That Maddening Man. Debrah Morris

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “She’s nice enough.” After changing out of the Santa suit, Jack had stopped by his twin sister’s small accounting office to get permission to cut a tree on the wooded property she owned with her husband Ted. As usual, he could not escape her evil clutches without first being grilled like a slab of sirloin.

      “You sure about that? Because I heard she was a real pain in the butt.” Jana poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of her brother. “I believe ‘stuck up’ was the sobriquet of choice.”

      “I think she’s just—”

      “Aloof?” Jana supplied helpfully. “Arrogant?”

      “I was going to say self-assured and outspoken.”

      “You’re too nice, little brother,” she dismissed. “Poor Jig had to kick his blood pressure medicine up a notch after one brief meeting with the lady in question. Owen wouldn’t come out of the men’s room for an hour.”

      Jack smiled. Owen Larsen, the newspaper’s layout artist and town’s oldest bachelor, was notoriously shy. “She’s not so bad.”

      “Looking?”

      “What?”

      “Is she as attractive as I’ve heard?”

      “Depends on what you call attractive.” Jack couldn’t afford to give her any encouragement. Minding her own business was not a life skill Jana had mastered.

      She was always after him, nipping at his heels like a determined cattle dog. According to her, he’d needed to get back out in the world, take another chance, have another adventure. Use his God-given writing talent, and most importantly, fall in love. Apparently, being older by seven minutes entitled her to tell him what to do.

      She just didn’t get it. He liked waking up every morning knowing exactly what the day would bring. Predictability was highly underrated, in his opinion. He knew all too well what the rest of the world had to offer and liked this part of it better. She accused him of being an underachiever, but he was just an old-fashioned guy trying to make a difference right where he was. He enjoyed both his jobs. He couldn’t imagine leaving his many friends to live among strangers.

      And adventures? They were more often misadventures with ugly consequences.

      “Attractive may be a subjective term,” Jana said. “But most of us agree on its basic meaning. So how good-looking is she?”

      “Somewhere between mud fence and Mona Lisa.”

      She gave him a knowing look. “Oh! You like her. I can tell.”

      “You can’t tell anything.”

      “Hah! Of course, I can. You’re not talking about her, so therefore, you think she’s hot.”

      “Remind me again,” he drawled. “Is it Aristotelian or Ramistic logic that enables you to reach such truly cockamamie conclusions?”

      “Jack, you little devil.” Jana reached out and patted his cheek. “You’re spouting big words. You are definitely working on a serious crush here.”

      He gave her a concerned look. “Will you be visiting our planet much longer? Or do you plan to catch the mothership next time it’s in town?”

      “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with you getting a little action, for a change.”

      “For your information, twisted sister, I happen to get plenty of action.” He dated. Some. He was waiting for the right woman to come along. The woman his father assured him he would “know” when he met her. The one who’d “turn him inside out and five ways to Sunday.” He wanted happily ever after and the kind of relationship his parents had. Up until today, he hadn’t met anyone who even remotely filled the bill.

      Jana laughed. “Sure you do. Like I get plenty of chances to dance on MTV. Just be careful, little brother. She’s older than you, and she’s from the big wicked city. A woman like Ellin Bennett will chew you up and spit you out like an Arkansas hairball.”

      Jack rolled his eyes. “What colorful imagery, Jana. Maybe you should be a writer.”

      “Nah, I’ll leave it to you. So how’s the book coming?”

      “On its own terms.” Jack had long since stopped trying to explain right-brained activities to his left-brained sister. “Writing isn’t like bookkeeping.”

      “When was the last time you worked on it?” she demanded.

      “What are you, my conscience?” He finished his coffee. “I didn’t come in here to be pecked to death. You don’t understand the creative process.”

      She snorted in derision. “What do you mean? I’m creative.”

      “You’re an accountant,” he reminded dryly. “Being creative could land you in the slammer. Now, are you going to let me cut the damn tree or not?”

      She fished the key to the property gate out of her purse with a big grin. “Here you go, Don Hemingway Juan. Knock yourself out.”

      Ellin was poking Lizzie’s arms and legs into her purple snowsuit when someone knocked on the door. She glanced at Ida Faye’s weird clock that burst into birdsong every hour, on the hour. Madden was right on time.

      “Just a minute!” She zipped Lizzie up and tucked her hair into her stocking cap. “There. Run and open the door for Santa’s friend.”

      She collected her parka and purse. She had changed into a heavy sweater, jeans and thick-soled boots. She snugged a wide knit headband over her ears and dashed into the living room.

      If she had been one of Lizzie’s Saturday morning cartoon characters, the rug would have accordioned as she plowed to a stop and her eyes would have popped out on springs. The man standing by the door, his hands clasped behind his back, could not be Santa Jack.

      He was younger than she’d expected. Way younger. A good four or five years her junior, for sure. And taller than she remembered. Without the extra pillow padding, his slim, well-built physique was even more impressive. Wide shoulders. Trim waist. Narrow hips. And, unless she was completely out of touch with reality, which was possible considering she’d agreed to this rendezvous, that heavy seaman’s coat concealed a nicely developed chest and biceps.

      His brown hair was cut in a short, messy-trendy style that he must have combed with his hand. With his eyes closed. His bottom lip was fuller than the top and high cheekbones lent his face an interesting angularity. The arching brows were brown, not white. And without the beard, well, you really had to admire the strong chin.

      He wasn’t soap-opera handsome. His features weren’t quite perfect enough. But damn, he was cute. Adorable. Like a great big, cuddly, overgrown elf. He still wore the wire-rims, which were obviously not part of the costume, and the smug look in the merry eyes behind the lenses indicated just how much he was enjoying her discomfort. He opened the door with a lopsided grin and dramatic flourish.

      “Mommy, this is Santa’s friend Jack.” Lizzie performed the necessary introductions as they walked to the street. “And guess what? He gots a truck just like Santa’s.”

      “What СКАЧАТЬ