No Christmas Like the Present (3 page)

At least he'd saved some chocolate for her.

Silently, Lindsay reached up and took it, the wheels turning in her head. When she bit into the wafer, it was every bit as rich and decadent as it looked.

 

 

This was the part where she should run away screaming.

She'd gotten him out of Phil and Evelyn's house, amid a greater-than-usual number of friendly farewells. Now they walked down the darkened street toward her car, which she'd parked several houses away because of all the arrivals before her. Fred had her hand tucked through his arm in that courtly way of his, and still showed no sign of menace. Screaming seemed silly.

She stole a glance at Fred, who wore nothing warmer than his simple suit jacket. “You don't have your coat.”

“I figured I'd be indoors most of the evening. Don't worry. A brisk walk on a chilly night always does me good.”

It was more than chilly. The cold air had the harsh bite and gray, indefinable scent of threatening snow. But with her hand tucked into the crook of Fred's arm, Lindsay felt warmer. She noticed the difference when they reached her car, and she disentangled herself to unlock the door. Instantly the wind seemed sharper, colder, harder, and she hurriedly twisted the key with numb fingers.

Not fast enough to keep Fred from pulling the door open for her, though.

Lindsay slipped inside quickly, hoping to escape Fred and the wind at the same time. Inside her car, it didn't feel much warmer than it had outside; she bunched her jacket around her as she reached to pull the door shut.

Fred still held it. He kept it open just a crack, shutting out most of the cold wind, while he leaned down to speak once more. “Good night, Lindsay. Drive safely.”

And he closed the door for her.

Well, that had been easy enough. He straightened with a little wave and stepped back to the sidewalk, giving Lindsay room to pull out of her parking space.

She started to drive off, but as her car turned away from the curb, she saw him in her side mirror, hands deep in his pockets, arms gathered in and head slightly bent against the cold as he walked. He didn't look back.

She knew it was freezing out there. She'd been shivering even in her coat. Lindsay would have bet money that it would snow by morning.

She stopped the car, engine still running.
You'll be sorry,
she told herself.

Lindsay pressed the button to roll down the passenger window, letting in a slice of biting wind. “Fred?” He lifted his head and stepped toward her window. “Where's your car?”

“Oh, I don't drive.”

Of course not.

“Oh.” She should drive away now. But it was so cold. “Can I—give you a lift anywhere?” She couldn't believe she was saying it.

“You could drop me off over by the Broadway Hotel.” He smiled at her through the opening in her window. “As long as it's no trouble, that is.”

She usually avoided Lakeside Boulevard because it was in such a busy section of town, but in reality, it was the shortest route home. And this time of night, the traffic wouldn't be bad.

She should pull away, tires screeching. But she couldn't just leave him there.

Lindsay opened the door, mentally rehearsing every self-defense move she could remember from the women's safety videos she'd seen in high school. By now, though, she felt fairly sure she wouldn't need them. After all, this was Fred, and if one of them was crazy, it was probably her.

 

 

It was a strange feeling, being wedged into Lindsay's little metallic vehicle. His legs were bent far up in front of him, close to the front of the car. Still, he could find no room for complaint. She'd allowed him into her car, and that was progress.

Lindsay flicked a little switch on the console between them. “The heater takes a few minutes to warm up. Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” She had no way of knowing how true that was. Cold was something he felt from the outside, something that made the air bracing and invigorating, but it didn't penetrate him. He had no idea how it would feel to
be
cold. He hadn't been above using Lindsay's perception of cold to his advantage, however, to get invited into her car.

Lindsay wasn't going to make his job easy, that was clear. But it would be enjoyable.

And sitting beside her while she drove made a fine opportunity to study her. Street lights came and went as they drove past, playing over her hair—a very fair shade of brown, nothing so simple as blond. He'd noticed the way it caught the light at the party tonight; even in this dimness, it did fascinating things. Her delicate features were contemplative, her knuckles just a little tense around the wheel. Well, no wonder. She was escorting someone who, not long ago, she'd considered a maniac. But she'd been kind enough to offer him a ride.

Not a cold person at all. In fact, for all her attempt at sharp edges, she seemed very vulnerable. What kept her closed off?

She gave him a sideways glance. “That seat adjusts, you know.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you don't have to ride with your knees in your mouth.” She cast him another glance, and this time she smiled. Definite progress. “There's a lever,” she said. “At the bottom of the seat, on your right.”

He groped under the seat until he found it. After some fumbling, the seat slid back. Not enough to let him straighten his legs fully, but it helped.

“Nice party,” he commented. “Nice people.”

“Thanks.” The corner of her mouth curved up again, just a little. She refrained from reminding him he hadn't been invited.

“What do you do there? Phil talked about it, but I'm afraid I missed the gist.”

“Corporate-investor relations. It's like public relations, only more boring.” Another sideways smile. It warmed him in a way no car heater ever could. Fred thought he could bask in one of those smiles for a very long time.

Because it meant he was making progress on her case, of course.

 

 

“So,” Lindsay said, fingering the steering wheel, “how did you like Phil's collection of ships in bottles?”

“I thought it was very interesting, actually. Although he told me he hasn't built a new one in over ten years. That seems a shame.”

“That's why he's always so happy to meet someone who hasn't seen them yet.”

“You like him, don't you?”

She nodded. She'd never given it much thought before, but not every pair of bosses would bring employees into their home for a Christmas party. Phil and Evelyn could be almost parental; they were quick to notice when someone wasn't getting enough sleep, or might have had a recent breakup. It could be a little oppressive at times, but they meant well.

“He's very fond of you,” Fred said. “They all are.”

Fond of what?
she wondered. She'd felt so awkward tonight. Surrounded by all those familiar faces, outside the office, she hadn't known what to say to any of them.

“Jeanne's nice too,” he said.

Lindsay's hands tightened on the wheel. This time there was no denying the irrational bug of jealousy—when she should be planning to warn Jeanne to keep her front door shut. Or giving Fred a lift directly to Bellevue, magical shirts or not. And booking a room there for herself while she was at it. In the opposite wing, as far away from the man as she could get.

“Watch out for Matthew, though. His intentions aren't honorable.”

“What?” Her head snapped around. “Matt, the accountant? He
said
that?”

“He didn't have to. It's written all over his face, every time he looks at you. You never noticed?”

“No.” It would take a while to get her mind to stop reeling from that one. Matt's whole conversation with her had consisted of a blow-by-blow description of his car's new sound system, all six or seven channels of it. Phil's ship-in-a-bottle collection would have been infinitely better.

“You know,” Fred said, “we just spent an evening in a room full of people who like you very much. They just don't feel they know you very well. Why is that?”

“Never mind.” Lindsay clutched the wheel again, then forced her fingers to relax. She slid a glance at Fred out of the corner of her eye. “Tell me more about Matt.”

“Lindsay!” For one second he was every inch the proper Victorian. Then he saw her grin, and he laughed.

They both laughed. Together. It felt like a dangerous precedent. “I knew you had a sense of humor,” he said.

When they had finished laughing, it got quiet in the car. Lindsay fixed her eyes on the street ahead, keenly aware that Fred was watching her.

He said, almost thoughtfully, “You're not seeing anyone, are you?”

It sounded more like a statement than a question. And maybe just a little too casual. Lindsay kept her hands relaxed on the wheel and tried to match his offhanded tone. “No one in particular. Why?”

“It just doesn't seem right to me, I suppose. Someone as lovely as you, unattached.”

From anyone else, that would have sounded like a blatant pick-up line. But Fred didn't sound smarmy or flirty. He sounded, in fact, genuinely puzzled.

Lindsay shrugged, still feigning a casual attitude. “It's not like I never go out. There just isn't anyone serious right now.”

“Odd. You seem like the serious type.”

“And you're starting to seem like the nosy type.” She smiled again to lighten the comeback.

It had the desired effect. Fred smiled back and dropped the subject.

They reached the hotel. Just in time, Lindsay told herself. She was starting to like him. Worse, if she were honest with herself, she'd liked him for quite a while.

The Broadway Hotel stood on Lakeside Boulevard, one of the main streets in town, now fully decked out for the holidays. Christmas lights stretched from one side of the street to the other, their red and green sparkling like the frosting on a Christmas cookie. She could tell why Fred had been drawn to the spot. She stopped in front of the hotel and waited for him to get out.

Obligingly, he reached for the door handle. “One more thing,” he said. “I know I've been telling you to spare yourself all this holiday stress. But you were right about the fudge.”

“What?”

“The fudge you bring in every year. Apparently it's not to be missed. Several people mentioned it to me. It wouldn't be Christmas without it, they said.” He sounded approving.

“I told you so.”

“Well, thank you for the ride. It was very nice of you.” He opened the door, and Lindsay endured a blast of cold air as she watched Fred's long legs disentangle themselves from underneath the dashboard.

Lindsay waited until he was out of the car. Only then did she get up the nerve to ask him what she'd sensed underneath her skin all along, and somehow chosen to ignore. “Fred? You didn't really need a ride anywhere, did you?”

“I didn't need the
transportation,
” he amended. “The ride was lovely. Good night, Lindsay.”

 

 

If anyone had been looking at Fred Holliday at that particular moment, they would have seen a tall, dark man simply cease to exist, leaving an empty space on the sidewalk.

Of course, he knew enough to make sure no one saw. He certainly didn't want to give some poor innocent bystander a coronary for Christmas.

After the brightly colored street, reporting to Headquarters was a bit jarring. If this realm had a color, he supposed, it would be pure white, but there was nothing to see. Likewise, there was nothing to hear, yet he recognized his immediate supervisor's voice quite plainly.

Not unless you care to have us change the scheduling of a two-thousand-year-old holiday.
There was no audible tone, yet the rebuff was plain.
You'll manage.

He found himself reluctant to comment on Lindsay, beyond those generalities. It seemed—unfair to her, somehow.

His superior prompted him:
What do you plan to do next?

He knew just the thing, but he didn't elaborate.
I think I'll play it by ear.

Chapter 3

When Fred showed up on her doorstep the next morning with a seven-foot fir tree, Lindsay didn't know why she was even surprised.

The day had begun with a call from Evelyn, before Lindsay got out of bed. It had snowed overnight, and the roads were closed, so the office would be closed today too. Lindsay suspected the roads would be open by late morning—they usually were—and also suspected Evelyn knew that. Snow was common in this part of Colorado, but it rarely stayed on the ground for more than a day or two. She had the feeling Evelyn welcomed the excuse to stay home and do some more Christmas preparations, as much as any of her employees.

Lindsay resolved not to waste any time. She'd just discovered eight extra hours, and she wanted to make the best use of them. Fudge for the office? Or get more of her Christmas cards ready to mail? The cards still sat stacked on the tray in front of the sofa, untouched since that memorable interruption the night before last. Lindsay's eyes went from the tray to the kitchen and back again.

Before she could decide on her task, the doorbell rang.

She opened the door, and there Fred stood on her snow-covered porch, holding a Christmas tree propped up beside him like a friend he was about to introduce. He'd returned to full Victorian regalia, long overcoat, ruffled shirt, top hat and all. Along with a jaunty red scarf she didn't remember from before.

Lindsay stared. “Some guys give flowers,” she finally said.

He responded with—what else?—a hearty laugh. He turned the tree slowly on the base of its trunk for Lindsay's inspection, offering a view from all sides. “What do you think of it?”

It looked gorgeous, full and beautifully shaped, with no skimpy spots she could see. The incomparable scent of pine teased her nostrils. Lindsay resisted the urge to finger a branch and test the needles for freshness. “I'm sure it'll look lovely in your hotel room.”

“That's not where it's needed.” She noticed he neither confirmed nor denied having a room at the hotel. “There's a spot in front of your living room window that's just crying for a tree.” He turned his head toward her front window, where her Christmas tree had stood every year until this one. And to think she'd bought the little artificial one to simplify matters.

Lindsay felt as if she stood at the threshold in more ways than one. If she let him in now, she might never get rid of him. But how did you close the door on a man who brought you a whole tree?

You said “no thank you” and closed the door. Maybe he'd finally get the hint. Or maybe he'd just appear on the other side of her door again, tree and all.

She tried anyway. “Fred, I told you, I already have a tree.”

“No, you have a little artificial electric weed.” His dark eyes teased and coaxed her at the same time. “Come on, now. You know what a difference it will make.”

If she closed the door now, she'd feel like the original Scrooge. “I had plans this morning—”

“Your plan was to go to work. That's been cancelled. You have a few hours of extra time. It's a gift. It shouldn't be thrown away.”

She had cards to mail, and fudge to make.

She had a man standing in front of her with a full-size, fragrant tree, and the most beguiling smile she'd ever seen. Someone who'd shown her nothing but warmth, even if he did have trouble taking no for an answer.

For the first time, she admitted to herself that she wasn't so sure she
wanted
him to go away.

Lindsay looked at the spot in front of her window, vacant except for a potted plant, easily moved. And she pulled the door open and stepped aside.

“Wonderful.” Fred swept in past her, bringing the breath of fresh pine into her apartment. Belatedly, she thought to wonder where he'd gotten a tree this time of morning, with all of the roads closed.

Before she closed the door, she looked out on her porch. Pristine snow surrounded it in all directions, except for some impressions where Fred and the tree had just been standing.

No footprints leading up to it. No trail of needles. Just smooth, white snow.

Lindsay shivered.

“Here, now, before you catch your death.” Fred's hand came to rest lightly on her arm, pulling her gently back to close the door. She'd shivered, but it hadn't been from the wintry draft.

Fred propped the tree against the wall with care and started to take off his jacket, as if to get down to business. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He put a hand in his pocket and withdrew a sprig of mistletoe, tied with a red velvet bow. He reached up easily and tied it to the hanging lamp over her apartment's small entryway. “No home should be without it for the holidays.”

Lindsay edged back, out from underneath the lamp, but if Fred noticed her discomfiture, he didn't show it. He pulled off his coat and draped it neatly over the back of her couch with a smile. “I assume you have a Christmas tree stand?”

Lindsay nodded weakly and went to the hall closet, making a wide circle of the mistletoe.

 

 

What she had done, she found, was to let in an inexhaustible source of Christmas cheer.

Within half an hour, the tree was installed in its stand, Christmas carols were playing on her stereo, and Fred was trying to master the inevitably tangled lights. She'd seen a number of men wrestle with Christmas lights, but until now, she'd never seen one do it without swearing. “Electrical things aren't my strong suit,” was his only comment.

Not comfortable with electrical things. And he didn't drive. So many little peculiarities, and so many seeming impossibilities. Last night she'd accepted it without much question, mostly out of dumb shock. Today Lindsay found herself grasping for explanations. Where had he
really
come from?

“White Christmas” drifted to Lindsay from the stereo, and she thought of an experiment. “Name the singer,” she said casually. Playfully.

He didn't miss a beat. “Bing Crosby. Everyone knows that.”

So he hadn't walked directly out of the nineteenth century. He was familiar with things that dated, at least, from the 1930s or '40s. About the time of the movie she'd been watching. That didn't help much at all.

Lindsay's temples started to throb with the warnings of another headache. A headache that felt out of place with “O Come All Ye Faithful” in the background. She'd be better off putting her questions aside for now, she decided.

Her headache faded.

She and Fred started winding the lights around the tree, standing on opposite sides so they could pass the lighted string back and forth between them. “I like these,” Fred said, fingering one of the bulbs as he handed the strand to her again. “Most people these days seem to prefer the tiny little bulbs.”

Lindsay considered her larger, multicolored lights. “This is the size we always had on my tree at home when I was growing up.”

“I'm letting you off easy, you know. A proper tree should have tinsel as well.”

“Let me guess.” She peered around the branches at him. “One strand at a time?”

“Absolutely.” He grinned. “Although I admit, that may not be the best thing for your personality type. You make things complex enough as it is.”

The grin hit her just as his fingertips brushed hers to hand her the lights again. Lindsay ducked back behind the branches to hide the blush that started in her cheeks, spread to her ears, and quickly made it all the way down to her toes.

“Who's Steven?”

Lindsay's head jerked up, but the branches between them obscured Fred's face. Her heart thrummed in her ears. Then she remembered a fortune-teller's trick she'd heard about: firing off a random question, in the hope of making a direct hit.

Lindsay said, “I have a cousin named Steven.”

“No, not that one.” Any self-respecting quack fortune-teller, Lindsay suspected, would have seized the bait. “This would be someone more significant.”

“You tell me.” Still holding her end of the lights, Lindsay stepped to one side of the tree and leveled her eyes at Fred with as much of a poker face as she could muster. Her mouth felt dry, but she kept her voice even. “Either you know who he is or you don't.”

“No, my information from Headquarters is strictly on a need-to-know basis. The rest is for you to tell me. They've only told me that you and Steven are to be reconciled.”

Suddenly, she didn't care
where
he came from. She just wanted him to go back there. Lindsay dropped her end of the lights. “That's it.”

Fred caught the lights. “What?”

That guileless stare of his again. Lindsay felt the hot sting of betrayal. To think she'd actually let him into her home. “This is some kind of game. You've been spying on me. Or else someone must have—”

“Now, see here.” The sudden firmness in his voice surprised her. “I've had about all of this I can take.”

“
You've
had all—”

“Yes.”

The Christmas lights in his hands flared to twice their brightness, then blinked out.

He didn't seem to notice. “I understand this can be hard to accept at first, and I've been patient. I bring a tree to your door, and at least you're ready to accept that. But the minute I bring you a bit of news that's not to your liking, you're ready to shoot the messenger. Is that fair?” He didn't raise his voice, but his mouth was drawn in a firm line that looked out of place on his features.

Her eyes went down to the darkened lights in his hands. An electrical surge, she tried to tell herself. Sure. And somehow he'd managed to rearrange the snow on her walkway before he knocked on her door. She'd hallucinated the carols on the phone. And of course, it was pure coincidence that made this man a dead ringer for the actor she'd been watching on television moments before Fred appeared in her life.

When she raised her eyes to his face, he locked her in a steady gaze. He didn't look like he was playing a game. He looked genuinely offended. “What proof do you need that I'm telling you the truth?”

She looked down again at the lights.

Up again at his eyes, still fixed on hers.

And swallowed hard.

“Steven was my boyfriend in high school,” she said. “I haven't seen him in years.”

He frowned. But this time, seemingly, not at her. “That's odd. I wouldn't have thought of matchmaking as my strong suit.” His frown deepened. “What was he, some sort of beast?”

No,
she thought,
I was.

“No,” he mused, “that can't be it. That wouldn't be in your best interest, and that's what this is all about.” The lines between his brows faded. “Still, I suppose there's no law saying that's the
first
thing we have to deal with.”

The string of lights came back on. But he wasn't looking at the lights. He was looking at her.

Fred held the strand out to Lindsay, ready to continue their work. As far as she could tell, he'd never noticed they'd gone out.

Lindsay stared at the lights, then at Fred. “This isn't normal.”

Fred met her eyes as he put the bright string of bulbs into her hand. “Now you're beginning to get it,” he said softly.

 

 

Lindsay tried to concentrate on stringing the lights. Or the prickling of the pine needles. National disasters. Anything was better than the unwelcome thoughts now crowding her brain.

Why did Fred have to bring up Steven? And how could he and “Headquarters” know about Steven . . . unless Fred was exactly what he said he was?

Just when she thought this situation couldn't get any stranger, now he was bringing her old boyfriend into it. She hadn't seen Steven in ten years. Hadn't thought about him in . . . well, that was a lie. He was there in the shadows, especially this time of year. Because they'd broken up this time of year, and it had ended so badly.

Didn't Headquarters know anything about letting sleeping dogs lie? Some doors were better left closed, and she was pretty sure Steven would agree with her.

She sneaked a peek at Fred through the pine branches. It would make so much more sense if he'd appeared as a reproachful, chain-rattling Jacob Marley. He claimed to be her personal spirit of Christmas Present, so why was he dredging up the past?

It didn't make sense, but it was getting harder all the time to deny that this was real.

She knew Fred was watching her, trying to read her expression, even though every time she glanced at him he, too, appeared focused on the Christmas tree. With the effort they were putting into hanging these lights, the tree ought to be a masterpiece by the time they were done.

 

 

Fred let the Christmas carols from the stereo fill the silence while they finished with the lights. Lindsay's disquieted features, and her slightly unfocused expression, let him know she had some thinking to do. Best not to interrupt. Besides, he needed to do some thinking of his own.

What in the world could Headquarters be thinking?

Why send
him
to play matchmaker between a beautiful woman and her ex-boyfriend? If he'd known, he certainly wouldn't have brought the mistletoe. He'd meant it as more or less a joke, although he wouldn't have been above stealing a kiss if the opportunity presented itself. All in the spirit of holiday cheer, of course.

The box of ornaments from Lindsay's closet brought a much-needed change of mood. As soon as she knelt on the floor and parted the cardboard flaps, he saw it in her face. The soft light of rediscovery.