All I Want for Christmas Page 12

  hand and put all his charm into his eyes. "Please? Come see our tree and the lights. We put lights everywhere so you can see them from all the way down on the road."

  "I'd like that." Testing the water, she glanced up at Mac. "But your dad might be tired."

  He wasn't tired, he was flattened. Her lashes were still damp, and the little pin the kids had given her glinted against her velvet jacket. "You're welcome to come out, if you don't mind the drive."

  "I'd like it. I'm still wired up." She straightened, searching for some sign of welcome or rebuff in Mac's face. "If you're sure it isn't a bad time."

  "No." His tongue was thick, he realized. As if he'd been drinking. "I want to talk to you."

  "I'll head out as soon as I'm finished here, then." She winked at the boys and melted back into the crowd.

  "She's done wonders with those kids." Mrs. Hollis nodded to Mac. "It'll be a shame to lose her."

  "Lose her?" Mac glanced down at his boys, but they were already in a huddle, exchanging whispers. "What do you mean?"

  "I heard from Mr. Perkins, who got it from Addie McVie at the high school office, that Nell Davis was of­fered her old position back at that New York school starting next fall. Nell and the principal had themselves a conference just this morning." Mrs. Hollis babbled on as Mac stared blankly over her head. "Hate to think about her leaving us. Made a difference with these kids." She spied one of her gossip buddies and elbowed her way through the crowd.

  Chapter 9

  Control came easily to Mac—or at least it had for the past seven years. He used all the control at his disposal to keep his foul mood and bubbling temper from the boys.

  They were so excited about her coming, he thought bitterly. Wanted to make certain all the lights were lit, the cookies were out, the decorative bell was hung on Zark's collar.

  They were in love with her, too, he realized. And that made it a hell of a mess.

  He should have known better. He had known better. Somehow he'd let it happen anyway. Let himself slip, let himself fall. And he'd dragged his kids along with him.

  Well, he'd have to fix it, wouldn't he? Mac got himself a beer, tipped the bottle back. He was good at fixing things.

  "Ladies like wine," Zack informed him. "Like Aunt Mira does."

  He remembered Nell had sipped white wine at Mira's party. "I don't have any," he muttered.

  Because his father looked unhappy, Zack hugged Mac's leg. "You can buy some before she comes over next time."

  Reaching down, Mac cupped his son's upturned face. The love was so strong, so vital, Mac could all but feel it grip him by the throat. "Always got an answer, don't you, pal?"

  "You like her, don't you, Dad?"

  "Yeah, she's nice."

  "And she likes us, too, right?"

  "Hey, who wouldn't like the Taylor guys?" He sat at the kitchen table, pulled Zack into his lap. He'd discov­ered when his sons were infants that there was nothing more magical than holding your own child. "Most of the time I even like you."

  That made Zack giggle and cuddle closer. "She has to live all by herself, though." Zack began to play with the buttons of his father's shirt. A sure sign, Mac knew, that he was leading up to something.

  "Lots of people live alone."

  "We've got a big house, and two whole rooms nobody sleeps in except when Grandma and Pop come to visit."

  His radar was humming. Mac tugged on his son's ear. "Zack, what are you getting at?"

  "Nothing." Lip poked out, Zack toyed with another button. "I was just wondering what it would be like if she came and lived here." He peeked up under his lashes. "So she wouldn't be lonely."

  "Nobody said she was lonely," Mac pointed out. "And I think you should—"

  The doorbell rang, sending the dog into a fit of excited barking and jingling. Zeke flew into the kitchen, dancing from foot to foot. "She's here! She's here!"

  "I got the picture." Mac ruffled Zack's hair, set him on his feet. "Well, let her in. It's cold out."

  "I'll do it!"

  "I'll do it!"

  The twins had a fierce race through the house to the front door. They hit it together, fought over the knob, then all but dragged Nell over the threshold once they'd yanked the door open.

  "You took so long," Zeke complained. "We've been waiting forever. I put on Christmas music. Hear? And we've got the tree lit and everything."

  "So I see." It was a lovely room, one she tried not to resent having only now been invited into.

  She knew Mac had built most of the house himself. He'd told her that much. He'd created an open, homey space, with lots of wood, a glass-fronted fireplace where stockings were already hung. The tree, a six-foot blue spruce, was wildly decorated and placed with pride in front of the wide front window.

  "It's terrific." Letting the boys pull her along, Nell crossed over to give the tree a closer look. "Really won­derful. It makes the little one in my apartment look scrawny."

  "You can share ours." Zack looked up at her, his heart in his eyes. "We can get you a stocking and everything, and have your name put on it."

  "They do it at the mall," Zeke told her. "We'll get you a big one."

  Now they were pulling at her heart, as well as her hands. Filled with the emotion of the moment, she crouched down to hug them to her. "You guys are the best." She laughed as Zark pushed in for attention. "You, too." Her arms full of kids and dog, she looked up to smile at Mac as he stepped in from the kitchen. "Hi. Sorry I took so long. Some of the kids hung around, wanting to go over every mistake and triumph of the concert."

  She shouldn't look so right, so perfect, snuggling his boys under the tree. "I didn't hear any mistakes."

  "They were there. But we'll work on them."

  She scooted back, sitting on a hassock and taking both boys with her. As if, Mac thought, she meant to keep them.

  "We don't have any wine," Zack informed her sol­emnly. "But we have milk and juice and sodas and beer. Lots of other things. Or..." He cast a crafty look in his father's direction. "Somebody could make hot cocoa."

  "One of my specialties." Nell stood to shrug out of her coat. "Where's the kitchen?"

  "I'll make it," Mac muttered.

  "I'll help." Baffled by his sudden distance, she walked to him. "Or don't you like women in your kitchen?"

  "We don't get many around here. You looked good up onstage."

  "Thanks. It felt good being there."

  He looked past her, into the wide, anticipation-filled eyes of his children. "Why don't you two go change into your pajamas? The cocoa'll be finished by the time you are."

  "We'll be faster," Zeke vowed, and shot toward the stairs.

  "Only if you throw your clothes on the floor. And don't." He turned back into the kitchen.

  "Will they hang them up, or push them under the bed?" Nell asked.

  "Zack'll hang them up and they'll fall on the floor. Zeke'll push them under the bed."

  She laughed, watching him get out milk and cocoa. "I meant to tell you, a few days ago they came in with Kim to rehearsal. They'd switched sweaters—you know, the color code. I really impressed them when I knew who was who anyway."

  He paused in the act of measuring cocoa into a pan. "How did you?"

  "I guess I didn't think about it. They're each their own person. Facial expressions. You know how Zeke's eyes narrow and Zack looks under his lashes when they're pleased about something. Inflections in the voice." She opened a cupboard at random, looking for mugs. "Pos­ture. There are all sorts of little clues if you pay attention and look closely enough. Ah, found them." Pleased with herself, she took out four mugs and set them on the counter. She tilted her head when she saw him studying her. Analytically, she thought. As if she were something to be measured and fit into place. "Is something wrong?"

  "I wanted to talk to you." He busied himself with heat­ing the cocoa.

  "So you said." She found she needed to steady herself with a hand on the counter. "Mac, am I misreading something, or ar
e you pulling back?"

  "I don't know that I'd call it that."

  Something was going to hurt. Nell braced for it. "What would you call it?" she said, as calmly as she could.

  "I'm a little concerned about the boys. About the fall­out when you move on. They're getting too involved." Why did that sound so stupid? he wondered. Why did he feel so stupid?

  "They are?"

  "I think we've been sending the wrong signals, and it would be best for them if we backed off." He concen­trated on the cocoa as if it were a nuclear experiment. "We've gone out a few times, and we've..."

  "Slept together," she finished, cool now. It was the last defense.

  He looked around, sharply. But he could still hear the stomping of little feet in the room overhead. "Yeah. We've slept together, and it was great. The thing is, kids pick up on more things than most people think. And they get ideas. They get attached."

  "And you don't want them to get attached to me." Yes, she realized. It was going to hurt. "You don't want to get attached."

  "I just think it would be a mistake to take it any fur­ther."

  "Clear enough. The No Trespassing signs are back up, and I'm out."

  "It's not like that, Nell." He set the spoon down, took a step toward her. But there was a line he couldn't quite cross. A line he'd created himself. If he didn't make cer­tain they both stayed on their own sides of it, the life he'd so carefully built could crumble. "I've got things under control here, and I need to keep them that way. I'm all they've got. They're all I've got. I can't mess that up."

  "No explanations necessary." Her voice had thickened. In a moment, she knew, it would begin to shake. "You made it clear from the beginning. Crystal-clear. Funny, the first time you invite me into your home, it's to toss me out."

  "I'm not tossing you out, I'm trying to realign things."