Monkey Wrench. Nancy Martin

she’d invite him to spend Christmas in Tyler. She had often contemplated a more serious relationship with her boss. Perhaps now was the time. Roger might enjoy the endless entertaining, the hours of puttering in the kitchen while neighbors popped in and out to sample Christmas cookies and lend a hand. Roger might actually have fun decorating the tree with the hundreds of antique ornaments Rose and Susannah had collected over the years. Gilded fruit, yards of shining ribbon, garlands of pine—Susannah loved draping the house in finery.

      Perhaps Roger would, too.

      But lying in bed, Susannah knew that Roger wouldn’t care for a Tyler Christmas in the least. He’d hate the pointless chatter, the foolishness of decorations that would have to be stripped down in January. He’d have a terrible time making small talk with the old ladies who’d come for eggnog. He’d find the church service boring and the family traditions charming but foolish.

      Not that Roger didn’t have other good qualities, Susannah told herself hastily. He was a nice man, of course. He had a wonderful head for business and knew broadcasting inside out. He had been a big part of the team that made “Oh, Susannah!” a success.

      But he couldn’t sit in a kitchen drinking cocoa and gossiping about the Ingalls family the way Joe Santori had—not without yawning, checking his watch and dashing off to make important phone calls every half hour or so. Roger was very single-minded. His work was his life.

      Susannah felt the same way. Her work was important—the reason she got up every day. She loved the pace and the stimulation. Although trips to Tyler were relaxing and precious to her, Susannah thrived on her career.

      But oddly enough, she found herself dreaming about Joe Santori when she woke the next morning. She sat up abruptly and threw off the quilt, which had suddenly turned very hot. Just conjuring up Joe’s face caused a warm sensation to curl through Susannah’s body.

      “Why in the world is he floating around in my head?” she groused, reaching for the bedside clock to check the time. “Heavens, it’s after eight! I wonder how soon he’ll get here?”

      Susannah’s question was answered not by a voice, but by a tremendous thunk that sounded from the porch below.

      “What in the world?”

      She climbed out of bed and grabbed the white satin robe she had left draped over the rocking chair by the door. Pushing her rumpled hair away from her face, she went out into the hallway in her nightie.

      “Granny Rose? Did you hear that noise?”

      Rose had just emerged from her own bedroom, already dressed for action in a pair of baggy trousers and a sky-blue sweater embroidered with snowflakes. She was pulling a knitted cap down over her hair and looked ready to go out of the house. She also looked cheery and pink-cheeked—the picture of health. “Oh, that was probably the paperboy, Lars Travis. Sometimes he throws the paper from the street to build up his arm. Good morning, dear. Lars wants to be a football player, you see.”

      “Surely he’d get better practice on the football field.” Susannah sleepily put her arms through the sleeves of her lace-trimmed robe as she followed her grandmother down the hallway.

      Rose charged along the carpet as though powered by a full-throttle steam engine. “Oh, Lars practices whenever he gets the chance!” She laughed. “Good thing, too. He’s just terrible, you see. But he’s very charming. He’s the town gossip, to tell the truth. Almost as good as Tisha Olsen at the Hair Affair.”

      Susannah grinned. “He sounds like someone worth knowing. Granny Rose, where are you going, may I ask?”

      “Oh, I have a date at Marge’s Diner. I promised a friend I’d lend her my coffeepot.”

      “Hold it!” Susannah cried. “What about going to see Dr. Phelps?”

      Rose waved her hand breezily. “The office won’t open until nine, I’m sure. I have plenty of time to get down to Marge’s and back.”

      “See here, Granny Rose! Give me a minute to dress and I’ll drive you down. After last night, you shouldn’t be wandering around the streets of Tyler—”

      “Why not?” Rose demanded, spinning on Susannah and startling the younger woman with the fire in her gaze. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never once so much as tripped over a crack in the sidewalk between here and the diner! I can hotfoot my way down there and back in fifteen minutes.”

      “But—”

      “You’re not my baby-sitter, you know!”

      “If you’d just slow down a little—”

      “The day I slow down is the day I die!”

      Susannah held her tongue, ashamed that she’d upset her grandmother. She felt her face grow hot.

      Clearly chagrined, Rose leaned forward and gave Susannah a kiss on her cheek. Then she turned and led the way down the stairs, saying over her shoulder, “Help yourself to tea or coffee. I just put some muffins in the oven—banana and pecan, a new recipe. We’ll try them when I get back from the diner. Listen for the timer, please?”

      “Of course.” Susannah followed, not bothering to tie the sash on her robe but tiptoeing barefoot down the stairs.

      “After breakfast, I’ll help you pack for your trip. You are leaving today, aren’t you?”

      “Not until I’ve heard what your doctor has to say.”

      “Oh, I’m fine this morning.” As if sensing Susannah’s disapproval, Rose added hastily, “But if it will make you happy, I’ll call for an appointment as soon as I get back. He keeps Saturday hours and will fit me in, I’m sure. Then you can go off and have a wonderful vacation!”

      Susannah didn’t argue further. She said, “I wish you’d let me go along to the diner.”

      “That’s silly. I’ll be back in two shakes. Why don’t you read the paper while I’m gone? It’s on the porch, I’m sure.” From the enormous walnut armoire in the hallway, Rose removed an ancient duffel coat and pulled it on. “Just save me the front page and the obituaries—the important stuff. I’ll go out the back door.”

      “Surely you won’t ride your bike!”

      Rose Atkins had long ago forsaken the automobile as her primary mode of transportation. Instead, she pedaled a three-wheeled, adult-size tricycle all over town—to the grocery, the local diner and her various meetings with friends and clubs. Although Rose claimed she used the bike for ecological concerns, Susannah suspected her failing eyesight was the primary reason she’d decided not to drive her car anymore.