Beneath the Mistletoe: Make-Believe Mistletoe / Christmas Bonus, Strings Attached

“I was telling her good night and she just sort of collapsed. I caught her and helped her onto the bed, but it scared the stuffing out of me.”

Lucy followed him to the master bedroom, where Miss Annie lay against the pillows of the bed while her husband hovered close by. “Miss Annie? Are you okay? Pop, should we call an ambulance? Surely some sort of emergency vehicle can get to us here, even with all the ice on the roads.”

Miss Annie shook her head against the pillows. Her voice was weak, but determined. “That’s not necessary, dear. I just had one of my spells.”

Not particularly reassured by the comment, Lucy looked at Pop. “She’s done this before?”

He looked concerned, but there was no panic in his grave expression. “Every so often. She takes medication, but sometimes she gets dizzy, anyway. There’s really no need to call an ambulance tonight.”

Stepping to the side of the bed, Lucy looked down at the older woman. “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Annie?”

The older woman looked slightly embarrassed at having caused a fuss. “No, thank you. I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep.”

Looking to Pop for confirmation, Lucy hesitated in indecision about what to do. He nodded to let her know everything would be all right. “We’ll both be fine,” he said. “Just need some rest. It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it, Mother?”

“Good night, then,” Lucy said a bit uncertainly, still worried about leaving them alone.

Pop escorted her and Bobby Ray to the hallway. “Good night. See you both in the morning.”

He closed the door firmly in their faces.

“Well,” Bobby Ray said as he and Lucy walked back into the living room, “I guess Pop would be more worried if there was anything seriously wrong.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Lucy wished she felt more confident about that. Miss Annie had looked so frail and tired lying there against Banner’s pillows.

Sensing Lucy’s anxiety, Bobby Ray threw a meaty arm around her shoulders and gave her a bracing squeeze that nearly emptied her lungs of air. “Don’t you worry, Lucy, we’ll take good care of Miss Annie while she’s here.”

She smiled up at him. “I know. She’s become very dear to me in the past few hours.”

“She’s a dear lady,” he agreed. “Funny how we’ve all gotten to know each other so well in such a short time, isn’t it?”

“I would like to think we’ve become friends,” she replied. “And speaking of which…”

Banner’s dog nosed between them, as if to participate in a group hug. His shaggy tail thumped roughly against Lucy’s hip. She laughed as his cold nose burrowed into the hem of her waist-length sweatshirt, touching the sensitive skin beneath.

Stepping away from Bobby Ray, she pushed against the mutt. “Your nose is freezing, you silly dog, and I’m not letting you warm it against me.”

Looking over the dog’s head, she spotted Banner standing in the doorway, scowling rather fiercely as he gazed at her and Bobby Ray. “Y’all ready to get some sleep?” he asked, his voice more curt than usual.

“I sure am.” Bobby Ray scratched his beard. “I don’t usually turn in this early, but we’ve stayed busy today.”

“You’ll want to sleep on the couch again, Lucy,” Banner said in the same impersonal tone he had used before. “It’s too cold in the office.”

Not to mention that it was dark and lonely in the office, Lucy added silently. “The couch will be fine, thank you.”

Lucy and Banner found themselves alone again one more time that evening. Bobby Ray was in the bathroom, taking a quick shower by candlelight. Lucy had already dressed for bed in a pair of navy knit yoga pants with baby-blue piping down the side and a snug-fitting, long-sleeved baby-blue T-shirt. She wore white socks on her feet to keep them warm. While still modest, this outfit would be much more comfortable than the jeans and sweater she had slept in the night before.

Banner had changed into gray sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt. Like Lucy, he wore white sport socks. His dark hair was tousled, and his jaw was stubbled with dark whiskers that did nothing to detract from his brooding good looks. Quite the opposite, actually.

Lucy studied him in silent appreciation as he knelt in front of the fire, feeding logs into the flames, his endearingly ugly dog at his side. The firelight played across Banner’s face, highlighting the planes and shadows of his features. It wasn’t difficult for her always-active imagination to picture him sitting there without his shirt, that same firelight playing over tanned skin and rippling muscle. The image was clear enough to almost make her salivate.

“You’re looking at me,” he said.

Since he hadn’t glanced away from the fire, she wasn’t sure how he had known, but she said agreeably, “Yes, I am. Does it make you uncomfortable?”

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