Heather Graham - Home In Time For Christmas

“Really? They never did hang any more witches, did they?” he inquired.

“Not that I know about.”

“I really need your help. I’m most grateful. We have to discover a way for me to get back.”

She shook her head, exasperated. He was crazy—and persistent. “I really need a drink.”

And with that, she headed for the bar.

The Pond Bar was neighborhood friendly and pleasant. It was a quiet night so far—probably because it was fairly early and the day’s weather had been so bad. More people would come out later, Melody was certain, glad to escape their houses or the harrowing drives they had made during the day. But at the moment, the little place was quiet.

She chose a small table next to the cast-iron potbellied stove, and pulled her gloves off as they sat. Jake Mallory was once again looking around—then he focused on one young woman in the place who was wearing stiletto boots and one of the miniest minidresses Melody had ever seen.

His shocked gaze moved to her and he lowered his head to whisper, “Is that. I mean, is that woman a. lady of the night?”

Melody moved closer in, as well. “College student, probably,” she said.

“One goes to college for that occupation now?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “No, no. Her outfit is modern—daring, especially in winter. But I don’t think she’s a hooker. Sorry. I believe the term hooker came from the Civil War—Hooker’s girls. Never mind. I don’t believe she’s a prostitute. That’s called a minidress. She’s got the youth and the body for it, looks pretty cute.”

“Ah. I’m sorry—it wouldn’t be considered decent at all in my…world,” he said.

“Thank God you didn’t fall to earth on Miami Beach,” she said.

He gazed at her, refraining from asking her about Miami Beach. She was glad—a waitress warmly clad in corduroy jeans and a turtleneck sweater came to the table. Melody opted for a totally fattening Kalhùa and hot chocolate, and Jake said that he’d have the same.

The waitress had just moved away when Jake came to his feet, a frown on his face, his posture defensive. Melody felt fingers come over her eyes and a teasing voice said, “Guess who?”

She grabbed the hands and quickly drew her brother around to introduce him to Jake, ruing the fact that Keith had already made it home. She really needed more time to figure out something to do about Jake.

“Jake,” she said quickly, “this is my brother, Keith. Keith, Jake Mallory.”

Keith was a good soul. Sure, he’d been a pain-in-the-ass baby brother at times, playing the usual stupid pranks like leaving the saltshaker lid on loose and going off into gales of laughter when she wound up with a white mountain on her French fries. But he had matured into a good-looking young man with an open mind, an easy humor and not much in the way of a temper. She thought of him often as a little mini-me of her father, because they were so into science. He had finally learned the difference between a Monet and a Picasso for her sake, and for him—and her father—she had tried to understand the basic concepts of physics. As a brother, he was coming along nicely. They both loved a lot of the same music, and that had always helped them along.

“How do you do?” Jake asked politely.

“Good, thanks. Jake, nice to meet you.” Keith drew up a chair and straddled it, grinning. He looked at Jake. “My mom and dad are all agog over you. Tearing their hair out. They don’t think they’ve met your parents. They used to be sure they knew everyone around here. And they’re still convinced that you’re related to Melody’s—er—friend Mark.”

“I don’t believe I’m related to Mark. Your parents are charming,” Jake said simply.

Thank God. He was getting better.

“So, you two met at school?” Keith asked.

“College,” Melody said. Soon enough, she’d get good at the lie.

“Did you order drinks? ”

“Hot chocolate with Kahlùa,” Melody said.

“I’ll go order the same. You’re not on one of your diets, I take it?” he asked Melody.

“No, I’m not on a diet,” she said, glaring at him.

Keith grinned at Jake. “Oh, wait, that’s right. Melody and my mom never go on diets. They go on lifestyles.”

“Keith!” Melody said sharply.

He shrugged.

“I’ll seek out the young woman who took our order,” Jake said, standing and walking toward the bar.

Keith looked at Melody. “You are such a liar.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve obviously forgotten that I came and hung around your college dorm every chance I could get, falling in love with all the ‘older’ women around you. I would have met this guy. Who is he?”

She stared at her brother. “You didn’t meet everyone.”

“Who is he?” Keith repeated.

She hesitated. “I hit him.”

“What?”

“I hit him on the road. Keith, he’s…he’s having some kind of mental block. He isn’t hurt, unless I did do him some serious brain damage. I—”

“Wait, back up. You hit him. You socked him in the jaw?”

“No!” Melody said. “I was driving and I think I hit some black ice. I hit him.”

“And you didn’t get him to a hospital?”

“No, he didn’t want to go. Hey, I didn’t hit him hard. And I just didn’t know what to do. I panicked.”

“You hit someone, you get them to a hospital,” Keith chastised.

“But—he was, he wasn’t behaving normally.”

“Great. All the more reason not to bring the guy to a hospital.”

“But…he was in costume. Revolutionary-period clothing. He thinks he was a soldier. He—he says the last thing he remembers is that he was being executed, hanged, in New York City. He had a sister or half sister or stepsister or someone who was a witch and said some kind of curse—and he wound up on the road. Then I hit him.”

Keith just stared at her for several seconds. He blinked. “Oh, great. You are making no sense. He thinks he fell to earth from the past, and still—you didn’t take him to the hospital!”

“He didn’t appear to be hurt.”

“You obviously gave the fellow a concussion.”

“I don’t think so.”

“He—he could be crazy.”

“Well, that’s obvious!”

“Right. So this is getting better and better.”

“He needs our help. Somehow, he has to realize who he really is.”

“Since when was your degree is psychology?”

“I brought him home. I—I think his real memory will come back.”

Her brother arched a brow skeptically.

“Look, Keith, he must have a job as a costume interpreter or something.”

“In costume, huh. You think?” he asked sarcastically.

She glared at him. “He believes his own role right now. Quit judging me.”

“I’m not judging you.”

“He needs our help.”

“Our help?”

“My help. I always helped you!”

Keith stared at her amazed, then started to laugh. “Okay, I’ve brought home a trillion puppies and kittens. But not a crazy.”

She stiffened. “What about the pole-dancing stripper?”

“Hey, she knew where she worked.”

“Keith, look, he’s nice, he’s pleasant…I’m hoping that some normal time will help bring back his memory.”

“And you think anyone is going to have ‘normal time’ at our house?” Keith asked dryly.

“That’s not fair,” she accused him.

“So. You hit him, he’s in costume, thinks he’s a soldier, and you bring him home to feed him and warm him up. This isn’t the same as what I did.”

She glared at her brother. “You are not at all amusing.”

“No, but you are in some weird water here, sis.”