admission, her gaze absently wandering over his features; the straight bridge of his nose, and the strong cut of his mouth.

“Look, Daddy. There’s a covered bridge ahead!” Holly pulled her hand out from under the robe long enough to point out the houselike structure spanning a river.

“It certainly is.”

“Are we going to go through it?” Holly wanted to know.

“I guess so,” Tagg replied. “That’s where the road goes—unless you want me to turn around and go back.”

“No, I want to go across the bridge,” she insisted. As they drew closer, the white snow on the bridge’s roof made its opening into the wooden tunnel appear even blacker. On the far side, the moonlight showed the way out.

“Why did they put covers on bridges?” Holly asked as she made a frowning study of the structure.

“These bridges were built a long time ago when most people traveled by horse and wagon. If it started raining or snowing, they could take shelter under the roofs of these bridges,” Tagg explained, and slowed the mare to a walk as they entered the bridge tunnel.

Wind had whipped some snow and ice onto the reinforced woodplank floors. The horse’s hooves echoed hollowly, disturbing an owl perched on a rafter. It hooted and swooped low to fly out into the night. Involuntarily, Leslie cringed and ducked, moving closer to Tagg before realizing it was just an owl. His hand tightened on hers, lifting her glance toward his shadowed face only inches away.

“I’ve also heard that during the old days when young men took their girl friends for courting rides in the buggy, these bridges made ideal lover’s lanes,” he murmured loud enough so Holly would think he was talking to her while he bent his head to claim Leslie’s lips.

Initially his mouth felt cool against her lips, but it warmed up quickly, pressing on hers with a moist, demanding need. Her response was just as quick and just as hungry, trying to make up for the necessary shortness of the kiss.

There was the faintest sound as the contact was broken, seconds before they emerged from the covered bridge into the moonlight. His glance held hers for another second while his hand tucked hers more closely to him under the robe, their forearms resting together.

“Are we going to come back this way?” Holly asked.

“We could,” Tagg admitted. “Why? Is that what you want to do?”

“No, but I thought it might be what you wanted to do.” There was an impish little glint in her eyes when she looked at him.

“What makes you think that?” he asked with a trace of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, Daddy, I’m not a baby anymore,” she
chided him in exasperation. “I heard you kiss Leslie. Besides, I know what a lover’s lane is.”

“I have an idea,” Tagg said. “Why don’t we sing?” He slid a sideways glance at Leslie. “Sorry, but if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. And you know what they say about little pitchers having big ears.”

“You sing along, too, Leslie,” Holly urged.

The choice of songs was a foregone conclusion. Under the circumstances, it had to be “Jingle Bells.” This time Leslie did sing with them, her mellow mood making her overlook her usual prejudices about caroling.

And the singing didn’t stop until their long, circling route brought them back to the house. The farmer was waiting in Tagg’s driveway with a pickup truck and horsecar. When they turned in, the back door to her aunt’s house opened and Patsy Evans stepped outside.

“You’re invited over for cider and gingerbread!” she called.

While Tagg stayed to help the farmer load the horse and sleigh, Holly and Leslie crossed the yard to her aunt’s house. After being outside in the cold so long, the kitchen felt toasty warm, the air fragrant with the spicy smell of freshly baked gingerbread.

“We had so much fun, Mrs. Evans!” Holly chattered
nonstop while she peeled off her snow jacket and pants. “We sang and sang. And there was this covered bridge—”

“I think I sang so much I lost my voice,” Leslie interrupted her, not certain how much the little girl would reveal. “My throat feels hoarse.”

“It probably is, from the sound of it,” her aunt declared, standing at the stove and ladling mulled cider into mugs for each of them. “There’s a fire burning in the fireplace. Take these and go in there and get warmed up.”

Leslie curved both hands around the mug of hot cider, shivering in delayed reaction to the cold now that she was getting warm. “Can you carry mine, too, Holly?” she asked, certain she’d spill it if she tried to carry it and use only one crutch.

“Sure.” Holly took it from her and headed for the living room where the crackling fire beckoned.

The furniture was grouped around the fireplace. Leslie settled into the chair with the footstool in front of it and propped her leg on it. Just the sight of the fire was warming. Holly gave her one of the mugs, then sat on the floor, facing the burning logs. The hot apple cider was sweet with brown sugar and laced with cloves and cinnamon. Its spicy sweetness seemed to activate her tastebuds again.

The feeling had returned to her toes when Tagg finally joined them, bearing his own mug of mulled cider from the kitchen. He set it on the mantel and held his hands out to the flames, rubbing them briskly together.

“Cold?” Leslie asked him teasingly.

“Yes.” His gaze challenged her. “Do you want to come warm me up?”

“Put another log on the fire instead,” she countered.

“The other way would be faster,” he insisted, amusement glinting in his eyes.

“Too bad I’m comfortable.” She turned her head when she heard footsteps. Her aunt entered the living room, carrying a tray with steaming gingerbread squares, dollops of whipped cream melting over them. After they were passed around, conversation was forgotten until every last crumb had been consumed. Tagg washed his last bite down with a swig of mulled cider.

“That was delicious, Mrs. Evans,” he stated.

“It was good,” Patsy Evans agreed with him. “I thought you’d enjoy it after your sleigh ride.” She started to gather up the dishes.

“I’ll do that for you,” Tagg insisted. “Leslie can show me where to put things.”

Her aunt didn’t argue with him as he stacked the
dishes onto the tray and waited for Leslie to lead the way into the kitchen. Once there, it was a simple matter to put the dirty dishes in the sink, cover the whipped cream with a plastic lid and set it in the refrigerator.