High-Powered, Hot-Blooded / Westmoreland's Way. Brenda Jackson

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      She fingered the tag. It was sixty-five dollars. When she hesitated, he wanted to ask if twenty-five dollars really made that much difference. But he knew it did or Annie—the spokesperson for the wonders of Christmas—would cough up the money.

      Duncan excused himself and found the owner of the lot. After a quiet conversation and the exchange of money, Duncan returned to Annie’s side.

      “Let’s ask the guy if they have anything on sale,” he said.

      She looked at him pityingly. “Trees don’t go on sale until a couple of days before Christmas.”

      “How can you be sure? Maybe there’s a return or something.”

      “No one returns a Christmas tree.”

      He smiled. “And if you’re wrong?”

      She sighed. “Fine. I’ll ask. But I’m telling you, there aren’t any returns or seconds in the Christmas-tree business.”

      She looked around for the owner, then walked over to him. As Duncan watched, the man in the Santa T-shirt pointed to three different trees clustered together. Annie glanced at Duncan, then back at Santa guy.

      “Seriously?” she was saying. “You have returns?”

      “All the time. How high is your ceiling?”

      “Eight feet.” She turned to the girls, who had joined her. “Did you hear that? These are only thirty dollars.”

      They had a lengthy conversation about the merits of each tree. Finally one was chosen and put in the back of Duncan’s truck. Annie watched anxiously as he tied it down, then she took her seat in the cab.

      She waited until he climbed in next to her before touching his arm. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I don’t know how much you paid him, and normally I wouldn’t have accepted the gift. But it’s Christmas and the girls love the tree. So thank you.”

      He started to say it wasn’t him, then shrugged. “I need to get back to the office. You were taking too long, looking for a discount tree.”

      Her blue gaze never wavered. “You’re not a bad guy. Why do you want people to think you are?”

      “It’s not about nice, it’s about tough. Staying strong. That means making the hard decisions.”

      It also meant depending only on himself—the one person he could trust to be there for him. She might think connecting was everything, but he knew better.

      “You don’t have to be mean to be strong,” she said.

      “Sometimes you do,” he told her and started the engine.

      Annie had never paid attention to magazine articles on relaxation. Her life was busy—she didn’t have time to become one with the moment. On her best day, she was only slightly behind. One her worst day, her to-do list stretched for miles. But now, as she sat in the elegant beachfront restaurant with Duncan’s business associates and stared at the nine pieces of flatware around her place setting—most of which were totally foreign to her—she wished she’d at least read the paragraphs on how to breathe through panic.

      She knew enough to start from outside and work her way in. There was also a fairly good chance that the horizontal three pieces above the decorative plate were for dessert. Or maybe dessert and cheese, and possibly coffee. The weird little fork could be for shrimp or even fish and the steak knife was clear, but what were the other three for?

      Even more intimidating was the menu. While it was in English, there weren’t any prices. Did that mean everything was priced à la carte? Or was there some jumbo total given out at the end of the meal? It wasn’t that she was so worried about the price. Even the cost of a bowl of soup would probably make her faint. But she didn’t want to order the most expensive thing on the menu by mistake.

      She scanned the offerings again. There was a lobster tail, a market-price fish and Kobe beef. She was pretty sure if she avoided those, she would be fine. Her gaze lingered over the pasta dishes. Two of them were homemade ravioli. The twins would love that, she thought.

      “You all right?” Duncan asked, leaning close. “You’re looking tense about something.”

      “We couldn’t have gone to a diner? Maybe ordered a burger?” she whispered, making him laugh.

      The low chuckle seemed to move through her, making her aware of how close they sat and how great he looked in his dark suit. Duncan might be the meanest CEO two years running, but he sure could wear clothes.

      “It’s business,” he told her. “This place is quiet.”

      “So is my McDonald’s, anytime after eight.”

      One of the three waiters serving the table appeared at her elbow. “May I get you a cocktail?” he asked.

      She hesitated, not sure what the best—make that appropriate—drink would be. Or should she wait for wine?

      “Ever had a cosmopolitan?” Duncan asked.

      “Like in Sex in the City? No, but I’d love to try one. Are they really pink?”

      “Unfortunately,” Duncan told her, then ordered Scotch for himself.

      An older man sat down on the other side of Annie. She smiled at him as Duncan introduced him with the fact that Will Preston was the largest plumbing supply distributor on the West Coast.

      “Nice to meet you,” the man said as he sat down. “Do you work?”

      “I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

      Will leaned toward her. “Then maybe you can answer a question for me. My wife loves to have the grandkids stay the night with us and they always want me to read them a story. It’s not that I mind doing that, but they want the same story over and over again. I read it to them and they want to hear it again. Why is that?”

      “Their brains aren’t as developed as yours,” she said. “They don’t have the lifetime of experiences to draw on. So everything is new, all the time. A bedtime story offers the comfort of the familiar and they like that. They feel connected by the repetition, plus they probably hear something new every time. I would guess they also like having you read it to them, as well. Your voice, the way you pronounce the words, all become associated with time with you. You’re making memories.”

      He frowned. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.” The frowned cleared. “Thank you, Annie. That makes me want to read to them more.”

      “I hope you will. Because thirty years from now, when they’re reading to their children, they’ll remember this time. It will always be something you’ve shared.”

      “Do you know what you want?” Duncan asked, reclaiming her attention.

      She glanced at the menu. “I was thinking the twins would have enjoyed doggie bags from here.”

      She was about to say more when she caught Duncan’s startled expression. Maybe talking about taking food home to her family wasn’t a good СКАЧАТЬ