A Proposal for Christmas. Lindsay McKenna
to hide a grin.
Skyler’s look darkened; he leaned back against the counter and stubbornly folded his arms.
Holly was embarrassed and exasperated. “Skyler Hollis, will you just sit down, please? David is—”
“I know what David is,” Skyler snapped before he stomped out of the kitchen. Seconds later, the front door slammed.
“I’m sorry,” David said.
“I could swear I saw smoke coming out of that man’s ears,” Madge put in, receiving a swift look from Holly for her trouble.
The housekeeper smiled and shrugged, then took her leave without waiting for an introduction to David Goddard.
They were alone. Holly sighed heavily and fixed her gaze on her own cup of coffee.
“Are you in love with Skyler—what’s his name? Hollis?”
The directness of the question brought Holly’s gaze shooting up from the dark brew in her cup to David’s face. “In love with him?” she echoed stupidly.
“You do realize, I hope, that if you marry that guy your name will be Holly Hollis?”
Holly burst out laughing. “You know, I never thought of that. I guess I’d just have to go on calling myself Llewellyn.”
David’s impossibly blue eyes were filled with gentle humor. “I really am sorry if I caused any trouble, Holly. If you want me to apologize to Hollis, I will.”
“No,” Holly said quickly. Perhaps too quickly. “Skyler had no right to act that way,” she added moments later, in more carefully measured tones. “He has no claim on me and if I want to bring a friend home for coffee...”
“Is that what I am, Holly? Your friend?”
Holly clasped her hands together in her lap. She was twenty-seven years old, an adult, but she suddenly felt like a fifteen-year-old on her first date. “I hope so,” she said softly.
Graciously, David changed the subject. The muscles in his forearms worked as he reached for the sugar bowl and added a spoonful to his coffee. “You aren’t even thirty yet, unless I miss my guess,” he said. “How did you happen to accomplish so much by such a tender age?”
Holly was comfortable with the subject of her career, at least. She pushed aside the strange suspicions she had about this man who sat across the table from her and allowed herself to forget, for a little while, her worries about Craig and her impossible relationship with Skyler Hollis. “I was lucky. My grandmother wrote cookbooks, you know, and she taught me a lot. And I worked hard.”
“You must have spent a lot of time with your grandmother,” David remarked, watching her.
“My brother and I lived with her, along with our mother. Our father was killed in an accident when I was seven,” Holly blurted out in a rush. There, she thought. If he asks about Craig, I’ll know something is wrong.
She held her breath.
“Your mother and grandmother are both gone now?” David asked gently.
Holly was unaccountably relieved, though her throat tightened when she answered. “Grandmother passed away, yes. Mother married a missionary doctor and we don’t see her very often.”
David’s rugged face seemed to grow taut for a moment. “You’ve never been married?”
Holly shook her head. “I almost was, once.” Strange. She could think of Ben now, without hurting. “What about you?”
David laughed, but there was no amusement in the sound or in the ink-blue flash of his eyes. Holly knew before he spoke that he’d once been hurt, and very badly. “I got married during my second year of law school,” he said. “Marleen was a graduate student in Animal Sciences.”
There was anger as well as pain in his voice. Holly deduced that Marleen had not died, as Ben had. “And?” she prompted.
“And she’s now in Borneo studying chimps. She finds them endlessly fascinating and far less demanding, I would imagine, than a husband.”
The bitterness in his tone stung Holly profoundly. David still loved Marleen despite his anger; she was sure of it. And for some reason, that hurt. “I’m sorry,” she said, getting up hastily to go to the coffeemaker and bring the decanter back to the table, where she refilled her own cup and then David’s.
“Don’t be,” David replied succinctly. “Marleen is happy.”
But what about you? Holly wanted to ask, though, of course, she didn’t dare. She put sugar into her coffee—something she never did—and kept her eyes averted.
“You said you were almost married once. What happened, Holly?”
Holly’s throat constricted again. “My fiancé was killed,” she managed to say. “He was working on a construction project in Alaska and...and he fell.”
“You loved him a lot, didn’t you?”
Holly nodded. “I wanted to die, too, at the time. And I was so angry.”
There was a short, companionable silence. The coffeemaker made gurgling sounds and the fire crackled on the kitchen hearth. David’s hand came, strong and warm, across the tabletop, to shelter Holly’s hand.
It was then that Toby shuffled into the kitchen, looking sleepy and rumpled in his cherished Spider-Man pajamas. “Is it time to go to school, Mom?” he asked, befuddled.
Holly’s eyes darted involuntarily to David’s face, then shifted to her nephew. “No, sweetheart, it’s still night. Go back to bed.”
Toby gave David a curious look. “Who’s that?” he demanded.
“This is Mr. Goddard, Toby. He’s a friend of mine, a student in my cooking class.”
Toby assessed David again. “You cook?” he wanted to know.
David laughed and the odd tension Holly had felt was broken. “Not very well, slugger,” he retorted kindly, “but I’m learning.”
“I’m not going to learn,” Toby said firmly, drawing just a bit nearer to David, sensing, as Holly did, that this was a man who liked children.
“Oh, yeah? Why not?” David asked. And he sounded truly interested, not patronizing. “Don’t you think men should cook?”
Toby shrugged, not exactly sure what he thought. “Mom cooks enough stuff. Do you think men should cook?”
David thought. “Yeah,” he answered presently.
“Why?”
“Because they get hungry.”
Toby grinned. “Wanna see my airplane?”
David looked to Holly for her permission; she liked him for doing that. She nodded.
“Sounds interesting,” the man said to the boy, and then they were off to Toby’s room to inspect the radio-controlled Cessna. The sound of their retreating voices gave Holly an odd feeling of well-being. Which was immediately spoiled by the ringing of the telephone.
She answered with a brisk and biting, “Yes?”
“Who is that Goddard guy?” Skyler demanded without preamble.
Holly drew a deep breath, then let it out again. Control, she must maintain her control. “David is a friend of mine, Skyler.” Sugary acid slipped past her resolve, dripping from every word. “I am allowed to have friends, aren’t I?”
“Not men!”
“Good night, Skyler,” Holly sang, and then she set the receiver firmly back in its cradle.
Seconds later, the telephone rang again.
“Hello?” Holly said sweetly.
“Don’t