he needed. Didn’t he? Head of a successful company, owner of one of the finest homes in Shreveport, possessor of a social book that rivaled anybody’s in Louisiana. His list of attributes spoke volumes about his life.
But that’s about all you’ve got. Lydia’s words taunted him again. Oh, all this Christmas sentiment was affecting his better judgement. It was normal to feel at odds with so much Christmas hype being shoved down his throat.
Remembering other, happier Christmases, Nick stared out the window, mindless of the crawling traffic below. His father had taught him to keep his emotions at bay, and had set a firm example by never showing any sort of affection or compassion himself. Until Ruth died. Watching his proud, self-sufficient father crumble had only reinforced Nick’s own need to stay in control.
Now, he was trapped, so trapped, in a firmly encased persona that gave him a ruthless outlook on life. He’d get through Christmas the same way he had each year since his parents’ deaths, by celebrating with a detached kind of fascination, like the cynical kid who didn’t believe in Santa anymore.
Except this year, he reminded himself, he’d be doing it with a lovely widow and her two noisy kids. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this whole thing?” he asked himself.
“The whole thing is going to be a disaster,” Myla mumbled to herself as she once again checked preparations for the dinner party that loomed less than two hours away. Henrietta had gone over all the details with her. The food was ready; it only needed to be heated when the guests arrived. But Myla wasn’t so sure about herself.
She wore a white long-sleeved blouse and black trousers, courtesy of Lydia’s closet. Henrietta had insisted Lydia wouldn’t mind or even miss the functional outfit.
“All you have to do is keep the food coming,” the older woman had explained. “Nicky likes everything to run smoothly—these people are clients and stockholders, but this is a casual dinner. Just put it out on the buffet, real nice and hot, and keep your eyes open for seconds. The bar’s fully stocked, and Nicky’ll mix what drinks are needed.”
Since she didn’t condone drinking, Myla was glad she didn’t have to play bartender. The rest sounded simple enough. After all, she’d done this hundreds of times before. Smoothing the knot of hair coiled at the nape of her neck, she took a deep, calming breath. The children were tucked away in Henny’s small sitting room, armed with books to look over, coloring pads and crayons, and various other things Henny stockpiled for her grandchildren. They could watch a little television before they were to go on to bed. Surely, nothing could go wrong.
The kitchen door swung open. Nick marched in, whistling to himself. He’d saved the Dallas deal, another coup for Rudolph Oil, and a nice nibble to share with his fidgety stockholders. Stopping in midwhistle, he looked around the kitchen, and then into the set of exotic eyes watching him.
“Who did all of this?” he asked in a deadly calm voice as his gaze trailed over the fresh ivy and holly berry greenery adorning every available corner. The scent of bayberry candles lifted through the air, giving the room a cozy holiday effect.
Seeing the scowl on his face, Myla said, “I…I did. I found the decorations in the garage. I thought it would look nice for the party.”
“I don’t care for a lot of frivolous decorations,” he said, noting that she looked right at home. “I just wanted a simple, quiet evening with no fuss. Did the cake I ordered come?”
She nodded, swallowing back her embarrassment. “Yes, your coconut cake is right here on the counter.”
So it was. To avoid lashing out at her for her innocent assumptions, he concentrated instead on the rich cake he’d had a local restaurant prepare for tonight.
Before he could speak, she spoke to him. “I’m sorry about the decorations. I didn’t realize—”
“Never mind,” he said on a tired sigh. “It is Christmas, after all, and I do need to appear all jolly-holly for these people.”
Myla leaned against the counter to steady her nerves. “Everything’s in order. The table’s set. The food’s ready. I really didn’t have that much to take care of.”
“Plenty to drink?” he asked as he scanned the mail lying on the countertop.
She lifted her shoulders. “Yes, but I must tell you, I don’t drink and I’d prefer not to have to mix drinks for your guests.”
He shrugged. To each his own. “I’ll take care of that, then. But don’t worry. I don’t expect this stoic crowd to get too wild.”
Relieved to hear that, Myla relaxed a little. “Henny told me how important this is to you.”
He moved into the room, throwing his briefcase on a desk in the corner before heading to the refrigerator. “Henny’s very efficient. She knows how these functions work. The old-boy networking system never slows down.”
Myla noticed the lines of fatigue around his eyes. He seemed so cool and in charge that she found it hard to believe he could be worried. “Can I get you anything?” she asked.
“Nah, I’ll just have some juice.” Spying a tray of appetizers in the refrigerator, he picked up a cracker covered with a shrimp mixture and popped it into his mouth. “That’s good,” he said between chews.
“I found the shrimp in the freezer,” she explained. “I know the recipe by heart.”
“You’re in charge of the kitchen,” he said by way of appreciation. “Do you need anything?”
I need to have my head examined, she thought. She was terrified of being here, but she needed this job. She wouldn’t allow her children to be homeless again.
“No, Henny went over the schedule with me.”
“Good.” Nick placed the empty juice glass in the sink. “Guess I’ll head up to get a shower.” Turning back on his tasseled loafers, he asked, “How’s Jesse?”
“Much better.” Touched that he’d bothered to ask, Myla guessed he was just being polite. “Her fever is down.” At his questioning look, she added, “They’re in Henny’s room, all settled in.”
He nodded, wondering why he’d become so tongue-tied all of a sudden. “By the way, your car’s in the auto shop. It should be fixed in a couple of days. Your belongings will be delivered tomorrow.”
“But…” Myla began, not knowing how to ever thank him. He’d taken care of everything in such a businesslike manner. She supposed he was used to taking matters into his own hands, while she was just beginning to learn how to deal with everyday problems on her own. “Thank you,” she said, her voice tapping down the tad of resentment she couldn’t deny.
He raised a hand to ward off her gratitude. “It was no trouble and besides, I’m depending on you to run my house. You can’t do that if you’re out trying to get your car fixed.”
“Good point,” she reluctantly agreed. He didn’t take compliments or praise very well. “I’m sorry for all this trouble.”
Nick shrugged. “Don’t worry. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll send you the bill.”
“I insist,” she said as she watched him plow through the swinging door to the hallway. Somehow, she’d pay him back for his kindness, but she couldn’t say if it would make her feel better or not.
Nick’s bellowing call from the den brought her head up. Rushing through the swinging door, she flew down the hall to the other room to find him standing in front of the tree she and the children had put up that afternoon.
“What’s this?” he asked, his hands on his hips, his chin jutting out as he stared at the eight-foot-tall evergreen.
“It’s a Christmas tree, of course,” she said, wondering why the fresh-cut tree seemed to be bothering him so much. “Henny called a nursery and had it delivered.”