Mistletoe and Holly (8 page)

“Now you’ve got to kiss her, Dad,” Holly challenged with a giggling laugh.

“That’s right, I do,” he agreed.

Before Leslie could react, he was leaning toward her. Her pulse skipped a few beats when she found herself gazing into the black centers of his eyes. Her glance lowered to the strong, smooth line of his mouth, coming steadily closer. Her lashes came down a second before she felt the fanning warmth
of his breath and the light pressure of his mouth so briefly touching hers.

It was over almost before it began. She blinked in vague surprise, feeling cheated. Which was silly since she’d always said that the business about kissing under the mistletoe was ridiculous.

There wasn’t any time to assimilate her reaction or her response. Something was going on above and behind her. Tagg had grabbed his daughter’s wrist and taken the spring of mistletoe away from her. He was moving back to his own side of the sofa, dragging Holly with him. The little girl was convulsing with laughter and he was smiling broadly. He held the mistletoe over his own head.

“Now you have to kiss me,” he informed his daughter.

Laughing, Holly leaned across the back of the sofa and gave him a loud smack on the lips. Only then, did he let go of her. She disappeared behind the sofa and popped back up with the sack of mistletoe in hand.

“Where are we going to hang this, Daddy?” She wanted to know.

“I have no idea.” Tagg opened the sack to drop the sprig into it. “Just put it up for now. We’ll find a place for it later.”

“I’ll put it on the coffee table so we won’t forget it again,” Holly decided.

“I’ll get the cocoa.” Tagg pushed off the sofa and headed toward the kitchen.

Just like that, the incident was over and forgotten—or so it seemed to Leslie. A kiss that hadn’t been a kiss at all, leaving no lingering awkwardness or sense of unease. It was just as if it had been too unimportant to dwell on. At least that appeared to be Tagg’s attitude. Leslie discovered she couldn’t dismiss it so easily.

With Holly around, there wasn’t any lack of conversation while they drank their cocoa. When Tagg turned on a lamp beside the sofa, Leslie realized how late it was.

“I’d better be getting back. It’s almost six and I didn’t leave any note telling Aunt Patsy I’m here.” Leslie reached for the crutches propped against the side of the sofa.

“It’s been snowing. I’ll walk over with you in case the steps are slick,” Tagg volunteered, and started for the coat closet.

“Thanks for coming over and helping us.” Holly hovered close by while Tagg helped Leslie into her coat.

“It was fun—and you have a lovely tree.” The last was added as an afterthought, but she meant it. This time it wasn’t an empty compliment.

As they went out the door, Tagg paused long
enough to tell his daughter, “I won’t be gone long. If you get bored, you can wash the cocoa mugs.” There was no response from Holly as he shut the door. “She’s at the age where she thinks washing dishes is a treat. I’m sure she’ll grow out of it.”

“Everybody does,” Leslie agreed with a quick smile. The snow had melted from the steps, but there were patches of ice and snow mixed in the driveway.

“Even though I’m prejudiced in her favor, I think Holly is turning into a little lady,” he said with a degree of pride, then glanced at Leslie when she remained silent. “What? No comment?” he mocked.

“I was just thinking.” She started not to tell him, then changed her mind. It was something she had observed and she was curious about it. “Holly never talks about her mother.”

When Tagg came to an abrupt halt, Leslie stopped, too, wondering if she had unwittingly brought up a highly sensitive subject. A disturbing light had darkened his eyes; their gaze was centered on her as a profoundly pleased expression stole across his ruggedly handsome features.

“Well, well.” It was a lowly voiced expression of satisfaction. “It’s about time.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her hazel eyes scanned his face in confusion, bathed in the light thrown from the windows of his house. The subdued light high
lighted his angular features, emphasizing their planes and hollows.

“You’ve finally asked about Holly’s mother.” Again his voice was ringed with satisfaction. She noticed the faint deepening of the grooves etched into his tanned cheeks that indicated a suppressed, but dimpling smile.

“I don’t understand.” Leslie shook her head slightly in vague bewilderment. “Was I supposed to ask about her before or what?”

“Not necessarily.” He spread his hand across her back to begin guiding her again toward her aunt’s home. “It’s just that when a woman asks about a man’s past, it usually means she’s interested in his future.”

“I was asking because of Holly,” she responded quickly, which was partially true—but only partially.

“Of course.” His voice dryly mocked out an agreement. “It isn’t too surprising that Holly doesn’t talk about her. Cindy—my wife—died a month after Holly was born, so Holly has no memory of her.”

“What happened?” Since he didn’t appear to object to talking about his wife, Leslie went ahead and asked the question.

“There were complications in the delivery; infection set in; then pneumonia.” It was a very clinical
explanation with no insight into how his wife’s death had affected him.

Leslie made a tactful attempt to probe into that area. “It must have been a difficult time for you—losing your wife and having a newborn baby to take care of and raise.”

“Yes.” It was a detached admission that lost even more of its credibility when he slanted a dry smile in her direction. “But Holly and I managed to survive it without any lasting damage. Although—” Tagg paused and briefly lifted his gaze skyward in a thoughtful attitude. “I guess a person never stops wondering what might have happened if things had turned out differently.”

Which meant what? That he still longed for his wife? Did he think his life would be better or worse, if she had lived? It was impossible to come to a conclusion either way. His remark hadn’t revealed enough. Leslie shied away from delving into something that was so personal.

As they reached the steps to the side door, Tagg moved in front of her to take the lead. “I’ll turn the lights on for you.”

By the time she mounted the steps, he had the doors opened and the kitchen light turned on. Tagg waited inside for her and helped remove her coat, an awkward task when one had to balance on
crutches. For the time being, Leslie draped her coat over the back of a kitchen chair, then turned back to him. He stood on the large rug, his hands thrust into the pockets of his open jacket.

The gesture of her hand as it brushed her silky, sand-colored hair away from the side of her face was almost a self-conscious one. His features were relaxed in a warm smile, but they didn’t mask the inner probing of his gaze on her.

“I know a tree-trimming party is not your idea of fun, but I hope it didn’t turn out to be too much of an ordeal,” he said.

“It didn’t.” As a matter of fact, this was the second time she had enjoyed taking part in a Christmas-type activity. Perhaps she’d simply had too many bad memories associated with Christmas and not enough happy ones to offset them.

“I meant to apologize for Holly’s behavior. I hope she didn’t embarrass you with that mistletoe incident.” The curve of his mouth increased, taking on a rueful line in the rest of his expression. “I noticed you didn’t look too pleased about it.”

“I didn’t?” Leslie hadn’t thought it showed. “I’ve always regarded kissing under the mistletoe to be a silly tradition. It’s forced on both parties whether either one wants it or not.”

“It can be a useful ploy sometimes when a man
wants to kiss a woman and he hasn’t been given the opportunity. But, as you say—” he lifted a shoulder in a vague shrug, “—it doesn’t necessarily mean the lady is willing. She could be just tolerating it. I suppose that’s happened to you.”

“More times than I care to count.” It was one of the reasons she’d sworn off office Christmas parties.

“Was today one of them?” Tagg asked and immediately widened his smile. “That’s a leading question, isn’t it?”

“Very leading,” she agreed with a self-conscious laugh. A warmth was beginning to spread through her veins and heat her skin until she felt slightly flushed.

“I guess you know where it’s leading, too.” He withdrew his hands from his pockets and took a step closer, reaching for her waist. Their touch just seemed to add to the warmth already coursing through her. His glance flicked upward, above her head, then down to hold her gaze. “There’s no mistletoe—no obligation to kiss or be kissed.”

“No,” Leslie agreed, feeling oddly breathless in anticipation.

When he began bending his head toward her, he blocked out the overhead light. In an automatic response, her chin lifted. His mouth settled onto hers with natural ease, its warmth melting away the
little hesitancy that remained. Her lips moved against his, liking the stimulating feel of them.

His arm slid to the back of her waist, taking more of her weight so she had to rely less on the crutches for support. With his other hand, he took first one, then the other away from her and set them against the kitchen counter. Her hands found a way inside his jacket and circled his middle as he gathered her more fully into his arms.

A heady pleasure was building inside her as his mouth continued to roll over her lips, exploring their softness and inciting their response. That tangy fragrance clinging to his skin filled her senses with each deepening breath she took. His hands made a slow foray over her shoulders and back, traveling over the curve of her spine and shaping her to his length. Leslie was distantly conscious of his flatly muscled build, and the heat his body generated combining with hers.

When he ended the kiss, the moist heat of his breath continued to warm her lips. No attempt was made by either to pull back and increase the distance between their lips. Through the veiling screen of her lashes, Leslie studied the firm line of his chin and the attractive grooves that flanked his mouth. She was conscious that his breathing was disturbed, not coming as evenly as it normally did.
She knew her pulse was racing wildly, indicating the kiss had a similar, stimulating effect on her.

“I’ve been wanting to do that.” His husky voice was pitched just above a whisper. It seemed to vibrate through her.

Lights flashed on the kitchen window as a car turned into the driveway. “That must be Aunt Patsy.” Leslie reluctantly loosened her circling arms to draw away from him. “You’d better hand me my crutches.”

“Children and relatives; they don’t have the best timing,” Tagg declared dryly and kept a supporting arm around Leslie while he reached for her crutches. “Holly with her mistletoe this afternoon and your aunt arriving at this particular moment.”

“She could have come home sooner.” She slipped the crutches under her arms and shifted a small distance away from him.

“The cynic sounding like Pollyanna?” Tagg mocked that she had found something good in the intrusion.

“Even Scrooge had his moments,” Leslie retorted, hearing the slam of a car door.

“Which reminds me,” he said. “Holly goes to school in the mornings. One day this next week, I planned to drive into Montpelier. Would you like to ride with me and keep me company while Holly’s in school?”

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess,” she said. “You’re going Christmas shopping.”

He laughed silently. “Clever girl. How did you figure that out?”

“It just seemed logical. So far I’ve gone along when you went hunting for your tree. You asked me over to help trim it. So the only thing missing is the presents to be put under the tree,” Leslie concluded.

“Most of my Christmas shopping is done, but I do have a couple of items yet to buy. I promise I won’t drag you through all the toy departments. We’ll have brunch somewhere before we come home.” He arched an inquiring eyebrow. “Will you come?”

“Yes.” It didn’t seem necessary to add more than that.

“I’ll pick a day when the weather’s nice and let you know,” he said.

“All right,” Leslie nodded.

When the storm door was opened from the outside, Tagg pivoted and opened the inner door for her aunt. Patsy Evans looked momentarily surprised to see him, then recovered with her usual aplomb.

“Hello, Taggart,” she greeted him with a curious look. “Was there something you wanted?”

“No. I was just making sure Leslie got in safely. I have to be getting back. I left Holly at the house
alone.” He excused himself and moved to exit through the door Patsy Evans had just entered.

“I saw your Christmas tree when I drove in. It looks beautiful,” she stated.

“I’ll tell Holly you said so,” Tagg smiled, then nodded to Leslie. “I’ll see you.”

When the door closed behind him, Leslie realized her aunt was watching her. She turned and Patsy busily began taking off her coat.

“I’m glad you didn’t have to spend the afternoon alone,” she commented.

“I helped string popcorn to hang on the tree,” Leslie explained.

“I must say I like the way Taggart does things—going out and chopping down his own Christmas tree, encouraging his daughter to make things to hang on it.” Her aunt elaborated on her initial comment.

“Yes.” Leslie moved over to the sink. “Shall I heat some water for tea?”

“Sounds good. Please.”

“By the way—” she held the teakettle under the faucet and began filling it with water, “—he is a widower. His wife died of complications from childbirth a month after Holly was born.”

“Really?” Her aunt appeared vaguely surprised by the news. “Somehow I had the feeling he was divorced. Not that it really matters.” Her shrewd
glance ran keenly over Leslie. “It was thoughtful of him to see you home.”

“Yes.” She hobbled over to the stove to put the kettle on to heat. “Some morning this next week, he asked me to ride into Montpelier with him.”

“Are you going?”

Leslie turned, her eyes widening slightly at the question. “I thought I would, yes. Why?”

“No reason.” Her aunt shrugged. “I guess I was just wondering whether this was the start of a holiday romance.”

Her mouth opened to refute the idea, then closed without saying a word. It probably would turn out to be a short-lived relationship. It would be foolish to think that this time would be different from any of the others in the past.