Mistletoe and Holly, page 7
“No.” The answer was accompanied by a brief, negative movement of his head, but he didn’t seem to regard her question as prying into his personal affairs. “It was time for Holly to start attending school on a regular basis—and I guess I wanted her to grow up in the kind of background I did. How about yourself?” A traffic light turned red and he slowed the car to a stop, sliding a glance at her. “Are you from New York—or somewhere else?” And Leslie realized that she didn’t know any more about what he did for a living than she had before.
“I was born and raised right in Manhattan,” she answered his question while she tried to think of a tactful way to ask her own again.
“Then you’re a city girl.” The light changed to green and Tagg started the car smoothly forward.
The faintly mocking tone of his remark made Leslie add, “I’ve never thought of myself as a city girl. My parents had a house on Fire Island so we usually spent the summers there. In the winter, we’d go skiing—sometimes here to Vermont and visit Aunt Patsy. So I had a blend of citylife and countrylife, until the divorce changed things.”
“Your parents moved away from New York after they split up?” he asked if that’s what her remark meant.
“Eventually,” she nodded and huddled into her coat, not from the cold since the car’s heater kept the interior warm. Mainly Leslie was withdrawing from unpleasant memories. “Both of them remarried. Dad and his new family live on the West Coast; and Mom and her family live in Baltimore. ‘And never the twain shall meet,’ as the saying goes.” The last was issued with a certain rawness.
“It was a bitter divorce,” Tagg guessed by her tone. “It was a more bitter marriage.” She shrugged, trying to make believe neither had mattered.
“Do you see them very often?”
“Not any more than I have to,” Leslie admitted dryly. “I’m the spoils of their war, so they’re both still fighting to claim me as theirs alone. And I don’t like being the rope in a tug of war. That’s why I came to stay with Aunt Patsy.”
“I’m glad you did.” Tagg smiled at her briefly, then noticed the store just ahead on the right. “There’s where we’re going—and there’s an empty parking place out front. We’re in luck.”
There wasn’t an opportunity for Leslie to turn the conversation back around and question Tagg about his occupation. So she had to bury her curiosity for the time being while he did his Christmas shopping.
Over an hour later, they returned to the car with his purchases made. Tagg stowed the brightly wrapped and ribboned packages in the back seat of the car, then held her crutches while Leslie maneuvered into the front passenger seat.
“And now to find someplace to eat,” he declared as he slipped behind the wheel and took the car keys out of his pocket. “Hungry?”
“Just starting. I cheated and had toast and jam this morning,” she confessed.
“So did I.” Tagg chuckled softly, his glance moving over her. As he turned the car onto the street, he said, “I think I’ve figured out why you pretend not to like Christmas. It gives you a perfect excuse not to go through all this rigamarole of buying presents for people.”
“Wrong.” She laughed. “I just don’t wait until the last minute to do all my shopping. My parents insist on giving me gifts—and a few of my friends. So I’m blackmailed into buying presents for them.”
“A lot of people are too proud to accept a gift in the spirit that it’s given,” Tagg replied in understanding, then winked at her. “Of course, that’s where Santa Claus steps in. How can a person say no to Santa Claus? He combines the joy of giving with the joy of receiving.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Leslie leaned back in her seat to mull over that perspective of the Santa Claus myth.
The restaurant Tagg picked was relatively empty of customers. It was too early for lunch and the coffee break crowd had already left to return to work. So their service was quick and their food was hot. After the waitress had cleared away their dishes, she refilled their coffee cups.
Leslie noticed Tagg glance at his watch to check the time. “Is it getting late?”
“No. Holly won’t be getting out of school for another hour. We’ll be able to take our time driving back,” he assured her.
There was a stirring of activity at the restaurant entrance, the relative quiet disturbed by the arrival of a small group of businessmen meeting for lunch. The distraction brought a lull to their conversation as the hostess led them to a table. One of the men, a white-haired gentleman still in the prime of health, spied Tagg and immediately broke away from the group.
“As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Tagg Williams,” he declared and grabbed Tagg’s hand to shake it before Tagg could stand up. “I didn’t know you were back in these parts. How are you, son?” The man didn’t wait for a response as he turned a twinkling look at Leslie. “What pretty lady are you romancing this time?” He reached across the table to shake Leslie’s hand and introduce himself. “The name’s Kyle Clarehorn. I’m an old friend of Tagg’s family. And who might you be? I have to ask because he’ll never tell me your name. He’s afraid I’ll steal you away, that’s why.”
“Leslie Stiles.” She was half-surprised that she was being given the chance to answer, but the man had to draw a breath sometime. His greeting had turned into a non-stop spiel. She was both amused and amazed at his energy, considering he was probably seventy if he was a day.
“Fine-looking woman, but you always did know how to pick them,” he informed Tagg with an admiring shake of his head. Again, he split his attention to Leslie. “Better watch your step with this guy. Every time I see him, he’s with a different lady. He draws them like flies to maple syrup.”
“Holly has already warned me about him,” Leslie assured him on a laughing note.
“Holly?” The name threw the white-haired gentleman for a moment.
“My daughter.” Tagg pulled his keen glance from Leslie long enough to jog the man’s memory.
“Your daughter, of course.” He snapped his fingers in a gesture of self-impatience for forgetting. “How is that blue-eyed little charmer? It must be three years since you stopped by with her to visit. Cute as a button, she was. I’ll bet she’s got a long list made out for Santa Claus.”
“Not a long one,” Tagg replied. “But she’s got a dog at the top of the list. Thankfully she’s old enough to know that when she asks Santa for something, it doesn’t necessarily mean she’s going to get it.”
“Every child should have a dog,” the man insisted. “You tell Santa I said so. You couldn’t pick a better Christmas present to teach a child the true meaning of love. Try spelling dog backward once. It’s god. And if you think about it, a dog is always sad when you leave it and happy when you come back—never asking where you were in between—just as long as you come home. You make sure Santa brings that girl a dog,” he ordered. “I wish I had time to stay and chat, but I have clients waiting.” With a wink at Tagg and a hand gesture at Leslie, he said, “Better hang on to this one.”
In the same flurry of energy that he had descended on them, the man was departing to rejoin his group. Leslie felt slightly out of breath, and the elderly man had been the one who did all the talking.
“He’s quite a character,” Tagg declared wryly. “You can say that again,” Leslie agreed.
“What did you mean when you said Holly had warned you about me?” His gaze narrowed on her with sharp curiosity.
“Oh that.” Leslie tried to shrug it away, but realized he would persist until she explained. “She told me that all the girls fall in love with you and wondered if I would, too.”
“I’m going to have to talk to that girl,” Tagg declared in mild exasperation. “Between her and Kyle, they’re making me sound like a regular ladykiller.”
“Aren’t you?” she chided to get his reaction.
“Why would anybody want to be labeled a ladykiller or a playboy?” he reasoned. “The first implies that you kill ladies and what man would want a dead woman on his hands? And a playboy might have spent a lot of time in the company of the female sex, but I doubt if he’s ever known one woman well.”
“And you feel that’s important?” Her voice was soft. Something inside her was waiting for his answer.
“You can’t love an object, but you can love a person.” Tagg reached for his coffee cup, breaking the intangible spell that had led them both into a topic with such underlying seriousness. “There’s supposed to be a full moon Friday night, providing the sky is clear. How would you like to go on a sleigh ride with Holly for a chaperone?”
Leslie followed his lightning change of mood, arching a light brown eyebrow. “Jingle bells in a one-horse open sleigh?”
“You’ve got it,” he grinned.
“I came here to escape all the Christmas hokum and I’m being deluged with it instead,” she decried in mock protest.
“Bah humbug,” Tagg mocked. “Even Scrooge was converted into a believer. And I don’t think you’re as tough as he was.”
“Is that right?” Leslie didn’t attempt to deny it. Her position was steadily being undermined.
“Are you game for the sleigh ride, weather permitting?” he asked.
“Why not?” Her shoulders were lifted in a helpless shrug of mock defeat.
Tagg finished his coffee and glanced at Leslie as he set his empty cup on the table. “Are you ready to start for home?”
The ride back began in a companionable silence with Leslie gazing out the window at the picturesque countryside. The mountain state was sparsely populated, consisting of mainly valley farms, quaint villages, and small cities. The winter snows had given the rolling and wooded hillsides a serenely peaceful look, slumbering restfully to prepare for spring’s burst of green growth.
As the road curved past a farmhouse, Leslie noticed a man out back, chopping wood. The sight turned her thoughts to her curiosity about Tagg’s occupation. Candor seemed her only hope in obtaining an answer.
“What kind of work do you do?” Her sudden question after such a long silence seemed to briefly startle him.
As his attention swung back to the road, the side of his mouth was lifted up by a smile. “At the moment, none,” he replied dryly. “I have a law degree and I’ll probably open an office here after the first of the year. My father was a District Court Judge for a number of years before he died. I’m finally getting around to following in his footsteps.”
“But what did you do before now?”
“I was a professional skier. Unlike golf or tennis pros, professional skiers are a relatively unknown breed. Unless a skier has competed in the Olympics, which I didn’t, the public generally never hears about him. So don’t be embarrassed because you’ve never heard of me,” Tagg said as if he knew Leslie was trying to remember if she had heard his name before.
“I admit I haven’t,” she said.
“Mostly I competed on the European circuit. That’s how I met Cindy. She was the daughter of one of my sponsors,” he explained with no expression showing on his face. “After we were married, she discovered the skiing circuit wasn’t the glamorous life she thought it would be. Two years later, we separated. I didn’t know she was pregnant until a mutual friend told me before a meet in Grenoble. I flew to Colorado to see if we couldn’t work things out. That was in November, and Holly was born the day after Christmas that year. You know the rest of the story.”
“Is that when you quit skiing?” Leslie quietly studied him, realizing now how his skin had become so darkly tanned from the constant exposure to the glare of sun and snow and why he was in such superb physical condition when many men in their thirties were developing paunches.
“Not right away. Initially I only entered competitions in the Rocky Mountain area so I could keep Holly with me most of the time. When you compete, you have to go all out every time. You can’t worry about accidents or injuries. Suddenly I couldn’t do that, because I had Holly. I never felt like that when I got married; but I suppose I knew Cindy was old enough to take care of herself. Holly needed me, especially with Cindy gone. My present to her on her third birthday was to hang up my racing skis, and buy a resort in the Colorado mountains.”
“Then you sold it and came back here to Vermont,” Leslie guessed.
“That’s about the size of it,” he agreed. “It was a good business, but it didn’t give me enough time to spend with Holly.” His shoulder lifted in an idle shrug. “Maybe I just got burnt out on skiing. I have no more desire to be on the slopes. Maybe that will change someday and I’ll enjoy the sport of it again.”
“In the meantime, you’re going to practice law.”
“I enjoyed studying law,” Tagg told her. “I suppose the skiing interlude in my life was part of the wild oats I needed to sow. I don’t regret it. It gave me Holly and sufficient funds to know that her future will be secure if anything happens to me.” He flashed her a white smile. “And there you have my life story, my credentials, and even a glimpse at my bankbook.”
“Was I being nosey?” She hadn’t thought so. But most of the information, he had volunteered.
“No.” He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “I think you have the right to know something about the man who asked you out for a sleigh ride.”
“That’s true. I couldn’t go sleigh riding with a total stranger,” Leslie responded with the same bantering lightness he had used.
“I should hope not,” Tagg mocked, then glanced at his wristwatch. “Everything is turning out perfectly this morning. I’ll be able to take you to your aunt’s, get the presents hidden in the house, and still have time to pick up Holly.”
“That’s good.”
“I thought so, too.” He squeezed her hand affectionately, a warm sensation spreading through her.
In the lull that settled, Leslie thought over the things Tagg had told her about himself, his life and his previous career in professional sports. It started her thinking about the comment Holly had made.
“When you were skiing, I imagine you had all sorts of beautiful women for company. I suppose that’s where Holly got the idea that girls always fell in love with you.” The minute she made the comment, she regretted it. “Now, I am being nosey. You don’t have to answer that.”
“I don’t mind.” He smiled at her briefly, letting his glance leave the road for a scanning second. “I didn’t lack for female company, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say there was an endless bevy of beauties. But it was the glamour of the ski slopes that attracted them—like Cindy. I doubt if it would have mattered to some of them if I was five feet tall with a receding hairline.”
But he was six feet tall and unconventionally handsome. Leslie wasn’t fooled. Those vital statistics had increased the attraction of the members of the opposite sex for him. She had no illusions about her own sex. Some were positively brazen in their pursuit of a man—single or not. She suspected the attentions of other women might have been one of the reasons for his marriage to go bad.
When they arrived at her aunt’s house, Tagg parked the car in the driveway. “Do you need some help getting out?” he asked as she gathered up her unwieldy crutches.
“No, I can manage.”
“I’m glad you came with me today.” His hand lightly fitted itself to the curve of the back of her neck, holding it while he leaned across the seat and kissed her with lingering force.
Leslie was conscious of the triphammer beat of her heart when she finally opened the car door. Her lips could still feel the warm pressure of his mouth. It was a decidedly pleasant sensation.
He waited until she had reached the door and turned to wave to him. Then he reversed out of the drive to pick up his daughter from school.
CHAPTER
6
THE BAY MARE tossed its head in a show of eagerness, jingling the bell strap on its harness, but the horse stood calmly while Tagg lifted Leslie into the shiny black sleigh with its red leather seats. The fur robes that had kept her warm on the dogsled ride were folded on the seat.
“Where on earth did you find this horse and sleigh?” she asked in amazement. “It’s something out of a Currier and Ives print.”
“The horse and sleigh belong to a local farmer. He usually rents them out for the winter through the ski resorts in the area,” he explained and swung Holly into the sleigh, then climbed in himself to sit between them. The fur robes were spread out lengthwise to cover all three of them against the numbing chill of the night air.
“Are we going to go ‘dashing through the snow,’ Daddy?” Holly was bouncing on the seat, unable to sit still.
“Not unless the snow is on the road,” Tagg informed her dryly, just in case she had visions of them racing across some meadow.
Picking up the reins, he lightly slapped the horse’s rump with them and clicked his tongue to signal the mare forward. There was a slight jerk, then the sleigh was pulling smoothly onto the snow-packed dirt road.
A huge silver-dollar moon gleamed brightly on the white ground and highlighted the snow clinging on dark tree branches. It was a magical wonderland of sight and sound, muted bells jingling in rhythm to the horse’s trotting hooves. The cold air was sharp and invigorating and rosied Leslie’s cheeks as she sat shoulder to shoulder with Tagg, unconsciously snuggling closer to his body warmth. Her hands and arms were buried under the thick, furry robe that insulated them against most of the frigid air.
“Let’s sing, Daddy,” Holly suggested.
“Let’s don’t,” he replied. “Mr. Grey told me the horse stops every time people start singing.”
“Smart horse,” Leslie murmured sotto voce.
Holly leaned forward to look her father square in the eye, skeptical and challenging. “Is that true?”
“No,” Tagg admitted. “But let’s spare the horse’s ears anyway.”
“Okay.” She sat back in her seat and hugged the fur robe around her chin.
All was quiet and still around them as they traveled down the back road. It didn’t seem to matter where Leslie looked, some nostalgically familiar scene would leap out at her, painting a picture that she was certain she’d seen before. Whether it was the glitter of the moonlight on a meadow of snow or a farmhouse with lights shining from the window and smoke curling out of the chimney.
