Janice Kay - What She Wants for Christmas

Brown eyes serious, her mother faced her. “For lots of reasons. I might have considered it if you’d been a senior, but you have three more years of high school. I don’t think Jayne’s parents were really prepared to finish raising you, and I didn’t want to let them. I’m already in shock at how fast you and Mark are growing up. You’ll be gone before I know it. But I’m not ready yet, and neither are you. You’re still a kid, and you’re mine.”

She hardly ever sounded that firm. Secretly Nicole didn’t mind. She’d wanted to stay in Bellevue, but the idea of becoming part of her friend’s family had been a little scary. She hadn’t wanted to lose her mother or even Mark, brat though he was. She just didn’t want to move.

Now she nodded. But she wasn’t going to pretend she was Mark, either. “I still hate it here.”

“I know.” Her mother gave her an odd twisted smile. “But I hope, after a while, that you won’t. Think about getting a horse. That might be some consolation.”

Nicole had always wanted a horse more than almost anything else in the world. But she wasn’t about to let her mother buy her cooperation. She shrugged sulkily. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

“Well, then,” Mom sounded as tart as a green apple, “don’t act like one.”

Nicole stomped off to her bedroom.

LEAVING NICOLE sulking in her bedroom and Mark in front of the TV, Teresa went to town. The farmhouse needed remodeling, starting with the basics, and she might as well take advantage of the rest of her day off. She hadn’t forgotten Joe’s sister worked at Browder’s Flooring, but Teresa told herself curiosity wasn’t why she’d chosen to start there.

A woman named Carol offered to help her, then let her browse in peace among the carpet and vinyl samples. Almost immediately she realized she’d better choose kitchen and bathroom countertops before the flooring.

The back of the store was a veritable treasure trove, if you liked redoing houses. Shelf after slanted shelf held tiles in a mouth-watering selection of colors and textures. Blinds in colors equally rich covered mock windows on the wall and were topped by calico and satin and wood valances.

Teresa headed straight for a lacy pleated blind that would be perfect for her old house.

At her murmured “ooh” of pleasure, an amused voice from behind her said, “A woman of taste, I can tell. I put that one in my own living room.” When Teresa turned, the woman held out one hand. “Hi, I’m Rebecca Ballard.”

Joe’s sister-with-a-big-mouth. In her mid to late thirties, she had little in common with him physically except the blue eyes. Her curly brown hair brushed her shoulders, her smile was as warm as a cup of hot chocolate, and she was just a little plump—and undeniably pregnant. Teresa liked her on sight.

“Teresa Burkett,” she introduced herself.

“The new vet.”

“Yes,” she said a little warily.

“Jess told me about you. Jess Kerrigan. She’s my sister. She said you were dating Joe.” Rebecca clapped her hand over her mouth. “And I was to pretend I don’t know,” she said sheepishly.

Teresa grinned. “He did mention the family grapevine.”

“More like a patch of blackberries. You know how fast they spread.”

Teresa’s laugh felt good. “Yes, we had dinner. Your brother seems nice. He took out some trees for me and gave me a good deal.”

“Oh, he’s nice.” Rebecca shook her head. “A little hard to get to know, but don’t let that stop you.”

She wanted badly to ask why he was so guarded, but refrained. This was, after all, a complete stranger. Her struggle must have showed, though.

His sister tilted her head to one side. “I’d love to tell you his life history, but I have a suspicion he’d be annoyed at me.” She thought about it for a moment. “Well, probably not annoyed. Mad as hell. I’d better let him tell you in his own good time.”

“You’re probably right,” Teresa said. “What I’m really here for is help picking out some tile. And window covers. And, heck, I even need a new kitchen sink. You don’t happen to sell those, do you?”

“Nope, but I keep some catalogs on hand, so you can match colors if you’re not planning to go with plain white or stainless steel. The hardware store sells Kohler and a couple of other brands. Shall I dig the catalogs out?”

Teresa spent a happy couple of hours poring over the tiles, carrying them to the vinyl, discussing how best to get the hardwood floors refinished.

“My daughter’s room first,” she said. “Nicole’s miserably unhappy about the move. She keeps bemoaning her old bedroom’s built-in vanity and window seat. Maybe I can shut her up by making her new one equally charming.”

“How old is she?” Rebecca asked.

“Fifteen.”

“You have my sympathy. My son, Alan, was barely sixteen when I met my current husband. Alan didn’t think he liked him, and you wouldn’t believe the stunts he pulled.”

“Oh, I’d believe them,” Teresa said grimly.

Rebecca tilted her head to one side again. “I don’t suppose your daughter is petite, dark-haired and takes French III?”

“That’s her.”

“Ah. Alan’s mentioned her.” Rebecca heaved a wallpaper book onto the counter. “He thinks she’s, uh, pretty.”

“I don’t suppose that’s the word he used.”

Joe’s sister gave her a wry look. “I don’t want to sully your ears with current teenage-boy terminology.”

“Probably no worse than ‘chick’ or ‘babe’ or ‘fox.’” Teresa contemplated briefly. “’Babe’ and ‘baby’ were always my personal pet peeves. They’re so…so…”

“Belittling?” Rebecca asked. “Sort of like going through life as ‘Becky’?”

“Exactly!” Teresa raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t start that way, did you?”

“No. Sam, my husband, asked once if I liked to be called Becky. I told him only if he wanted to be Sammy. That nipped it in the bud.”

“I can see why,” Teresa agreed, amused.

She borrowed samples of tiles, wallpaper and vinyl, then made an appointment for Rebecca to come to the house and take measurements. She’d let Nicole pick out her own wallpaper and window coverings—within reason.

Lugging the wallpaper books, she came in the back door to hear the phone ringing. Both the kids were upstairs. She dropped the books on the table and grabbed the receiver on the fifth ring.

“Hello?”

“Teresa, this is Joe. Joe Hughes.”

“You’re the only Joe I know,” she said. “Hey, a poem.”

He groaned. “Just don’t add another line, okay?”

“All right. I can’t think of anything that rhymes, anyway. Except toe. And no. Neither of which are fraught with possibilities. Unless you want to get kinky.”

Silence. Then, “I won’t answer that one.”

“Very wise.” She leaned against the counter. “So, uh, what can I do for you?”

His voice was low and amused. “Do you want to get kinky?”

She chuckled. “I set myself up for that one, didn’t I?”

“Yup.” She could hear his smile, which sent a flood of warmth through her. “Actually,” he went on, “what I called for was to ask if you’d like to have dinner again.”

“I’d love to,” she said promptly. “If we can make it Saturday night, I could even stay out later than nine o’clock. I don’t work Sunday. It’s Eric’s turn to be on call.”

“Saturday sounds good,” Joe agreed. “How about a movie, too?”

“As long as it’s not too gory.”

“You’re a vet. You’re used to blood and guts.”

“Not human blood.”

“You’d faint if I cut myself?”

“Probably,” she said cheerfully. “There’s a reason I didn’t become an M.D.”