All I Want for Christmas Page 3

  The big brown house, Zack had said, she remembered. There weren't a lot of houses here, two miles outside of town, but she caught glimpses of some through the shad­ing trees. Brown ones, white ones, blue ones—some close to the creek bed, others high atop narrow, pitted lanes that served as driveways.

  A lovely place to live, she thought. And to raise chil­dren. However taciturn and stiff Mac Taylor might have been, he'd done a wonderful job with his sons.

  She already knew he'd done the job alone. It hadn't taken long for Nell to understand the rhythm of small towns. A comment here, a casual question there, and she'd had what amounted to a full biography of the Tay­lor men.

  Mac had lived in Washington, DC, since his family moved out of town when he was a young teenager. Six years ago, twin infants in tow, he'd moved back. His older sister had gone to a local college and married a town boy and settled in Taylor's Grove years before. It was she, the consensus was, who had urged him to come back and raise his children there when his wife took off.

  Left the poor little infants high and dry, Mrs. Hollis had told Nell over the bread rack at the general store. Run off with barely a word, and hadn't said a peep since. And young Macauley Taylor had been mother and father both to his twins ever since.

  Maybe, Nell thought cynically, just maybe, if he'd ac­tually talked to his wife now and again, she'd have stayed with him.

  Not fair, she thought. There was no decent excuse she could think of for a mother deserting her infant children, then not contacting them for six years. Whatever kind of husband Mac Taylor had been, the children deserved bet­ter.

  She thought of them now, those impish mirror images. She'd always been fond of children, and the Taylor twins were a double dose of enjoyment. She'd gotten quite a kick out of having them in the audience once or twice a week during rehearsals. Zeke had even shown her his very first spelling test—with its big silver star. If he hadn't missed just one word, he'd told her, he'd have gotten a gold one.

  Nor had she missed the shy looks Zack sent her, or the quick smiles before he flushed and lowered his eyes. It was very sweet to be responsible for his first case of puppy love.

  She sighed with pleasure as the car burst out from un­der the canopy of trees and into the light. Here were the mountains that gave the road its name, streaking sud­denly into the vivid blue sky. The road curved and snaked, but they were always there, dark, distant and dramatic.

  The land rose on either side of the road, in rolling hills and rocky outcroppings. She slowed when she spotted a house on the crest of a hill, Brown. Probably cedar, she thought, with a stone foundation and what seemed like acres of sparkling glass. There was a deck stretched across the second story, and there were trees that shaded and sheltered. A tire swing hung from one.

  She wondered if this was indeed the Taylor house. She hoped her new little friends lived in such a solid, well-planned home. Then she passed the mailbox planted at the side of the road just at the edge of the long lane.

  M. Taylor and sons.

  It made her smile. Pleased, she punched the gas pedal and was baffled when the car bucked and stuttered.

  "What's the problem here?" she muttered, easing off on the pedal and punching it again. This time the car shuddered and stopped dead. "For heaven's sake." Only mildly annoyed, she started to turn the key to start it again, and glanced at the dash. The little gas pump beside the gauge was brightly lit.

  "Stupid," she said aloud, berating herself. "Stupid, stu­pid. Weren't you supposed to get gas before you left town?" She sat back, sighed. She'd meant to, really. Just as she'd meant to stop and fill up the day before, right after class.

  Now she was two miles out of town without even fumes to ride on. Blowing the hair out of her eyes, she looked out at the home of M. Taylor and sons. A quarter-mile hike, she estimated. Which made it a lot better than two miles. And she had, more or less, been invited.

  She grabbed her keys and started up the lane.

  She was no more than halfway when the boys spotted her. They came racing down the rocky, pitted lane at a speed that stopped her heart. Surefooted as young goats, they streaked toward her. Coming up behind was a huge yellow dog.

  "Miss Davis! Hi, Miss Davis! Did you come to see us?"

  "Sort of." Laughing, she crouched down to give them both a hug and caught the faint scent of chocolate. Before she could comment, the dog decided he wanted in on the action. He was restrained enough to plant his huge paws on her thighs, rather than her shoulders.

  Zack held his breath, then let it out when she chuckled and bent down to rub Zark on head and shoulders. "You're a big one, aren't you? A big beauty."

  Zark lapped her hand in perfect agreement. Nell caught a look exchanged quickly between the twins. One that seemed both smug and excited.

  "You like dogs?" Zeke asked.

  "Sure I do. Maybe I'll get one now. I never had the heart to lock one up in a New York apartment." She only laughed again when Zark sat and politely lifted a paw. "Too late for formalities now, buddy," she told him, but shook it anyway. "I was out driving, and I ran out of gas right smack at the bottom of your lane. Isn't that funny?"

  Zack's grin nearly split his face. She liked dogs. She'd stopped right at their house. It was more magic, he was sure of it. "Dad'll fix it. He can fix anything." Confident now that he had her on his own ground, Zack took her hand. Not to be outdone, Zeke clasped the other.

  "Dad's out back in the shop, building a 'rondak chair."

  "A rocking chair?" Nell suggested.

  "Nuh-uh. A 'rondak chair. Come see."

  They hauled her around the house, passed a curving sunroom that caught the southern light. There was an­other deck in the back, with steps leading down to a flagstone patio. The shop in the backyard—the same cedar as the house—looked big enough to hold a family of four. Nell heard the thwack of a hammer on wood.

  Bursting with excitement, Zeke raced through the shop door. "Dad! Dad! Guess what?"

  "I guess you've taken another five years off my life."

  Nell heard Mac's voice, deep and amused and tolerant, and found herself hesitating. "I hate to bother him when he's busy," she said to Zeke. "Maybe I can just call the station in town."

  "It's okay, come on." Zack dragged her a few more feet into the doorway.

  "See?" Zeke said importantly. "She came!"

  "Yeah, I see." Caught off-balance by the unexpected visit, Mac set his hammer down on his workbench. He pushed up the brim of his cap and frowned without really meaning to. "Miss Davis."

  "I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Taylor," she began, then saw the project he was working on. "An Adirondack chair," she murmured, and grinned. "A 'rondak chair. It's nice."

  "Will be." Was he supposed to offer her coffee? he wondered. A tour of the house? What? She shouldn't be pretty, he thought irrelevantly. There was nothing partic­ularly striking about her. Well, maybe the eyes. They were so big and brown. But the rest really was ordinary. It must be the way it was put together, he decided, that made it extraordinary.

  Not certain whether she was amused or uncomfortable at the way he was staring at her, Nell launched into her explanation. "I was out driving. Partly for the pleasure of it, and partly to try to familiarize myself with the area. I've only lived here a couple months."

  "Is that right?"

  "Miss Davis is from New York City, Dad," Zack re­minded him. "Kim told you."

  "Yeah, she did." He picked up his hammer again, set it down. "Nice day for a drive."

  "I thought so. So nice I forgot to get gas before I left town. I ran out at the bottom of your lane."

  A flicker of suspicion darkened his eyes. "That's handy."

  "Not especially." Her voice, though still friendly, had cooled. "If I could use your phone to call the station in town, I'd appreciate it."

  "I've got gas," he muttered.

  "See, I told you Dad could fix it," Zack said proudly. "We've got brownies," he added, struggling madly for a way to get her to stay longer
. "Dad made them. You can have one."

  "I thought I smelled chocolate." She scooped Zack up and sniffed at his face. "I've got a real nose for it."

  Moving on instinct, Mac plucked Zack out of her arms. "You guys go get some brownies. We'll get the gas."

  "Okay!" They raced off together.

  "I wasn't going to abduct him, Mr. Taylor."

  "Didn't say you were." He walked to the doorway, glanced back. "The gas is in the shed."

  Lips pursed, she followed him out. "Were you traumatized by a teacher at an impressionable age, Mr. Tay­lor?"

  "Mac. Just Mac. No, why?"

  "I wondered if we have a personal or a professional problem here."

  "I don't have a problem." He stopped at the small shed where he kept his lawn mower and garden tools, then said, "Funny how the kids told you where we lived, and you ran out of gas right here."

  She took a long breath, studying him as he bent over to pick up a can, straighten and turn. "Look, I'm no hap­pier about it than you, and after this reception, probably a lot less happy. It happens that this is the first car I've ever owned, and I'm still a little rough on the finer points. I ran out of gas last month in front of the general store. You're welcome to check."

  He shrugged, feeling stupid and unnecessarily prickly. "Sorry."

  "Forget it. If you'll give me the can, I'll use what I need to get back to town, then I'll have it filled and returned."

  "I'll take care of it," he muttered.

  "I don't want to put you out." She reached for the can and that started a quick tug-of-war. After a moment, the dimple at the corner of his mouth winked.

  "I'm bigger than you."

  She stepped back and blew the hair out of her eyes. "Fine. Go be a man, then." Scowling, she followed him around the house, then tried to fight off her foul mood as the twins came racing up. They each held a paper towel loaded with brownies.

  "Dad makes the best brownies in the whole world," Zack told her, holding up his offering.

  Nell took one and bit in. "You may be right," she was forced to admit, her mouth full. "And I know my brown­ies."

  "Can you make cookies?" Zeke wanted to know.

  "I happened to be known far and wide for my choc­olate-chip." Her smile became puzzled as the boys eyed each other and nodded. "You come visit me sometime, and we'll whip some up."

  "Where do you live?" Since his father wasn't paying close attention, Zeke stuffed an entire brownie in his mouth.

  "On Market Street, right off the square. The old brick house with the three porches. I rent the top floor."

  "Dad owns that," Zack told her. "He bought it and fixed it all up and now he rents it out. We're in real estate."