As You Are at Christmas Read online

  “No. I found them at the gym—working out, you might say.”

  “That’s too bad,” he said without remorse.

  “Not really.” She lifted a shoulder. “I’d rather know now than later.”

  He pushed off the door and stood evenly on both feet. “So you’re unattached?”

  She considered his question and opted for humor. “You make it sound as if I’m rolling around, not yet bolted down.”

  He coughed out a laugh, rubbed a hand along the side of his head, and took a moment to regroup. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

  If she had one of Mollie’s Victorian fans she’d be whipping up a gale in front of her face at the moment. Instead, she pushed up her sleeves.

  An easy smile lifted one side of his mouth. “What I should have said is, I’ve enjoyed your company these last couple of days, but I didn’t want to tread where I wasn’t welcome.”

  “Thank you.” She looked at the floral wallpaper. “Me, too.”

  “So what were you going to mention to me?”

  Exhaling her disgust in an audible breath, she refocused. “Aaron—the former boyfriend—and what’s-her-name are coming here for the weekend.”

  Matt appeared as stunned as she was when she’d heard the news.

  “I know. It’s crazy. That’s what was bothering Mollie this morning when we came back from the vet. A Tiffany Collins called and reserved two rooms for this Friday and Saturday, and Mollie didn’t recognize the other party’s name until after the call ended.”

  He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. “Doesn’t he know you’re here?”

  “According to Mollie, he doesn’t. Their reservation is a surprise from Tiffany. Mollie offered to call and say she had no rooms available, but I can’t let her do that. She needs the money.” Angela scanned the ruffled room. “This boarding house is her livelihood.”

  A soft whistle slipped through his teeth.

  “Guess we’ll have a full house this weekend.” She braved a glance in his direction and caught him studying her. “Unless you move home.”

  He held her eyes for a moment. “What do you want?”

  Startled by his straight-forward question, she deflected the missile. “It’s not my decision.”

  Angela held her breath, wanting to ask him to stay but determined not to. Like she’d said, not her call.

  “Things are a little—” she motioned toward the curtains—”frilly around here. You strike me as more of a wood and leather type.”

  The dimple flashed. “Wood and leather, huh? You don’t think I’m holding my own here?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “I’m not alone, you know.”

  She gave him a questioning look.

  “I’ve got Roady.”

  Bemused, she walked to the door and laid her hand on the light switch. “Are you finished here?”

  “Not really, but I think it’s time to go.”

  His remark puzzled her even more. She flicked off the lights and left him in the dark. Trotting quickly down the stairs, she heard his heavier, slower footsteps behind her.

  “Angela.”

  The deep timbre of his voice stopped her. She tightened her grip on the handrail and held her breath as he stopped on the step above her.

  A strong but gentle hand rested against the base of her neck. “If Mollie wants the woodwork painted upstairs, don’t you think we can do it for her?”

  The “we” broke through her resolve. She exhaled a tight breath and faced him. His look held hers with a playful light, and she was helpless but to respond in kind. “You’re right. We have three days before they get here. That should be plenty of time to fill the rooms with paint fumes.”

  He stepped down next to her on the narrow stairway and leaned close enough to brush her cheek with his breath. “Race you to the kitchen for cider.”

  With that he reached around her to the railing and vaulted to the hallway.

  Caught off guard by his daring, she dashed down the stairs after him. “You cheated!”

  Laughing and taunting, they tussled into the kitchen like two children in bumper cars.

  Mollie stood before the stove, hands on hips. “And just why are you two making such a racket this time of night?” Merriment twinkled through a forced frown. “You’re going to scare Roady out of his wits.”

  Angela clamped a hand over her mouth and snickered. Matt peered through the glass into the back porch. “Some watch dog. He’s sound asleep.”

  8

  The next morning, Matt found Mollie at her post, stirring pancake batter. Fresh coffee lured him to the counter. “You’re amazing, Mollie, you know that?”

  “Why, thank you, Matthew. Two pancakes or three?”

  He groaned. “Two. I’m already fighting with my belt.”

  “They’ll be ready in no time, but while you’re waiting you can feed Roady. I haven’t made it out there yet.”

  “Sure thing.”

  The dog greeted him with a whipping tail. Remarkable what the right food could do, not to mention a loving home. Matt filled the dog’s dish with the prescribed amount, and gave him a good rub all over. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Roady smiled.

  Matt checked the snowy backyard through the windows and noted a fence running along three sides. No dog house.

  “He should start going outside.” Matt closed the door to the porch and watched Roady work on breakfast.”

  “Is it warm enough?”

  “Dogs are tougher than we think. He should be OK during the day.”

  Mollie flipped a golden disc. “Well, then, you can check the fence for me. I’m sure it has a few holes that need to be mended.”

  “I’ll look around for a dog house, too, maybe throw something together from scrap out at my place.”

  Mollie set a plate of pancakes on the kitchen table and pointed at the butter and syrup. “Help yourself.”

  “You’re spoiling me rotten. Cold cereal will never have the same appeal.”

  She poured herself a cup of coffee and joined him at the table. “You’re going to think me a nosy old woman, Matthew, but I want to ask you a question.”

  He nodded as he buttered his breakfast. “How can I help?”

  “Yesterday Angela referred to Roady as a beast. Is there something to that? Did he try to bite her?”

  He laughed with a full mouth but managed not to spray the poor woman with pancake. “No, I think Roady may be harmless. Not much of a watchdog, at least not yet. And he didn’t try to bite anyone—especially not Angela. He adores her.”

  “And you know that how?”

  “By the way he looks at her.” He washed down the pancake with coffee. “It’s written all over his face.”

  “Hmm.” Mollie’s eyes bored into him from above her teacup. “I see.”

  Sensing a hidden application behind her scrutiny, he resumed his pancake assault.

  “So why beast?” she pressed.

  He soaked up a small puddle of syrup with a forked bite. “Having Angela and that dog in my truck yesterday made me think of the old fairytale about a beast and a beautiful woman. I laughed and Angela asked, so I told her. I guess it stuck in her head.”

  Saying it out loud again made him feel stupid. Twenty-six-year-old bachelors didn’t think about stuff like that. All the ruffles, lace, and tiny teacups must be affecting his perspective.

  Mollie took a sip of coffee and set the cup in its saucer. “That story has always been one of my favorites. It’s very old, you know, much older than the animated movie version.” She shifted her gaze to the window over the sink. “I like to think it’s the story of God’s love for us.”

  He hadn’t seen that one coming. He sopped up another bite. Sermons didn’t set well with breakfast no matter how you dressed them.

  But Mollie said nothing more. She took her cup to the sink, washed it out with a hand brush that held soap in the handle, and set it upside down on a towel to dry.

 
; Edgy in the awkward silence, Matt finished his pancakes, downed his coffee, and took his dishes to the counter. “We’re going to paint the woodwork upstairs for you. Do you have paint on hand, or do I need to get some?”

  Mollie retied her apron sash, plumping the bow at her back. “You’ll have to get a gallon. I think that will do, don’t you? I saved an old can in the garage with the brand and number so they can mix the exact color for you down at the paint store.” She looked at him good naturedly and patted his arm. “Tell them to put it on my account.”

  Relieved that she hadn’t preached at him, he responded with a smile. “Will do. Anything else I can get for you in town? I’m going to run out to check on my place, and then I’ll get the paint.”

  “Get brushes and whatever you need.” She waved her hand as if dismissing him and returned to the stove. “All I have are tarps to cover the floors and furniture. Everything else belonged to the gentleman who painted last.”

  Mollie was a puzzle. She’d said just enough about that silly story to kick up his curiosity.

  On his way down the hall he glanced at Angela’s closed door. Sleeping in or hiding? He smiled as he recalled last night’s conversation upstairs. She was as much a puzzle as her grandmother. First the angry ex-girlfriend, then a blushing single woman, and finally a competitive rival. Which was she?

  He grabbed his old coat off the hall tree and stepped into another brilliantly clear day. His breath clouded before him, and the dry snow squeaked beneath his boots as he crossed the lawn to his truck.

  ****

  Relishing the comfort of her bed, Angela tucked her knees up, slid one arm under her head, and looked across the covers and out the bay window. Mountain peaks cut into the blue sky like shark’s teeth, snowy white. Powdery mounds lay on pine trees in the yard, and the sun sparkled across them, flecking the branches with diamond dust.

  She smelled pancakes and coffee. The muted baritone of Matt’s voice from the kitchen had warmed her as much as the blankets. She’d listened contentedly as he visited with Mollie, his voice a low easy murmur. Before long, his heavy footsteps in the hall and the solid thud of the front door told her he was gone for the morning.

  He’d taken the news of Aaron fairly well, but turning the tables on her like that—asking what she wanted—had thrown her. To be honest, it frightened her. Yes, that was the emotion she’d not been able to identify. Matt scared her. Or rather, her growing fondness for him scared her. And in such a short time. What if he was another Aaron Reynolds? She couldn’t do the roller coaster again.

  But Matt said he’d enjoyed her company, said he didn’t want to tread where he wasn’t wanted. Oh, brother. If he only knew.

  She tossed back the covers and dashed into the adjoining bathroom. An antique claw-foot tub sat against one wall with a wraparound shower curtain suspended from the ceiling. Plush throw rugs welcomed her bare feet and thick terry towels waited to embrace her face and body. Angela began to fill the bath, and the small stained-glass window and mirror above the basin vanity clouded in the rising steam.

  “Antique luxury.” She twisted her hair into a clip and eased into the soothing water, sinking to cover her shoulders. Her grandmother’s phrase had been the guideline along which they’d renovated the old house—the grace of a by-gone era with the convenience of modern living. This little retreat was certainly a luxury when she thought of the basic bathroom in her Greeley apartment.

  A knock came from the door leading into the hall.

  “Good morning in there.”

  “I know, I’m late. I’ll hurry.” Angela soaped a thick washcloth.

  “No need, dear, I’m running upstairs. Just wanted to say hello.”

  Mollie’s footsteps tapped down the hall, daintier than Matt’s a moment ago. Where did that woman get all her energy?

  ****

  After breakfast, Angela phoned in a “found dog” ad for the newspaper, vacuumed the rooms downstairs, took the trash out, and dust mopped the long hardwood hall and entryway. In a box upstairs, she found the faux pine garland and wrapped the open banister along the stairs, alternately inserting pinecones and deep red silk poinsettias.

  A second round of baking produced more small loaves, another glazed wreath to freeze for later delivery, and several dozen cookies. At one point, she caught Mollie rubbing her knuckles after wrestling with the can opener. The woman would have to give in to electricity if she wanted to avoid the pain. Even in the comfort of the cozy home, Angela knew the sharp winter cold bit into those aging joints.

  Stomping feet on the entryway rug announced Matt’s return. She opened her mouth, but Mollie’s voice chimed down the hall, “In the kitchen.” Angela shook her head and smiled.

  Matt appeared with a paint can in one hand and a plastic bag in the other, which he held aloft. “Brushes, masking tape, paint thinner, and dog biscuits for Roady.”

  “Oh, you dear,” Mollie cooed. “You think of everything.”

  Angela rolled her eyes.

  “And in the bed of the truck, an igloo dog house. It’s temporary, until I can build something better suited to the Victorian era.”

  Mollie reached up and patted his cheek with a flour-dusted hand. “Go give that beast a cookie.”

  Beast? Angela eyed her grandmother.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Opening the box, Matt turned to Angela. “You ready to paint?”

  The white palm print on his face made her laugh outright. She untied her apron and used it to wipe flour from his cheek. “She got you, and you didn’t even know it.”

  Standing so close to him sent flutters up her back. “I’m ready whenever you are.” She grinned. Matt was so much fun to be around.

  She hung the apron over a chair and took the sack from his hand. “I’ll take these upstairs while you feed Roady. And while you’re out there, grab the tarps. They’re in the cupboard along the back wall below the windows.” Feeling pushy, she added. “Please.”

  His eyes snapped with customary playfulness. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Anticipating the hovering heat upstairs mixed with the internal warmth that seemed to flare in Matt’s presence, Angela opted for an old long-sleeve T-shirt in lieu of her usual bulky sweater. She trotted up the stairs to the first bedroom on the right. Matt soon joined her with the paint and two tarps under his arms.

  They scooted furniture away from the window, and covered the floor with the spattered canvas.

  “Paint or tape?” he said, holding the can in one hand and a roll of blue masking tape in the other.

  “You’re joking, right?” She took the roll and pulled off the shrink-wrapped plastic covering. “I don’t even paint my nails.”

  He grabbed her hand and held it close, inspecting the tips of her fingers. “You’re right. You don’t.” He dropped it with a grin, stooped to open the can, and stirred it with a flat stick.

  Angela pushed up her sleeves as Matt’s cell phone went off.

  Retrieving it from his pocket, he checked the caller ID and shot her a quick glance. “Be right back.”

  She didn’t recall his phone ringing since she’d arrived. Who could it be? She had an ex—did he? Last night he hadn’t acted like he had a girlfriend, but that didn’t mean anything. Aaron obviously hadn’t acted that way around Tiffany.

  She ripped off a length of blue tape. Lord, help me forgive Aaron. I need Your help to do that. Help me let go of the hurt and anger—and him.

  When Matt returned, his expression revealed nothing about the caller.

  “If we get a good system going, this should be quick work,” he said, looking at the window. “I’m going to crack this a little for fresh air.” He twisted the lock on top of the old sash frame and raised the window an inch. “With our low humidity, the paint should be dry by tomorrow or the next day.”

  Starting at the window, Angela taped the edge of the floral-papered wall where it met the frame, and then the glass, and metal catch and lock. A small stool helped her reach the top of the window.

&
nbsp; Matt loaded his brush, and she moved to the closet. By the time she’d taped off the wall, doorknob plate, and hinges, he’d finished the window and started on the closet. She shifted to the hall door, and their “system” soon resulted in completion.

  “We’re a good team.” The dimple flashed in a half smile.

  Determined to take an emotional step forward, she looked directly at him. “We’ve had practice.”

  His smile spread. “A tree, a dog, and a paint can. Quite a history we’ve got.”

  They moved to the second bedroom across the landing and repeated the process. When they finished, Angela began folding the surprisingly drip-free tarp. But Matt didn’t take the paint downstairs, or even put the lid on the can.

  “We can do the other bedroom, too.”

  His somber tone set off a warning bell.

  “You don’t want to sleep in a freshly painted room that soon, do you?”

  His expression confirmed her alarm. “I won’t be. That phone call was the appliance store. My furnace is in, and I’m picking it up this afternoon. I hope to get it installed so I can try it out tonight.”

  She was staring at him, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart suddenly weighed as much as the heavy canvas in her arms.

  “Oh.” She forced herself to look away. “Well, let’s get finished then.”

  He took a step toward her, but she hurried out and into his room beyond the landing. The biggest room, it spanned the second floor and had a window in each of the three outside walls. His drafting table stood on the west end where the afternoon light served him best. Work boots waited beside the rocker at the foot of the brass bed, and a down vest and flannel plaid shirt hung over the foot board. Those few masculine items changed the tone of the room, added substance to the ruffled curtains and crocheted dresser scarf.

  At the sound of his approach, she moved to the east window and spread out the tarp. Together they shifted furniture to the center of the room, but the comfortable camaraderie between them had vanished. Angela chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check. It shouldn’t matter that he was leaving. But it did. A new fear bubbled to the surface—fear that if he left, he wouldn’t return. No more…what? Playfulness? Tenderness? Maleness in her completely womanly world?