LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

it go. The thing is …” Bobby trailed off.

      “Yeah?” Gabe pressed.

      He laughed suddenly. “I guess it’s a good thing. We fight like cats and dogs, and it’s hard to plan a family dinner with a pack of overachievers … but, still, my parents always loved us. It’s the way that they look at me that kills me. It’s the disappointment.” Bobby shut up, wondering why the hell he had just kind of spilled out so much to a stranger. Maybe, he thought, because he’d needed to tell someone, but he didn’t want to tell them until he knew what might happen. He knew the odds were against him; getting into Juilliard was a numbers game, and there could only be so many people who got into the school. There were other music schools—if he didn’t make it, he’d try again.

      But he didn’t want to tell anyone in the house that he’d auditioned. He didn’t want them to see his hope, or, his disappointment if he didn’t make it. Even though it meant they were sure to lecture him through the holiday, he was sticking with the story that he’d gotten a job working in New York City for the coming semester, until he figured out just what he did want. It wasn’t a lie; he did have a job offer working with a group of musical waiters at a place called Napoli. They waited on tables, stopped, picked up their instruments and did quick numbers in between.

      Even if he made it into Juilliard, Mario, the head of the group and a great vocalist, had assured him they’d be happy to work with his schedule.

       It was all okay, really. But he could just hear his father’s voice: “A singing waiter? What kind of life is that, Bobby? What if you want a family, kids? There’s no advancement, Bobby. Nowhere to go.”

      “Sounds to me like you know how to get where you want to go—just have to hang in and take those first steps. So,” he said loudly, “Christmas here every year, huh?”

      Bobby realized that Shayne was coming back with clothing for their guest.

       He’d told a stranger, and not his brother, what he was hoping to do with his life.

      “Yep, every year,” he said.

      As Shayne walked in, Bobby walked out. “Patient seems to be fine,” he said.

      Back in his own room, he found Genevieve and Connor sitting in the midst of a massive pile of wrapping-paper scraps. Rudolph was dancing here and there, and little blue snowflakes lay in strips across the floor.

      “Nice job,” he said cheerfully. He looked around at the mess. “I think I hear Gram calling you from the kitchen!”

      He led them back past his brother’s door, and could hear the drone of Shayne’s voice. No surprise. Shayne was willing to talk about the difficulty of the divorce at the drop of a hat.

      Except that Shayne didn’t seem to be doing all the talking. He stopped speaking now and then, and Bobby could hear the stranger’s voice.

      That he was speaking wasn’t odd at all.

      That Shayne apparently stopped speaking to actually listen was odd indeed.

      Chapter 3

      “Dinner’s ready!” Morwenna called up the stairs.

      Her father had been in his study and he emerged, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “So, kid, what happened? I thought we were going to get to meet Mr. Perfect this year.”

      “He couldn’t come, Dad, and he isn’t Mr. Perfect.”

      “But he’s a major presence in your life, right?” her father asked her.

      “Dad, we’ve been seeing each other about six months. He still has his apartment, I still have mine. I—”

      “I should hope so!” Mike said, disgruntled.

      Morwenna chuckled softly. “Dad! You’d be surprised at the mismatched couples that jump in together in New York. The cost of living is staggering. But we’re both doing well, and he’s really a nice guy.”

      “So nice that he isn’t here with you at Christmas,” her father said. He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. She had seen him in the courtroom, standing in just that position, when he was arguing the guilt of an accused.

      He was good at the stance.

      “Dad, an entire group from our agency was going to Cancún. Alex put the trip together before he knew that I was coming home.”

      “And a bunch of adults couldn’t go to Cancún without him?”

      “Hey! I’m an adult, too. I could have gone with them.”

      Mike MacDougal shook his head sadly and sagely.

      “No, because you know that you would break your mother’s heart if you did something like that.”

      “When people are together—married, cohabiting, etcetera—they often go to one family one year, and another family the next. And children of divorced parents sometimes wind up so confused they don’t know where to go anymore—so they head to Cancún.”

      Mike was silent, shaking his head for a minute, and then said, “Here’s the only truth I know—we’re all going to die. You can even get out of the ‘taxes’ part of death and taxes. And when we die, there’s only one thing we take with us.”

      “What’s that?”

      “Love,” Mike said, tapping his heart. “You and your siblings will talk about your mother and me when we’re gone, and that way, we’ll still be alive. Love lives on—not trips to Cancún, fruity drinks imbibed on a beach, or expensive clothing, or even a hotshot job. Your family loves you … you deserve a guy who knows about family, and love.”

      Morwenna stared at her father, stunned. She’d never heard such a speech from him before.

      “You were the one who pushed me through school,” she reminded him. “Then it was, ‘We all have to be independent, make our mark in life! There’s no one you can depend on but yourself.’ I went to school. I learned how to negotiate, engage a client, play all the business games. I even own stock, for God’s sake.”

      She was surprised when he didn’t laugh, or at least crack a smile.

      “Christmas,” he said softly, “always makes me kind of sentimental.”

      He walked past her. Bobby came down the stairs, followed by Shayne, the kids and their strange guest, Gabe Lange.

      “What’s up? What’s with that look?” Bobby asked her.

      “Dad. Our father has gotten all weird,” she whispered, looking past him with a careful smile. “Christmas Eve dinner is on, Mr. Lange.”

      He looked even better. Despite looking a bit worse for wear, the guy really did have a great face, all the right bone structure in place, but a face that wasn’t too pretty, and the structure didn’t take away from the strength of his jawline. In Shayne’s flannel shirt and old jeans, he looked like a sandy-haired woodsman. He could have done a commercial for some kind of rugged men’s cologne.

      She reminded herself that many a serial killer had offered the world a pleasant face. She still didn’t trust him. He was a stranger in their midst.

      “Thank you,” he told her. “Thank you for having me in your home like this. Christmas is a special time. I didn’t really mean to intrude,” he told her.

      “Well, I guess you didn’t collapse by our house on purpose,” Morwenna said dryly. “Come along.”

      She led the way from the parlor along the hall to the dining room, attached to the kitchen. Her mom was directing their extra guests to take their seats.

      They hadn’t expected Shayne’s kids, and they certainly hadn’t expected Gabe Lange, but her mother could always manage to make a meal stretch. Turkey would be the main course tomorrow.

      For

Скачать книгу