All I Want for Christmas Page 2

  time. Stay," she ordered, with an older cousin's absolute authority.

  Nell winked at the boys as she stood, then gestured to the other students filing in. "Come on up. Let's get started."

  A lot of the business onstage seemed boring to the twins. There was just talking at first, and confusion as sheet music was passed out and boys and girls were as­signed positions.

  But Zack was watching Nell. She had pretty hair and nice big brown eyes. Like Zark's, he thought with deep affection. Her voice was kind of funny, sort of scratchy and deep, but nice. Now and again she looked back to­ward him and smiled. When she did, his heart acted strange, kind of beating hard, like he'd been running.

  She turned to a group of girls and sang. It was a Christ­mas song, which made Zack's eyes widen. He wasn't sure of the name, something about a midnight clear, but he recognized it from the records his dad played around the holiday.

  A Christmas song. A Christmas wish.

  "It's her." He hissed it to his brother, rapping Zeke hard in the ribs.

  "Who?"

  "It's the mom."

  Zeke stopped playing with the action figure he'd had stuck in his pocket and looked up onstage, where Nell was now directing the alto section. "Kim's teacher is the mom?"

  "She has to be." Deadly excited, Zeke kept his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. "Santa's had enough time to get the letter. She was singing a Christmas song, and she's got yellow hair and a nice smile. She likes little boys, too. I can tell."

  "Maybe." Not quite convinced, Zeke studied Nell. She was pretty, he thought. And she laughed a lot, even when some of the big kids made mistakes. But that didn't mean she liked dogs or baked cookies. "We can't know for sure yet."

  Zack huffed out an impatient breath. "She knew us. She knew which was which. Magic." His eyes were sol­emn as he looked at his brother. "It's the mom."

  "Magic," Zeke repeated, and stared, goggle-eyed, at Nell. "Do we have to wait till Christmas to get her?"

  "I guess so. Probably." That was a puzzle Zack would have to work on.

  When Mac Taylor pulled his pickup truck in front of the high school, his mind was on a dozen varied prob­lems. What to fix the kids for dinner. How to deal with the flooring on his Meadow Street project. When to find a couple hours to drive to the mall and pick up new underwear for the boys. The last time he folded laundry, he'd noticed that most of what they had was doomed for the rag pile. He had to deal with a lumber delivery first thing in the morning and a pile of paperwork that night.

  And Zeke was nervous about his first spelling test, which was coming up in a few days.

  Pocketing his keys, Mac rolled his shoulders. He'd been swinging a hammer for the better part of eight hours. He didn't mind the aches. It was a good kind of fatigue, a kind that meant he'd accomplished something. His ren­ovation of the house on Meadow Street was on schedule and on budget. Once it was done, he would have to de­cide whether to put it on the market or rent it.

  His accountant would try to decide for him, but Mac knew the final choice would remain in his own hands. That was the way he preferred it.

  As he strode from the parking lot to the high school, he looked around. His great-great-grandfather had founded the town—hardly more than a village back then, settled along Taylor's Creek and stretching over the roll­ing hills to Taylor's Meadow.

  There'd been no lack of ego in old Macauley Taylor.

  But Mac had lived in DC for more than twelve years. It had been six years since he returned to Taylor's Grove, but he hadn't lost his pleasure or his pride in it, the simple appreciation for the hills and the trees and the shadows of mountains in the distance.

  He didn't think he ever would.

  There was the faintest of chills in the air now, and a good strong breeze from the west. But they had yet to have a frost, and the leaves were still a deep summer green. The good weather made his life easier on a couple of levels. As long as it held, he'd be able to finish the outside work on his project in comfort. And the boys could enjoy the afternoons and evenings in the yard.

  There was a quick twinge of guilt as he pulled open the heavy doors and stepped into the school. His work had kept them stuck inside this afternoon. The coming of fall meant that his sister was diving headfirst into sev­eral of her community projects. He couldn't impose on her by asking her to watch the twins. Kim's after-school schedule was filling up, and he simply couldn't accept the idea of having his children becoming latchkey kids.

  Still, the solution had suited everyone. Kim would take the kids to her rehearsals, and he would save his sister a trip to school by picking them all up and driving them home.

  Kim would have a driver's license in a few more months. A fact she was reminding everyone about con­stantly. But he doubted he'd plunk his boys down in the car with his sixteen-year-old niece at the wheel, no matter how much he loved and trusted her.

  You coddle them. Mac rolled his eyes as his sister's voice played in his head. You can't always be mother and father to them, Mac. If you're not interested in finding a wife, then you'll have to learn to let go a little.

  Like hell he would, Mac thought.

  As he neared the auditorium, he heard the sound of young voices raised in song. Subtle harmony. A good, emotional sound that made him smile even before he rec­ognized the tune. A Christmas hymn. It was odd to hear it now, with the sweat from his day just drying on his back.

  He pulled open the auditorium doors, and was flooded with it. Charmed, he stood at the back and looked out on the singers. One of the students played the piano. A pretty little thing, Mac mused, who looked up now and then, gesturing, as if to urge her classmates to give more.

  He wondered where the music teacher was, then spot­ted his boys sitting in the front row. He walked quietly down the aisle, raising a hand when he saw Kim's eyes shift to his. He settled behind the boys and leaned for­ward.

  "Pretty good show, huh?"

  "Dad!" Zack nearly squealed, then remembered just in time to speak in a hissing whisper. "It's Christmas."

  "Sure sounds like it. How's Kim doing?"

  "She's real good." Zeke now considered himself an expert on choral arrangements. "She's going to have a solo."

  "No kidding?"

  "She got red in the face when Miss Davis asked her to sing by herself, but she did okay." Zeke was much more interested in Nell right then. "She's pretty, isn't she?"

  A little amazed at this announcement—the twins were fond of Kim, but rarely complimentary—he nodded. "Yeah. The prettiest girl in school."

  "We could have her over for dinner sometime," Zack said slyly. "Couldn't we?"

  Baffled now, Mac ruffled his son's hair. "You know Kim can come over whenever she wants."

  "Not her." In a gesture that mimicked his father, Zack rolled his eyes. "Jeez, Dad. Miss Davis."

  "Who's Miss Davis?"

  "The m—" Zeke's announcement was cut off by his twin's elbow.

  "The teacher," Zack finished with a snarling look at his brother. "The pretty one." He pointed, and his father followed the direction to the piano.

  "She's the teacher?" Before Mac could reevaluate, the music flowed to a stop and Nell rose.

  "That was great, really. A very solid first run-through." She pushed her tousled hair back. "But we need a lot of work. I'd like to schedule the next rehearsal for Monday after school. Three forty-five."

  There was already a great deal of movement and mum­bling, so Nell pitched her voice to carry the rest of her instructions over the noise. Satisfied, she turned to smile at the twins and found herself grinning at an older, and much more disturbing version, of the Taylor twins.

  No doubt he was the father, Nell thought. The same thick dark hair curled down over the collar of a grimy T-shirt. The same lake-water eyes framed in long, dark lashes stared back at her. His face might lack the soft, slightly rounded appeal of his sons', but the more rugged version was just as attractive. He was long, rangy, with the kind of arms that looked tough withou
t being obvi­ously muscled. He was tanned and more than a little dirty. She wondered if he had a dimple at the left corner of his mouth when he smiled.

  "Mr. Taylor." Rather than bother with the stairs, she hopped off the stage, as agile as any of her students. She held out a hand decorated with rings.

  "Miss Davis." He covered her hand with his callused one, remembering too late that it was far from clean. "I appreciate you letting the kids hang out while Kim re­hearsed."

  "No problem. I work better with an audience." Tilting her head, she looked down at the twins. "Well, guys, how'd we do?"

  "It was really neat." This from Zeke. "We like Christ­mas songs the best."

  "Me too."

  Still flustered and flattered by the idea of having a solo, Kim joined them. "Hi, Uncle Mac. I guess you met Miss Davis."

  "Yeah." There wasn't much more to say. He still thought she looked too young to be a teacher. Not the teenager he'd taken her for, he realized. But that creamy, flawless skin and that tidy little frame were deceiving. And very attractive.

  "Your niece is very talented." In a natural movement, Nell wrapped an arm around Kim's shoulders. "She has a wonderful voice and a quick understanding of what the music means. I'm delighted to have her."

  "We like her, too," Mac said as Kim flushed.

  Zack shifted from foot to foot. They weren't supposed to be talking about dumb old Kim. "Maybe you could come visit us sometime, Miss Davis," he piped up. "We live in the big brown house out on Mountain View Road."

  "That'd be nice." But Nell noted that Zack's father didn't second the invitation, or look particularly pleased by it. "And you guys are welcome to be our audience anytime. You work on that solo, Kim."

  "I will, Miss Davis. Thanks."

  "Nice to have met you, Mr. Taylor." As he mumbled a response, Nell hopped back onstage to gather her sheet music.

  It was too bad, she thought, that the father lacked the outgoing charm and friendliness of his sons.

  Chapter 2

  It didn't get much better than a drive in the country on a balmy fall afternoon. Nell remembered how she used to spend a free Saturday in New York. A little shop­ping—she supposed if she missed anything about Man­hattan, it was the shopping—maybe a walk in the park. Never a jog. Nell didn't believe in running if walking would get you to the same place.

  And driving, well, that was even better. She hadn't re­alized what a pleasure it was to not only own a car but be able to zip it along winding country roads with the windows open and the radio blaring.

  The leaves were beginning to turn now as September hit its stride. Blushes of color competed with the green. On one particular road that she turned down out of im­pulse, the big trees arched over the asphalt, a spectacular canopy that let light flicker and flit through as the road followed the snaking trail of a rushing creek.

  It wasn't until she glanced up at a road sign that she realized she was on Mountain View.