Page 91 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses
Adam swung his head up and loosened his hold for one stunned moment. The tree teetered to the left and upended with a violent cough of dirt. It whacked the ceiling before landing on the maroon and gold carpet, the tip settling neatly atop the blazing logs in the fireplace.
“Tan, pull that thing out before we burn down the house.”
They each grabbed a limb and tugged. With a spray of orange sparks, the tree skidded across the floor, carpet wadding beneath. A trail of smoke swirled amidst the stench of burning pine.
“Dammit,” Adam said and kicked the closet branch. Thinking better of it, he threw a glance over his shoulder.
“Don’t worry, coward. She’s not there.”
Adam tossed a defiant glare in Tanner’s direction and kicked the tree again for good measure. “You’re in love with her.” Blatant disgust laced his words.
“I suppose so...yes.” He had realized this from the beginning. Admitting it was another story.
“For how long?”
He shrugged, plucking at a pine needle stuck to his sleeve. “Since the first day I met her.”
“And you told her this when?”
“Um, never.”
Adam yanked one glove, then the other, from his hands. “Drowning your sorrow in a sea of milky-white breasts didn’t work?”
“Does it look like that worked?” A sea of breasts. Tanner cringed as a line of women paraded before him, as they had when Kat called him—what was it—an indiscriminate boor?
Adam eyed him for a moment, then shook his head. “That bad, huh?”
“Bad? Well....” Blondes. Brunettes. Redheads. Hoarse laughter and awkward endearments hissed across wrinkled sheets. No matter how he’d searched, not a speck of amber to be found in any of their eyes.
“You’ll never change, Tan.”
“I changed two years ago,” he said and jerked his shoulder, sending a stab of pain up his arm. “Well, are you going to help me or not? I need to talk with her. Catch her alone somehow. Maybe Charlie can corner her in your filthy kitchen.”
“I don’t know about enlisting Charlie’s assistance. Kate seems to have won her over.” Adam sighed, staring at the tree sprawled across his feet. “Besides, you messed this up pretty good. I don’t know if your relationship can be salvaged.”
“Don’t you think I realize that?” Tanner grasped a limb, needles crackling beneath his boot. “I have to talk to her. Her mother stands guard at her shop.” With a twist, he embedded the trunk in sand. “And, I can’t get near her in Richmond. Believe me, I tried.”
Adam wiped his wrist across his brow, grabbed the moss Charlie had scoured the woods for, and settled the greenery around the trunk. Sitting back on his heels, he examined the arrangement, his gaze thoughtful. “If Kate’s trying to stay away from you, do you think it might be for the best?”
Tanner tugged his fingers through his hair. Laughter—shrill, low, indifferent—trickled from the parlor. Charlie, telling someone to dip the string of cranberries in red wax, the dried peas in green. Kat, laughing, saying she would dip hers in both, thank you very much. Lila, who was chasing after him like a bitch in heat, complaining about a drop of wax on her boot.
Weary, he rubbed his eyes, his jaw. Lord, he was lonely to the pits of his soul. A shiver shook him, but not one caused by the wintry bite in the room. He shivered because he felt so removed—from love, from home, from family. Almost a year had passed since he had last talked to his. An argument with his father about his future at the bank; a future he wanted no part of. He had not seen his niece since her chubby legs had just begun to catapult her across the floor.
Yes, he could abandon his pursuit of Kat Peters. Raise a white flag in defeat. Let her return to Richmond, marry Crawford whose-it. Wait to stumble upon her on a crowded street, a plump child in her arms, a downy, auburn head snuggled against her breast. Her beautiful eyes inspecting his face, then dodging away.
No. Kat belonged to him.
Tanner shook himself from his musing, found Adam’s attention centered on him. Too perceptive, as usual. He sighed and shoved his hand in his trouser pocket, digging deep. Closing his fingers around metal, he drew a hairpin from his pocket and flipped it into the air with his thumb.
Catching it, Adam twirled the hairpin between his fingers. He angled a dubious look at Tanner. “A hairpin?”
“I went to Kat’s house the afternoon the story came out. She was leaning from a window, threw a rock at my head. The hairpin landed beside me, on the brick walkway.” His face heated, and he shrugged for lack of a better explanation.
And to hide his embarrassment. He knew what he wanted to say but couldn’t force his vocal cords to comply.
Adam turned the hairpin over and back. “You’ve carried a rusty, crooked hairpin” —he arched his brow in a way Tanner found to be very condescending— “this hairpin, in your pocket, for two years?”
Tanner cleared his throat, coughed. “Yes, I mean, most times. Or in my desk drawer. I don’t understand why exactly. I guess the damn thing makes me feel closer to her, when I got to missing her, well...badly. Also, um, I have this ring. My grandmother’s. I planned on giving it to her. Before. Before the story.” He halted, realizing his explanation was inane and childish. Flustered, he kicked the bucket, causing the tree to sway.