I'll Be Home for Christmas and One Golden Christmas

“Yes,” Nick responded dryly from his perch on the massive teakwood desk. “Having two rambunctious children and their pretty mother in my house for the holidays is about the most exciting thing I can imagine. And here I was hoping you’d help me out of this mess.”

“They’re people, Nick, not a mess.” Lydia swung around, the fringe on her red suede jacket almost hitting her brother on the head. “I think you needed this. You couldn’t wait to tell me all about it when you got here this morning.”

“I told you all about it because what I need is your help, little sister. They need your help. This is a very temporary situation.”

Nick wished he’d just kept his mouth shut. This whole business was starting to get to him. Still amazed that he’d hired Myla to run his house, he had to wonder at his own sanity. He was reeling from the strange turn of events in his life. In the span of less than twelve hours, he’d committed himself to saving a homeless mother and her two waifs. Not involved? Hah! He was involved up to his eyeballs.

Resolving to get this situation cleared up—another of his father’s rules: no loose ends—Nick gave his sister a pleading look. “This dinner party is important, Lydia. I need to reassure some of our local stockholders. We’ve pulled through our slump, but I’ve still got people jumping ship. Are you going to help me?”

“I’m thinking,” Lydia said, settling herself down in the comfortable black leather swivel chair behind Nick’s desk. “If I help you with this woman and her children and your precious party, will you go to church with me on Christmas Eve?”

Nick gulped his coffee too fast and burned his tongue. “That’s blackmail,” he said, spurting out hot coffee in the process. “You know how I feel about that.”

Lydia’s knowing smile didn’t help his bad mood. “What happened to that almost-human I was just talking to?”

He scowled, rubbing his burned tongue against his top teeth. “I’m the same as ever. And I refuse to be pushed into a situation about which I feel uncomfortable. If you can’t agree to help me, please leave. I’ve got work to do.”

Lydia jumped up to come around the desk. “Oh, Nick, remember when we were little? Remember Mother taking us to the Christmas Eve service? You in your Christmas suit, me in my velvet dress? You cared then, Nick. You loved Christmas.”

“Well, I don’t love it now,” he said, his mood getting darker by the minute. “And I have work to do.”

Lydia stood staring at him. “And I thought helping someone out of a jam would make you less grumpy. When are you going to stop being mad at God, Nick?”

“Probably never,” he said, tired of this argument. Thinking back about last night, he remembered Myla’s prayer. She’d thanked God for simple things. Basic things. Things most people took for granted every day. Arrh, there he went again, daydreaming about a woman he’d just met last night. “Look, Lydia,” he said, “I won’t kick them out. You know that. But we do need to help them. And since this sort of thing is your department…”

Lydia nodded. “Of course I’ll help. But you made the right decision, Nick. Giving her a job was the best thing you could do.”

“I didn’t have much choice. She was available on the spot and I needed someone immediately. Now I hope I don’t live to regret it.”

“You won’t,” Lydia assured him as she headed toward the door, her long black wool skirt swishing around her matching boots. “You did need someone immediately, and I don’t think you’ll regret it at all.”

“Hey, you’re the bleeding heart, remember?” he replied. “While you’ve been out trying to save the world, I’ve been breaking my back to save this company.”

“And you’ve done a good job,” his sister acknowledged. “The latest stock report shows we’re up forty cents per share. We haven’t had to dip into that old pile of money Daddy left us, so why don’t you relax?”

Nick’s eyes grew dark. “I promised him—”

“No, you swore on his grave,” she reminded him. “Nick, when are you going to forgive and forget? Yes, he was harsh, but he was only human. It’s just that we didn’t see his human side until it was too late. I don’t want it to be too late for you, Nick. But you’re already headed down the same road he took—giving orders and doling out cash, never getting your hands dirty, never facing reality. It’s not too late for you yet, not if you realize that money isn’t everything.”

Nick eyed his little sister curiously, still amazed that she’d escaped their father’s ironhanded approach to life. Lydia was so like their mother, good, kindhearted, openly loving. And, Nick reminded himself bitterly, he was his father’s son. “Look, Lydia, doling out cash is what I do best. Money, I’ve got.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s about all you’ve got.”

Defending himself, he said, “Well, I haven’t heard any complaints. We’ve both got everything we need.”

She shook her head. “Except faith, Nick. That’s the one thing I’ve got that you lack.” With that, she shut the door and left.

She was wrong, of course. He didn’t need the added assurance of some higher power watching over him, which she insisted on believing. He had everything 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.”

Nick ran a hand through his hair and gave another long sigh. “I told her in no uncertain terms, that I did not want a tree in this house.”

“She never mentioned that to me.”

“No, I don’t suppose she would have. Well, too late to take it down now.”

Finding her courage, Myla stepped closer to the tree to touch one of the brilliant ornaments she’d found in a huge box in the garage. “The children had such a great time decorating it, I’d appreciate it if you would try to enjoy it.”

Nick’s gaze moved from the tree to the woman at his side. Her eyes were almost the same shade as the lush branches reaching out toward him. And they sparkled every bit as brightly. He couldn’t deny her this one concession to his rigid holiday rules.

“Okay. The tree can stay up, but no more decorating without consulting me first, no matter what Henny tells you.”

“All right.”

He didn’t like her tone or the hurt look in her eyes. “What are you thinking?”

She smiled then, but her eyes still held a certain sadness. “That you have a beautiful house. Six bedrooms, is it? And four baths? And those sunrooms. I’ve always loved having lots of live plants in a sunny room.”

Nick hadn’t really noticed the plants. He shrugged, his gaze sweeping casually over his surroundings. “It’s almost too big for a bachelor and his baby sister, but it’s home.”

“Is it?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“Is it what?”

“Home?”

“I live here, don’t I?”

“Yes, but…oh, never mind. This place is like something out of a dream, but it just seems as if something is missing in this great, old house.”

She’d sensed it, when she’d gone through the rooms earlier, dusting and gawking at the same time. The house was as reserved and cool as the man who lived in it, and just like him, it cast out a false sense of contentment.

Nick sighed, then turned to go. “Don’t try to analyze me, Myla. There’s nothing missing here. Everything is as it should be.”

“If you say so.”

She watched as he left the room and stalked up the curving staircase. How sad that he couldn’t enjoy the holidays. Myla wondered what had made him this way. She turned back to the tree, her gaze fixed on the gold and white angel watching her from the top of the sturdy blue spruce. “I think Nick Rudolph needs your help,” she whispered.

An hour later, the house was filled with the sound of laughter tinkling on the air as crystal glasses tinkled with ice. The aroma of mulling cider wafted through the night while the fire in the massive marble fireplace located across one wall of the den crackled and popped. Myla viewed the cluster of people scattered around the tree, making sure each guest had plenty to eat and drink, while she listened to the carefully selected group’s conversation.

“Nick, I love the house this year,” a stout woman covered in diamonds said between bites of puffed pastry stuffed with artichoke filling. “I haven’t seen it this festive and bright in a long time.”

Nick’s smile was all calculated charm. “Glad you approve, Dottie. I’m not much on the holidays, but my new housekeeper insisted I put up a tree, at least.” He guided Dottie away from the tree, then said, “Remind me to show you Rudolph Oil’s fourth-quarter report. I’d love to have you serve on the board again. We could use your input.”

Clearly enthralled, the woman practically preened. “You know, I’ve been telling Jacob we need to reconsider that decision.”

Jacob, a tall gray-haired man, listened diligently. “Whatever you say, dear.”

Nick grinned, then caught Myla’s eye. He saw the disapproving look she cast his way and wondered what he’d done to offend her. Excusing himself from Dottie, he cornered Myla by the buffet.

“Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” she replied, her gaze scanning the crowd. “Would you like another glass of soda?”

He finished off the cool liquid left in the bottom of his glass, then shook his head. “No, but I’d like to know why you were glaring at me earlier.”

“No reason,” she said, busying herself by putting out more cans of soda for his guests. “I was just watching you work the crowd.”

“And you disapprove?”

Myla gave him a direct stare. “No, I’m just surprised. One minute you’re acting like a regular grizzly bear and the next you’re turning on the charm.”

Recalling their earlier encounter right here in this room, Nick replied, “Look, I’m sorry I got angry about the decorations and the tree. You were smart to spruce this place up…and it looks wonderful. Perfect.”

“Glad you approve,” she said, not at all convinced of his sincerity.

Sensing that she didn’t exactly trust his motives, Nick smiled over at her. “I do approve. So far, everything’s going according to schedule. And I owe that to you.”

Before she could respond, he turned away to greet some more guests, leaving her with the memory of his aftershave. She’d smelled it earlier when he’d entered the kitchen. He was a handsome man. A self-reliant man, who liked to rule over his domain.

This was his world, not hers. She’d had a similar life with her husband, but now…now, she intended to make her own way, with her faith to shield and guide her. She wouldn’t put her trust in another ruthless man. And Nick Rudolph was exactly that.

She watched him play host to the hilt as he mixed business with pleasure and made her feel like an out-of-place Cinderella watching the prince dance with all the other girls at the ball.

“Bill, you rascal,” Nick said, laughing as he playfully slapped the tall, blond-headed man on the back. “How are things looking for your re-election to the Senate? Can I depend on you down in Baton Rouge?”

“Can I depend on your donation to my next campaign?” Bill countered with a hearty laugh, thus beginning a rather long and detailed account of his political aspirations. His wife, a slender brunette in a pricey red pantsuit gave a bored smile as her eyes fell across Myla, then moved on.

The look of dismissal galled Myla, but she knew her place. She’d been poor before she married Sonny Howell. And now, she’d come full circle. She could afford to be gracious to the woman; she’d once been so like her.

Once again, Nick excused himself from his guest to head toward Myla with a purposeful stride. Afraid that she’d done something wrong again, she moved to meet him.

“Everyone’s here except—” Nick stopped in mid-sentence when a loud screeching noise, followed by a bellowing bark and the crash of dishes, rose from the back of the huge house. “What was that?”

The doors of the kitchen burst open as a tall woman with flowing blond hair ran into the room, her black dress clinging to her slender curves.

“Carolyn?” Nick looked surprised, then laughed in relief. “Leave it to you to make a grand entrance.”

The lovely Carolyn fumed with indignation. “Nick Rudolph, how dare you laugh at me? It’s bad enough that you stood me up last night, but now this. You’ve got to do something!”

“Do what?” Nick looked confused. “What’s the matter?”

The other guests had gathered around now, each waiting and watching as Carolyn pulled at a torn spot in her black hose. “It’s Pooky,” she said on a low moan. “He’s in the kitchen—”

Another wailing scream rose from the kitchen, followed by a growl and another scream, this one human. Several loud crashes joined in with the screams.

Nick plopped his glass down on a walnut table. “What’s going on in there?”

Carolyn moaned again and tugged at her hair. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Nick. I brought Pooky along with me to ward off muggers and when I went to put him in Henny’s room, a…a cat ran out and now Pooky’s chasing the crazed creature around the kitchen and when I tried to stop him, well…that cat lurched into my leg and well, look, a fifteen-dollar pair of nylons ruined.” Tossing her evening bag and black velvet cape into Nick’s face, she added, “And I’m bleeding. You know I’m allergic to cats!”

The uproar in the kitchen increased now, the crowd moving in closer, each guest hovering near the swinging doors, afraid to go in and see what Pooky and the mysterious cat were doing to each other.

“Cat?” Nick shook his head. “I don’t have a cat.”

Another scream brought Myla into action. Pushing through the dazed spectators, she called to Nick, “The children!”

“Children?” Carolyn eyed Nick suspiciously. “I thought I saw something unusual hiding behind Henny’s couch. Nick, what’s going on here?”

Nick looked over at Carolyn, prepared to explain everything until he heard Myla’s low agony-filled moan. That moan did not bode well, not at all. Giving Carolyn’s things to the skinny brunette in red, he dashed toward the kitchen. The sight that greeted him caused him to echo the same low-pitched moan.

A tabby cat, scrawny and hissing, sat on a blade of the still ceiling fan, one paw extended in the attack position while a howling, barking Saint Bernard sat underneath, his tongue fairly hanging out of his big, toothy mouth as he waited for the next chase to begin.

Patrick sat in the middle of the counter, surrounded by what had once been the carefully arranged entrees for the dinner party. Now those entrees were not only arranged all over the counter, but also all over Patrick and all over the once white tile floor. Jesse hovered in the doorway leading to Henny’s apartment, her wails matching pitch with the cat’s. The Saint Bernard, tired of playing chase with the pitiful cat, turned and started lapping up what remained of the platter of roast that Myla had carved so lovingly and garnished with parsley and star-burst carved cherry tomatoes.

Myla’s eyes met Nick’s. Of their own accord, her hands came up to cover her face. He’s going to send all of us packing, she thought.

Nick’s face burned with a rage born of shock. “What happened here?” His voice grew deeper and more deadly with each word. “Would someone like to tell me what in blazes happened in here?”

The room, filled with twelve warm, curious bodies, remained silent, except for the occasional hissing from the ceiling fan and the melodious lapping on the tile floor.

“I’m waiting.” Nick circled the carnage, his eyes brown with a fire of rage. “I want some answers, now!”

Finally, a feeble voice rallied from the direction of Henny’s room. Jesse stepped forward, shivering with fear, her eyes bright with freshly shed tears. “Mamma, we forgot to tell you about the cat,” she said before she burst into another round of high-pitched sobs

Chapter Three

The door leading from the garage burst open. Lydia bounced into the room, wearing a black crepe dressy pantsuit, her blond bob shining as brightly as her diamond earrings.

Myla recognized her from the many pictures of Nick and Lydia hanging around the house. But Carolyn…was she Nick’s girlfriend? Nick had been busy doing a good deed last night and now look what it had caused him. Even Lydia’s upbeat mood didn’t help the situation.

“Sorry I’m late,” she began, her earrings twinkling like twin stars, “but I had to stop by—” Her eyes registered shock for a split second before she burst out in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. “Food fight? Nick, why didn’t you tell me? You know how I love to throw my food at you!”

“Not now, Lydia,” Nick said, his growl more pronounced than the drooling Pooky’s. “We’ve had a bit of an accident and I was just trying to get to the bottom of it.”