Unholy Nights: A Twisted Christmas Anthology (19 page)

She clasped her hands together to resist the overwhelming urge to touch Cabot. He was very carefully not touching her. "Thanks," she said, "for giving up your room. I'm sorry to impose on you."

"Don't be." He dropped his arms and picked up her hand. "When you know me better, you'll learn that I only do what I want to do. By the way, what was Elizabeth saying to scare you? She's unbearably protective."

Dakota looked up at him as an imp giggled inside her. "She said you suffered from softness in a certain part of your anatomy."

Cabot's eyes widened. "She didn't."

"Yes, she did." Her words rang with conviction since she didn't have to mention which part of his anatomy Elizabeth had been talking about.

He shook his head. "Even for her, that's going too far."

"Even for her?"

"The well-bred Boston Brahmin veneer is very thin on Lizzie." He sighed. "Let's go find my brother. I'd like to introduce you, anyway, and maybe he can redeem my reputation."

"Hey, Gordon Gekko!" A handsome, red-haired man clapped Cabot on the back.  "Why the hell are you guarding this beauty like she's your own personal harem?"

"Find your own woman, Rooney. She's taken."

Dakota held out her hand, smiled and introduced herself. No way was she going to let Cabot act like he owned her.

"Can I get you a drink," Rooney asked.

Cabot caught Dakota's eye, held up his hands to mime prayer and mouthed 'No' with exaggerated pleading eyes. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"No, thanks," she said. "Cabot was just taking me to meet his brother."

"Later, then." Rooney gave her a friendly wave and moved away.

Cabot picked up her hand again and they strolled out of the library.

"Where are we going?"

"You want to check out my story about my bedroom, so I need to find my brother."

They made slow progress through the crowds but they weren't in a rush. Dakota enjoyed the warm feeling of her hand in Cabot's. She saw many speculative glances cast her way, and more than one woman smiled invitingly at Cabot. They didn't have to worry about her. She'd be gone tomorrow. But why did that thought give her a pang? She wasn't the type to moon over a guy.

"Hey, Cabot," someone called out. "It's time to party in the hot tub. Perfect night for it."

"Yeah!"

"Let's go!"

A chorus of acclaim was accompanied by a surge toward the back of the house.

"Hold on," Cabot responded. "Sorry, but the hot tub is broken."

Now the chorus consisted of groans.

"It can't be broken," a man wearing a large Santa hat shouted. "Nothing of yours would dare to be broken, Cabot."

"Time for Christmas carols." Cabot swung his arm over his head, pointing toward the piano player. He broke out in song, his strong baritone soaring over the crowd. "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas..." The pianist picked up the tune, increased his volume, and several people joined in. The crowd moved like a school of fish to surround the piano.

Cabot hugged Dakota close to his side as he sang, and she listened to his voice caress her as if it were more than sound. He had magic right there in his vocal chords. Every nerve ending on her body yearned toward him.

They moved from
White Christmas
to
Deck the Halls
and then
Silver Bells
. When the pianist announced he was taking a ten minute break, Cabot said, "Let's resume our search."

"It's okay," Dakota said. "I'm willing to take your word for your intentions."

"I want you to meet him, anyway, and here he is." Cabot drew her to a stop. "My baby brother, Steven."

Dakota looked up. It had been a long while since his brother had been a baby.

"Steve, this is Dakota, the woman I told you about earlier."

Steve's eyes lit up with interest as he shook Dakota's hand warmly. "Pleased to meet you." He glanced at Cabot. "But you didn't tell me about any woman earlier."

"Knock it off, bro. Tell her who I'm sleeping with tonight."

Steve's eyes slid over her. "I'm too tactful to say."

"Clown." Cabot shook his head. "Then who are you sleeping with?"

Steven nodded across the room, his dark brown eyes gleaming. "If I'm lucky, that redhead over there in the black miniskirt and the red cowboy boots."

Cabot grabbed his brother in a neck lock and rapped him on the head with his knuckles. "This is important, you chowderhead."

"All right. All right." Laughing, Steven ducked, twisted, and escaped the  neck lock. He smoothed back his dark blonde hair. "I'm just ragging on him, Dakota. Now that he's knocked the memory back into my head, he did tell me some sad tale earlier about a woman who's sleeping in his bed without him. I guess he's losing his touch."

"You're such a wit, you twit." Cabot cuffed him on the shoulder. "See if you can fake being a grown up long enough to handle some of the hosting duties. I'm going outside for a few minutes with Dakota."

She turned startled eyes on Cabot. "Outside? In a blizzard?"

He grinned at her. "Your choice. A nice walk in the snow, or the hot tub."

She couldn't resist teasing him. "A walk, of course. Since the hot tub is broken."

His laugh roared out. "You're on." He glanced down at her. "The boots are hot. But maybe not the best foul weather gear. And what did you bring in the way of a coat?"

Her bluff had been called. "I really don't have the appropriate outerwear. We didn't pack for a blizzard."

"No problem. We can outfit you."

Chapter 4

Once again, with an arm around her waist, Cabot guided Dakota through the people and into an empty back hallway. When he opened the door, they were in a large mud room. Cubbies lined two walls and they were crowded with various accessories — shoes, boots, scarves, hats, and gloves. A third wall held a long rack of coats and jackets which Cabot ruffled through.

"Here we go." He pulled out a black Barbour waxed jacket. "This will keep you dry."

"I can't just take someone's coat. What if the person wants to go home?"

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean? My sisters won't mind."

Her mouth dropped. "All this stuff belongs to your family?"

"Of course. Why else would it be here?"

She shook her head. What an abundance of riches.

Cabot held up the coat and she slid into it. Moving in front of her, he knelt down to attach the zipper on the thigh-length jacket, and then zipped it up. He pulled a white scarf from one of the cubbies and wrapped it around her neck. Mmm. Cashmere.

"A red hat, of course." He rustled through one of the hat cubbies. With a cry of triumph, he held up a red, white and blue Scandinavian patterned ski hat with a white pom-pom on the top. He smoothed it onto her head. The braided strings fell down around her chin.

Then he grabbed her shoulders, pulled her close and smacked her soundly on the lips. "You look adorable," he said.

Quickly, he dressed himself in warm LL Bean boots, a knee length Victorinox coat, gloves and a navy ski hat.

"Let's sneak out the back, so we don't have to face the crowds again."

Dakota stared at him. "Are you seriously taking me out into that blizzard?"

"Sure. That's what you said you wanted to do."

"I was only yanking your chain."

He laughed. "I know. But it will be beautiful out there. We won't stay long."

Opening the door, he ushered her into a short hallway. "This leads to the pool house and then we can go outside."

"You rich or what?"

"My parents own the house."

She noticed that he didn't actually answer her question. "So where are they?"

"Dad had business in Singapore so Mom went with him. She's a photographer, so she's always happy to see someplace new."

He opened the outside door in the pool house and the wind pushed it back. Using his body to hold the door open, he waved her out.

She stepped into a barrage of falling snow. Fat flakes fell in lines like rain, steadily, piling up quickly on the ground, on the bushes that already looked like they were wearing top hats, and on the drooping branches of evergreen trees in the yard. Pinpricks of golden lights wound around the evergreens winked through the screen of snow.

She turned back once to look at the enormous house, lit up from the ground to a third story. The partiers were as colorful as a shifting kaleidoscope in the golden glow of the many windows. Cabot grabbed her hand and pulled it through his arm. "Doesn't the snow feel great?" He held up his face and she did the same. "Even with the wind, nothing is quieter than falling snow."

She nodded, glad to hang onto his warmth. Her boots weren't really designed for trekking.

"How'd you meet Joe and Brenna," Cabot asked.

"Brenna and I have a mutual friend, Ashley. I've known Ashley for a while, since when I was based in Boston."

"Based in Boston? What do you do?"

"I'm a flight attendant," she said. "A natural profession for an Air Force brat."

"A good profession for someone who doesn't want to be tied down," he observed. "Are you still based in Boston?"

"London now."

"Hmmm..." He was silent for a moment. "Do you like the job?"

"I love the travel part, as you guessed. The work itself is thankless and demanding."

"How did Joe and Brenna meet?"

"They were childhood friends."

"Interesting. You don't hear much of that anymore—people sticking with each other for that long."

"The romance part of their relationship is relatively recent. Brenna cast a love charm and suddenly, it was wedding bells and flower girls."

"A love charm?" He peered down into her face. "What the hell is that?"

"A bit of fun. Nothing more. Obviously, they'd already known each other forever. I'm sure the love charm had nothing to do with the fact that they fell in love."

"Wait." He stopped dead in the middle of the road. At least she thought they were on the road, having circled around the house and walked away from the softly gleaming lights of the party.

"So that's what happened to me," Cabot exclaimed. "You cast a spell on me."

"Don't be silly." She pressed his arm to urge him to begin walking again. If they stopped, she might freeze to the spot.

"What does this love charm consist of?"

"Whose?"

He elbowed her teasingly. "I knew you had one."

"I—I–"

"Admit it," he said. "I already know I've been struck by it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Never mind that now." He brushed aside her question. "Tell me what's in it."

"Fine." She paused for a moment, remembering the red silk packet she'd tossed from the ferry. "You have to get a silver bean, which is the difficult part."

"Where does that come from?"

"There's a lady somewhere on the Cape who grows them, I think. Brenna got mine."

"Hmmm. Never really heard of a silver bean."

"If there's any magic to the charm, I think that's where it is."

"Okay, what do you do with the silver bean?"

"You crush it, and then mix it with petals from your favorite flower. You add your favorite perfume, and a lock of your hair, and you're done."

"Naturally," he murmured. "Is there some wicked rhyme you must chant?
Eye of newt, and toe of frog, Wool of bat, and tongue of dog
—"

"Showoff." She bent down, scooped up a snowball, and threw it at him. It burst against his dark jacket like a puff of powder.

Before she could blink, he'd formed a snowball and lobbed it at her. It glanced off her shoulder.

"The athlete strikes," she said, giggling. "But were you aiming for me?"

He laughed. "Are you challenging the captain of the baseball team to a snowball fight?"

She grabbed some more snow. "Softball pitcher here."

"Ooh, I'm scared." He reached for snow off a nearby bush. She hit him smack in the middle of his chest.

"Left hip," he said, and snow burst against her left hip.

"Right knee." He landed it there. But he was lobbing them, being careful not to hurt her.

She packed her snow into a round, dense ball. "Left hip." Boom. She nailed it.

"Left shoulder," he called out.

She ducked, but he was too fast.

"Right knee." She hit it.

"I hope you've got good aim," he said. "I might want to have kids some day."

"I'd better quit before you lose that sexy baritone," she said. "Who would carry on the Nantucket traditions if the Saltonstall name died out?"

"What's your love charm," he asked, "but a tradition someone started somewhere?"

"It might be witchery," she said. "If you believe in witches."

He moved closer, a snowball still in his hand, but his face serious. "I had an ancestor who was actually assigned to the Salem witch trials as a judge."

She shivered, and the night was suddenly cold and dark. The golden glow of the house seemed as far away as the moon. The wind blew around them with a mournful note, and she could hear the storm-strengthened waves crashing on the empty shore.

"I had an ancestor," she whispered across the falling snow, "who was tried in Salem."

Cabot stared at her, his brown eyes the only warm thing in her world. "Bishop," he said softly. "I'll be damned."

"She was no witch," Dakota said fiercely. "Those trials were composed of mass hysteria, and evil. Nothing more."

"My ancestor resigned from the board of judges before the trials began."

"He would have done better to fight for justice."

"He was considered a just and honorable man. He may have seen that there would never be a fair trial."

"The kind of witches they feared back then never existed."

"Okay." He brushed snow off his face. "I'll bite. What kind of witches do you believe in?"

"In the middle ages, when all this persecution of witches began, they were women who doctored the sick with herbs and potions, many of which actually worked. But of course, nothing cures all disease."

He nodded. "Not then, and not now."

"Exactly. There was a lot of ignorance then, as there still is today, and people fear what they don't understand. Fear turns to hate very easily and people who live on the fringes of society are always targets." She shrugged. "Mobs can be roused by hatred to perform horrors that individuals on their own mostly wouldn't do."