A Town Called Christmas. Carrie Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ m., but the Yorks were closing up the house for the night.

      On their way upstairs, Nicky and Shannon stopped to glance into the entryway. “Good,” he said. “You’re walking her home.”

      “Her?” Merry jammed the red knit hat down to the tips of her ears, which peeked through the strands of her hair. “She’s walking herself.”

      “Meredith, don’t be stubborn.”

      She looked at Nicky. Her lips twitched with a sassy retort left unsaid. From their many long talks aboard ship, Mike knew that the siblings had always been combative with each other, but it seemed that Merry wouldn’t argue tonight.

      “All right,” she conceded. “You win. He can walk me home.”

      “Take care of her like a brother,” Nicky said to Mike with a wink.

      Merry made an inarticulate sound of frustration. “Argh.” She was shaking her head and smiling at the same time, a gesture similar to one Mike would direct at his own brother.

      “You look like an elf,” he said when Nicky and Shannon had disappeared up the stairs. He couldn’t resist touching a finger to the pink curve of Merry’s exposed ear. “An aggravated elf.”

      She rearranged her hair, brushing away his hand. “Are you saying I have big ears?”

      “No, pointy ones.”

      She fingered a lobe. “Really?”

      “Maybe a little.” For a couple of seconds, he watched her fiddle, sliding the hoop earring through tender, pierced flesh. His breathing became shallow. The small gesture was unexpectedly intimate. Almost erotic.

      He wanted to lick her lobe with his tongue. Brush away her hair and kiss the downy skin of her nape.

      They’d sat on the couch for the past hour and a half, with Charlie between them. Whenever he’d gotten up to poke at the woodstove or sneak another Christmas cookie, one of the boys or even Grace had taken the empty place before Mike could slide closer. Sitting quietly among the chatter about family history and town happenings, Mike had been content with watching Merry. She’d contributed a few wry comments and hearty laughs; she had a wonderfully full, rich laugh that rang like a bell. But for the most part, she’d been subdued, not the bold older sister of Nicky’s stories.

      Mike remained intrigued. Why was she holding back?

      “I have to walk you home,” he said. “I need to stretch my legs.”

      What he really needed was to walk through the falling snow, holding hands with a woman who didn’t quite make him forget his self-imposed isolation and the impending deployment, but who somehow seemed to give a more meaningful sense to it all. Perhaps he felt that way because his arrival in Christmas had revived his patriotic protectiveness for hometown America. Or maybe not.

      What he knew for certain was that for now, for one quiet moment, he wanted to think only of Meredith and how good it would feel to be the man reflected in her bright eyes.

      Her lashes lowered, then lifted, almost in slow motion. He thought he could hear the soft brush of them against her skin. Her lips parted. “Mike. I’m sorry about that—spending the evening on the couch with my parents, not able to get a word in edgewise. We’re all a bit overexcited about having Nicky home.”

      “I enjoyed it.”

      Her musical voice dropped an octave. “You don’t have to be polite with me.”

      “No?” He moved closer.

      Her eyes widened. “What I meant is…” She stopped and laughed with a slow chuckle that danced along the surface of his skin. He felt her nearness in every follicle and fingernail and heartbeat. “You know what I meant.”

      He took the red scarf off a hook and looped it around her neck, then let his fingers drift across the first buttons of her coat as if he meant to do them up for her.

      She crossed her arms. Looked away. Defensive and evasive once more.

      Grace popped her head into the entryway. “Good, you’re still here. Hold on just a sec.” She bustled away. “I’ll give you leftovers to take home, honey.”

      “No!”

      Grace returned, looking askance.

      “I don’t need leftovers, Mom. Keep them for the men.” Merry gave Mike a nod. “Hot beef sandwiches for lunch.”

      “Mmm. That sounds great.”

      “At least tell me you’ll join us?” Grace inquired of her daughter.

      “I’ll be working.” Merry explained for Mike’s benefit. “I’m running the family business, the tree farm and the little shop where we serve hot drinks, sandwiches and cookies. We get a spurt of sales from the last-minute customers, these final few days before Christmas.”

      “If you’re sure you’ll be busy, I can send one of our Navy heroes down with a sandwich.” Grace twinkled her eyes at Mike. “You’d do that for Merry, wouldn’t you?”

      “Of course.”

      She gave his shoulder a pat and said her good-nights, closing the inner door behind her.

      Merry shrugged. “It’s a sandwich shop. I don’t need a homemade sandwich. But there’s no use arguing.”

      He cheerfully agreed. “No use at all.”

      The door opened again. Charlie, this time, blustering. “Didn’t intend to interrupt you two, but I just wanted to say good night. And to give my man, here, a word of advice.” He pumped Mike’s hand, leaning in to whisper in a not-very-hushed voice, “Look up.”

      “Oh, for—” Merry broke off her exclamation and whirled away, reaching for the outer door as Charlie exited through the other.

      Mike looked up. On a long loop of ribbon, a clump of mistletoe dangled beside the old-fashioned light fixture.

      He reacted instantly. But while he had the honed reflexes of a fighter pilot, Merry had gained a good head start. She flung open the door.

      The cold air slammed into Mike like a wall. His lungs instantly seized but he got the words out. “Don’t you want me to… kiss you?”

      She hesitated at the threshold, shooting him a quick glance. “Not like this.” And then she was gone.

      He followed her across the frosty planks of the front porch. The railings were hung with thick evergreen swags. Strings of bulbous red and green lights traced the columns and eaves, making the sky beyond the drifting snowflakes seem very black.

      “Hold on a minute.” With his bare hands, he grabbed a shovel that had been left by the door and moved past Merry to clear the fresh snow from the front steps.

      She stood at the top with her hands on hips, back swayed and stomach protruded. “Tsk. Where are your gloves?”

      “In my pocket. In my coat.” He finished scraping. Snow clotted СКАЧАТЬ