Hitched For The Holidays: Hitched For The Holidays / A Groom In Her Stocking

Whoops.

“I’ve decided to stay through Christmas.”

“You mean stay another—”

“I haven’t had Christmas with you in a long time.” Interrupting was one of his little habits that was driving her up the wall.

Her father would be living in her house, micro-managing her life, giving her helpful advice. Until Christmas. She felt panicky. Maybe she could rent a temporary office—no, too expensive. She loved her father, but she desperately needed her space, especially during the busiest season of the year for her business.

“I don’t do much to celebrate Christmas,” she said.

Now there was an understatement. Last year she and Laurie had done each other’s nails and shared a frozen pizza. Her best friend was originally from Rhode Island and, like Laurie, Mindy preferred to make the annual pilgrimage home to see her family in the summer.

“This year we’ll do it up big. You and Eric can help me trim a tree—”

“Dad, Eric probably has other plans. His family will expect him to…”

“We’ll work it out. Christmas Eve, Christmas morning, I’m flexible about when we open presents.”

“Aren’t you forgetting Dwight and Carly and Sam and Kim? I can’t imagine you’d want to miss your grandchildren’s Christmas. You always spend holidays at their house.”

“No problem. I called Carly’s dad today. They’re going to take the family on a trip to Florida as their Christmas present. Renting a condo for a week. They’ll surprise them with the news on Thanksgiving. They can still celebrate a late Christmas with me when we all get home.”

“Sun, sea, beach, amusement parks. Doesn’t sound much like Christmas,” she mused aloud.

“Now don’t be envious, Mindy. Maybe you’ll go some place exotic for your honeymoon, maybe a Caribbean cruise. I might be persuaded to spring for the trip as a wedding present.”

“Dad, I have no plans whatsoever to get married in the near future.”

Peaches ambled away and went to her favorite hidey-hole at the far end of the couch where only the white tips of her paws revealed her location. Even the dog was cringing at her father’s premature offer of a honeymoon—or maybe it was his plan to intrude on her canine kingdom for more than a month.

“I have to level with you,” she went on, wishing she could tell him the whole truth without badly hurting his feelings. “Eric and I are only dating very casually. We have no plans for the future. He’s not interested in commitment, and I like things the way they are.”

“We’ll see,” he said smugly. “Meanwhile, I’ll have more time to get to know him better. He’s the first decent boyfriend you’ve had, so I hope it’s a sign your taste in men has improved.”

“You’re not being fair—”

The phone on the kitchen counter rang shrilly, which was probably a good thing. She grabbed for it, wondering if her father saw himself as an aging Cupid with thinning hair and a bum ankle.

“Yes, Mrs. Wilmer. How can I help you?” Mindy said after the Scottsdale social leader identified herself.

Mindy was setting up a database for Kitty Wilmer’s long Christmas card list, a tedious chore that involved reading an endless number of names and addresses written in the woman’s tiny, cramped handwriting, which included thirty years’ worth of additions, deletions and changes. She had to finish soon so the mailing labels were ready for the cards. It was the kind of picky job she hated, but Mrs. Wilmer could throw a lot of business her way if she was happy with her work.

“I have a pencil right here,” Mindy said as she started to jot down a few more additions to the list. The woman collected people as if they were coins.

At least her father got bored and thumped out to the back porch on his crutches for some early evening air.

Christmas! Her tenuous deal with Eric would never hold up that long.

ERIC MET Guy at the athletic club where they both had memberships. They played racquetball until they were pooped, then sat in the sauna making small talk.

“What a hottie,” Guy said, trying for the third time that morning to get Eric to open up about his date at Mountain Monty’s. “When are the four of us going to get together?”

“Your idea or Tammy’s?” Eric asked, letting the towel on his head hide his face.

“Both. We’d like to get to know her.”

Eric doubted Tammy was that eager to get acquainted with Mindy. She’d dragged Guy away before they could even finish their conversation.

“Why don’t you two agree on something important like when you’re getting married?”

“I’m on the road too much right now,” his friend replied.

“Lame excuse.”

“Effective though. I love a sauna,” Guy said with feeling. “Cleans out the pores, sharpens the brain.”

“It’s a good time for quiet contemplation.”

Sarcasm was wasted on Guy. He enjoyed talking even more than listening to his collection of CDs and audio books, the largest Eric had seen outside of a store.

His friend laughed, another thing he did easily and often.

“When you bring the dad along on a date, something serious is going on.”

“Nothing is going on,” Eric said, with no hope of being believed.

“Well, at least you’re over Cassandra. She was as cold as an ice sculpture.”

“She didn’t like you much, either.”

Guy thought that was hilarious.

“Well, when you feel like being sociable, we’ll set something up,” his friend said. “You can’t keep her all to yourself forever.”

“Time to hit the showers,” Eric said, knowing it was also time to call Mindy.

He thought far too often of calling her, but the cautious side of his nature held him back. He’d been through an emotionally charged breakup with Cassandra. She’d refused to accept any share of the blame for their incompatibility and was furious, mainly because he’d spoiled her horse-care plans. He still felt angry when he remembered her resentment and spite.

He’d been blinded by optimism and admiration for Cassandra’s style and class, that and basic lust for a hard-to-get female. He couldn’t help comparing his infatuation for Cass with the way he was beginning to feel about Mindy. Unfair as it might be, he was gun-shy when it came to women like Mindy, whose chief goal was to organize and reform. Better to keep his life unfettered, risk-free and placid than deal with another colossal mistake.

He would call Mindy, though. They had a deal, and he would do his part.

NOTHING WENT quite the way Eric planned that day. To begin with, he still hadn’t talked to Mindy. Now here he was, on her doorstep on Saturday night, not sure how he felt about another cozy dinner for three.

More to the point, what had her reaction been when Wayne told her Eric was coming for another meal? Mindy hadn’t been home when he finally called in the early afternoon. Wayne didn’t expect her soon, but suggested Eric drop over for dinner that evening. He’d declined, of course. He didn’t think Mindy wanted her father to arrange her social life, and he sure as hell didn’t, either. But he’d neglected to give a valid-sounding excuse right away, and Wayne wore him down until there was no way to refuse without disclaiming all interest in his daughter.

What Eric wanted was a private conversation with Mindy. What he was getting was dinner, deception and her dad.

His only consolation was she was probably more uncomfortable about it than he was. She’d gotten him into this, and she’d better have good news about her father going home. He didn’t like this dating charade. Their nonrelationship was getting to him more than he would’ve believed possible.

Probably worst of all, he felt silly standing in front of her door, not knowing if she wanted him to come for dinner. Rather than show up empty-handed, he’d picked up a bouquet of flowers that reminded him of autumn in Iowa, shades of gold and rust like the late fall foliage. They were long-stemmed and wrapped in green tissue paper. All he had to do was hand them over, but now that he was about to do it, the gesture seemed romantically hokey.

Wayne had probably spotted him through the big front window, so it was too late to retreat or hide the flowers in the car. He rang the buzzer.

His wanna-be father-in-law answered the door leaning on his crutches. The old boy still didn’t know how to dress down the Arizona way. He was wearing dark navy slacks, brilliantly shined black dress shoes, and a short-sleeved blue tailored shirt. His bolo tie looked stiff and formal.

“Good to see you, Eric.” He thrust out his hand.

“Nice seeing you, sir…Wayne.”

A spicy tomato smell permeated the interior of the house making him realize how hungry he was.

“Come on in, come on in. Mindy will be out in a minute. I have to warn you though, she’s a little miffed.”

“At me?”

She could be mad because he hadn’t called all week. That would’ve been enough to send Cassandra into a blue funk, but he didn’t have a real relationship with Mindy. She could’ve called him anytime if she had something to say.

“No, not at you.” Wayne laughed a bit too heartily. “At her father. Seems I committed a social nono when I invited you to dinner. Not that she isn’t happy to have you.”

“I’ll go if being here is a problem.”

“No, stay. You’re not the one she’s angry with,” Wayne said, shuffling out of the way then shutting the door behind Eric. “I’m the one who’s in the doghouse.”

“Where is Peaches?”

Right now he’d welcome the little rascal even if she jumped all over him, panting and licking his fingers. Anything to cut off this conversation with Wayne.

“In the bedroom with Mindy. You know women. Always a few last-minute rituals they think will make them look better. With Mindy, it’s usually eyebrows. Pluck, pluck, pluck. Anything wider than a pencil line is too bushy.”

Eric smiled, entertained by her grooming secret. Now that Wayne mentioned it, her brows were dark dramatic slashes, the sexiest he’d ever noticed. He’d wanted to run his fingertip over them more than once.

She came out of her room with Peaches forming a noisy honor guard and stood by the kitchen counter with a grim expression.

“Has he told you?”

She was asking Eric. The bouquet was beginning to feel clammy in his fist. Would soggy tissue turn his hand green?

“That you’re mad at him?”

He thrust the flowers forward, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Dad was being cute when he invited you to dinner. He’s going out.”

So Wayne was playing matchmaker, inviting him over to be alone with his daughter. The sly old devil had done exactly what Eric wanted, given him a chance to talk to Mindy alone. Their deal wasn’t working for him, and this was better than meeting at his office or working things out on the phone.

“I found an old friend from college, Jack Webster, through the Internet,” her father explained sheepishly. “Turns out he lives in Phoenix. He’s picking me up any minute now. His wife divorced him after thirty-eight years of marriage, so he’s at loose ends.”

This was more than Eric wanted to know about the old college buddy, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Mindy. She was wearing blue denim overalls, loose the way farmers in Iowa wore them, but hers barely came to mid-thigh. She probably didn’t know how sexy they were, which was a big part of their appeal. With only a little white camisole showing under them, the effect was pretty spectacular. He was too busy imagining how it would feel to run his hands under the loose denim and down her sides to her panties—if she was wearing any.

She must be. She was that kind of girl, and he deserved a swift kick for confusing what he felt—or didn’t feel—for Mindy with real sexual attraction.

From outside a horn beeped.

“Oh, there’s Jack,” Wayne said. “I’ve got a spare key, Mindy. You two have a good time.”

He went down the flagstones, swinging on his crutches like a kid let out of school and got into a dark green sports utility van big enough to haul a baseball team.

“Nice your father has a friend here,” Eric said, thrusting the flowers in her direction again after she closed the door. “These are for you.”

“Thank you.” She’d probably accept a summons with the same degree of enthusiasm.

“I don’t have to stay.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“No, but…”

“I have spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, garlic bread ready to heat, salad already tossed and lemon bars in the fridge.”

“All that for me?”

He gave her a crooked little smile hoping to break through her anger, although he didn’t know why he cared.

“No, for my scheming, conniving father who never even hinted he was going off on his own tonight until a few minutes before you got here.”

Thanks, Wayne, he thought sourly. Ignite a brush-fire and let me get burned stamping it out. The guy was looking worse all the time as a prospective father-in-law.

“By then I didn’t see much point in trying to reach you, especially since I don’t have your cell phone number. If you’d been late as usual, Dad would have been gone.”

“I’m not usually late.”

Now he was mad, too. Maybe it would be best to leave.

“He’s staying until Christmas!”

He heard the distress in her voice and forgot his own petty annoyance.

“What?”

“You heard me.” She finally took the flowers out of his still outstretched hand, but made no move to do anything with them.

“Now what do we do?” he asked.

“I have to tell him the truth. It was bad enough deceiving him when he was halfway across the country and too busy to poll everyone he’s ever known for potential husbands. I can’t keep it up another…”

She used her fingers to calculate.

“Another five and a half weeks, longer if he doesn’t leave right after Christmas.”

“He won’t be happy when he hears it.” In the short time he’d known Wayne Ryder, even he could be sure of that.

“No.”

She stared at the bouquet in her hand as though just noticing it.

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome, but maybe it would be better if I leave now.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t want to go, but didn’t know why, even though the situation was definitely getting complicated.

“Stay. Please. Dinner’s nearly ready. All I have to do is cook the pasta.”

“If you’re sure…”

He tried to conceal his relief at not being sent on his way. Later he’d try to understand it.

“Anyway, you haven’t told me what I need to be doing for your mother’s fund-raiser committee.”

“So far I’m supposed to pick up donations the merchants have promised. Prizes, food. Mostly last-minute stuff. But if you’re going to tell your father about us, you don’t have to help.”

“Let’s talk about it later.” She managed a weak smile. “Sorry we can’t eat outside. I had to bring the patio table into the living room to use as a computer table. I’m doing my work after he goes to bed. I’ll get the noodles started now.”

“Can I help?”

“You can set the table. Plates and stuff are in the dishwasher. I haven’t had time to unload it.”

He took two heavy white stoneware plates with green bands from the dishwasher and arranged them on opposite sides of a small kitchen table. Trying to keep his mind on his task, he arranged flatware on either side of each plate and folded yellow paper napkins from a basket on the counter.

Without looking at her, he was fully aware of everything she did. He could track her by scent alone, a delicate floral fragrance that somehow permeated the garlicky smells in the kitchen.

She walked over and inspected the table, making it impossible not to notice her eyebrows. They were thin but angled in an impish way, well worth the time her father claimed was spent on them.

“We could renegotiate our deal after dinner,” he suggested cautiously.

“No, don’t even think about keeping up this charade. I don’t want you to keep pretending because you feel sorry for me. I got myself into this mess, and I’ll get myself out.”

“Without hurting your father?”

“Low blow.”

She was gorgeous when her brows arched and her lips formed a pouty little scowl.

Face it, he thought with irritation, she was gorgeous all the time. He’d noticed that the first time she walked into his office with Peaches.

“None of my business,” he mumbled by way of apology. “Remember the first time you brought Peaches for a checkup? You gave me a hard time about stepping onto the scale with her. I still remember what you weigh.”

“You don’t!” She stopped, dropping dry pasta into boiling water before facing him with pursed lips.

“One hundred sixteen pounds.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“It’s a perfect weight for you. You’re only five feet tall.”

“Five-foot-three,” she said indignantly, then quickly reacted to his teasing with a broad smile. “You’re not exactly a basketball prospect yourself. What are you? Five six or eight?”

“Six foot even.”

“With platform soles.”

“Never wear them. Barefoot.”

“Hair standing up straight?”

“No, my usual baby blond curls.”

They both laughed. At least their silly argument had broken the ice. They could talk about something other than her father over dinner.

By her own admission, the spaghetti sauce came from a glass jar, the salad from a cellophane bag and the lemon bars from a package mix, but it was arguably the best dinner he’d had in years.

“How do you make canned sauce taste like this?” he asked. “When I use it, it’s like lumpy tomato sauce.”

“I add fresh green peppers, mushrooms and onions plus my secret seasonings.”

“Which you’re not going to share with me?” He pretended to be mad.

“Maybe, but it’ll cost you.”

There it was again. Even when they were kidding, everything between them was a deal. Just once he’d like to have a real date with her, the kind that ended in some serious smooching, some passionate petting…

He watched her nibble at her lemon bar, breaking off tiny bites with a fork and slowly savoring the tangy-sweet morsels. He finished his, decided against seconds although he was tempted, and kept his attention riveted on her mouth. It was small, but her lips were naturally pink and full. Could they possibly feel as sensual as they looked? He’d like to kiss her for real, nuzzle the lobe of her ear below her silky dark hair, and find the spots where she’d subtly splashed perfume.

She put the fork down with a small segment of lemon bar still on her plate. Why did women do that, leave the final bite when they’d already consumed enough calories to tweak the scale the next morning? Why not go all out and lick the plate clean?

“Are you going to waste that?” he asked, staring at her plate.

“Not if you want it.”

She speared it with the fork tines and held it out like a lure. He rose slowly from the chair, leaned across the table, opened his mouth and snapped it shut on air. She’d snatched it away with the quickness of a blinking eye.

“Tease!” he accused.

He walked to her side of the table. She stood up still tempting him with the bite of lemon bar.

“Do you really think you need more?” she asked.

He’d never seen this flirty side of her, and he liked it.

“Are you my calorie counter, my nutritionist, my mother?”

“Definitely not your mother. I just don’t think that little bulge of yours should get any bigger.”

“What bulge?”

He looked down even though he knew his waist and belly were lean and hard from lots of running.

She laughed, a ripple of pleasurable sound.

“You’re an evil girl.”

“Twenty-eight is hardly a girl.”

“Still a child.”

“Like you’re an old man!”

“Thirty and then some.”

“Aside from one bad engagement, why are you still available, Dr. Kincaid?”

“I’m not.”

He enjoyed the flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

“I’m seriously seeing a hot little number who likes to reform men.”

“Do you need reforming?” She backed away, bumping into the refrigerator and could retreat no farther.

“No, I’m pretty much perfect.”

“No ego, either.”

“Humble to the core.”

Placing both hands on the fridge, he hemmed her in. The white door was cool, but he wasn’t.

“I was only kidding,” she said softly.

“Kidding is good. Kissing is better.”

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and he took that as a yes.

He’d kissed her for show, for her father’s benefit, but this one was all for him, slow and soft until she leaned forward and melted into his arms.

“I didn’t expect…” she murmured as he slid his lips to the skin below her ear.

“I didn’t plan…” she whispered a tad breathlessly.

He moved his hands over her bare shoulders, down silky smooth arms until both her hands were covered by his. She escaped his grip and caressed the back of his neck while he locked his arms around her.

When her lips parted under his, he felt dizzy. He hadn’t allowed himself to fantasize about kissing her like this—well, not often anyway—but the reality of having her in his arms was better than anything he could imagine.

The metal clasps on her overalls pressed into his skin through the material of his shirt.

“I like what you’re wearing,” he said, exploring the contours of her back under the overall straps.

“You weren’t supposed to.”

She took his lower lip between her teeth and gently nipped at it, surprising him again because she wasn’t at all the cool, controlled woman he’d been trying to dismiss from his mind.

“What did you put in that sauce?” he asked when his voice kicked in again.

“Secret herbs and spices.”

He had a decision to make. Should he sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bedroom, or close the blinds on the picture window and…

The phone rang, waking Peaches who had been sleeping on the couch. She barked furiously, and Mindy slipped out of his arms.

“Don’t answer it.”

“Could be my dad. I have to.”

She picked it up, said hello several times, and hung up.

“Must have been a telemarketer double dialing.”

She walked into the living room and petted her dog’s head without looking at Eric. He followed, but she was bent over, showing no sign she wanted to pick up where they’d left off. Damn! What timing!

“Dad will be coming home soon,” she said, her meaning plain.

He’d forgotten about him, but surely two old buddies with nothing better to do would talk for hours.

“It’s early,” he said.

“They were only going to the Ranchero. It’s less than ten minutes from here.”

“Still, we’ve only just finished eating.”

“Yes, but…”

“Would your father be upset if we were, you know, being friendly?”

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