Once Upon a Christmas Read online

  “I have an apartment now and furniture even.”

  Amazing what you can do with your allowance when you don’t drink or snort it. They both received monthly dividends from the trust fund left from their parents’ insurance and estate. He’d set it up so she could get only a monthly allowance, never access to the principle. His share he put in a trust fund for Amie, without LynnEllen’s knowledge.

  “It’s really important that you come. Amie is old enough to know she has a real family.”

  He could tell she was fighting tears.

  “Please?”

  “Look, you know I’m on call 24/7. If something comes up…”

  “Thane, you are the head of your company. You can do what you want, there are others who can fill in for one day. Besides, everything closes down for Christmas anyway.” Her voice had regained its strength.

  Perhaps, just maybe, please, God, this time let it work.

  “I’m doing AA. And I’ve found a church that welcomes me as I am. I just want you to rejoice with me, big brother.”

  Thane blew out a cheek-puffing breath, wanting to congratulate her even as he doubted a positive outcome. “All right. I’ll fly down on the morning of the twenty-fourth.”

  “Amie’s preschool program is the morning of the twenty-third. I hoped you could come for that, too.”

  A cloud passed over the sun.

  “I’ll see.” His sister had used Amie as a pawn before. He wondered what was going on this time.

  “Good. Thank you, Thane. You won’t regret this.”

  I pray to God not. “Bye.” He snapped the phone shut and dropped it back in his pocket.

  What had he gotten himself into now?

  The soles of his shoes slammed against the concrete as he picked up the pace again. Why had he agreed? Why had he not given her more approval? She needed him, he was the only family she had left. But he’d sworn to wash his hands of her. No more enabling.

  Matty yipped and when he turned he saw her tongue hanging out and her ribs pumping like the proverbial bellows. Had he been dragging her along…what, two blocks, three?

  He stopped and knelt in front of her. “I’m sorry, girl. You okay?”

  She collapsed at his feet, her dark eyes forgiving him while she fought to catch her breath.

  What kind of a jerk are you? Not paying attention to your dog even? You ought to be turned over to the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

  What about cruelty to relatives? The thought hissed its way through his mental scolding.

  He clamped his teeth, eyes narrowed. Tough love, that’s what he’d been forced to resort to. He refused to be an enabler any longer. LynnEllen had to take responsibility for her own actions. That’s what the counselor had told them both.

  He knew the odds of breaking crack addiction. Slim to none. He’d long since stopped hoping. He stroked Matty, something that always calmed him, the soft fur beneath his fingertips, her heart no longer slamming against her ribs.

  “Perhaps we better just head on home.”

  She raised her head and licked his wrist, feather soft, then pushed herself to her feet and pointed her nose toward the marina, sniffing the air as if they were already there.

  “Okay, I get the point. But we’ll take it easy, all right?”

  Her tail dusted the sidewalk.

  A couple minutes later they crossed the new pedestrian bridge over the railroad tracks by the new Amtrak passenger station and followed the trail down toward the marina. Once the area had been a landfill, and oldsters told of coming down there to shoot rats. Now Oak and other trees shaded thick grass where families gathered for picnics, Frisbee tosses, and sometimes set up volleyball nets. On the other side of the main road down to the boating launch a bocce ball court drew devoted fans, further east were softball and soccer fields and even a riding arena where horse shows drew big crowds. But the path Thane traveled wound its way down to the duck pond, and the new pier which shadowed the decaying wharf. At the pond he took the trail that ambled west through the wetlands, Matty trotting ladylike beside him. They crossed the arched bridge over a creek, stopping at the top to look out across the mudflats. A gray heron stood sentinel on the steep banks of the creek. White egrets patrolled the mudflats, along with squawking gulls and dabbling dowitchers.

  A dog barked.

  Matty hit the dirt trail leading off to the west with three bounds, ripping the lead from his hand.

  “Matty! Stop! Stay!” He might well have been ordering the wind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Only in cartoons did the person on the end of a dog leash go airborne, feet straight out from a horizontal body. Or at least that’s what Blythe assumed, until she found herself in a similar state.

  “Harley! Stop!” She yelped as she was ploughed through scrub brush. “Harley! Sit! Sit, Harley!” Her knees bumped against a hillock of sea grass and her hand automatically released the lead so she could catch her fall.

  “Oomph! Ouch. Harley, when I catch you…Harley, come!” She slammed a gloved palm against the ground and pushed herself to her feet. “That dog. Anyone who owns a basset needs her head examined. Harley!”

  She stared around the brushy terrain that alternated with tall grasses, sneaky mud pits and swamp. She heard his deep woof from off to her right, and it escalated to a frenzy of higher pitched barks. Another dog answered.

  At the same time a deep human voice yelled, “Matty!”

  No need to worry about Harley. He’d found his best friend. But the voice calling the dog was definitely not Josie. She was an alto at the lowest, not deep baritone or high bass.

  Blythe brushed the detritus of her fall from the front of her jacket, frowned at the mud on one jeans-clad knee and jogged toward the reunion. She could hear the two dogs whining and yipping their delight.

  She’d heard that dogs often grew to look like their owners, or vice versa, but not in this case. The man walking toward her was a dead ringer for a younger Sam Elliott. Same dark hair, bushy brows over eyes that right now were snapping with fury. Only the luxuriant mustache was missing. The loose-limbed swagger had a purposeful side as he reached for the trailing leash.

  “Matty, come. That’s enough!”

  Who in the world is this? Meg Ryan in person? A pixie in purple? Her gloves matched her eyes. Purple boots and everything packaged nicely in between. And she owns that monster?

  “Miss, can’t you control your dog?”

  “Me? Matty looks to be running free, too. You ever hear of a leash law?” Even at five foot five, she had to crank her neck to glare toward his face.

  Thane grabbed both leashes and handed her the blue one. “Your dog, Miss.”

  “His name is Harley and he and Matty have been walking buddies for months. Where is Josie, is she all right?” She barely kept from patting her chest in the hopes of slowing her heart.

  Easy, man. This one is dynamite. Thane took a step back. “Why is everyone so interested in Josie? Can’t a man walk his own dog?”

  Blythe swallowed. His voice flowed like rich fudge syrup drizzling down the sides of vanilla ice cream. “You own Matty?”

  “Why is that so surprising?” He reached down and patted her fawn head. The minx sat at his feet like she’d never had a dream, even of hightailing it across the marshes to sniff noses with her friend.

  Blythe looked down at Harley who now gazed up at her, adoration in his eyes, innocence dripping from his lolling tongue, his tricolored body vibrating with the joy of being with her.

  He always did guilt well.

  “I’m Thane Davidson.” Please don’t tell me you’re married.

  “Blythe Stensrude.” She stuck out her gloved hand. “I’m pleased to meet you. Any friend of Matty’s is a friend of mine.” Oh brother, how inane. Come on mind, let’s work. Surely she wasn’t standing on a charging battery or anything. She almost glanced down to make sure packed dirt held her up.

  “So you usually walk with Matty and Josie?”

 
“Often, when I can get away.” She gathered Harley’s leash into one hand and stroked his head. “This is Harley.”

  “Harley the tank?” He eyed the broad shoulders and deep chest. “When he barked I thought it must be a mastiff or something.”

  “Or something is right. He usually doesn’t get away like that.” She felt his gaze travel down to her muddy knee.

  “He dragged you?”

  “No, more like flew me like a kite.” She stroked her dog’s rust colored head. Rust dots on white decorated his nose. Anything to keep her shaking hand busy.

  “He’s a handsome dog.”

  “Thank you. I’ve always thought Matty was a beauty.” Come now, there must be more to talk about than our dogs. “Pardon me, but I need to keep walking so I can get back to work.” She started up the path toward the duck pond.

  “What do you do?” He fell in beside her.

  “I’m a graphic artist.” Now, why don’t I have any business cards with me? The first rule of networking—always have business cards in your pocket. She checked out her pockets. A disintegrating tissue, big help. Besides, she was a graphic designer. Why had she said artist?

  He strolled beside her, both dogs now dutifully walking slightly ahead of their owners so they could point out good sniffing places to each other.

  “And you?”

  “Troubleshooter for software companies.”

  Surely not a computer geek. He didn’t fit the image at all. The warmth from his side heated through her jacket and the long-sleeved, turtleneck sweater she wore underneath.

  He shortened his steps. “You live near here?”

  She nodded toward the houses climbing the western hill above the road that followed the curve of the bay. “What about you?”

  “A condo off Alhambra. I’m not home a lot so that makes it easier. You interested in a latte? There’s a place by the old train station.” Now that popped out before thinking. Thane Davidson, what is the matter with you?

  Oh yes, oh no, I can’t, I have to finish that project. If I say no, will I ever see him again?

  Say yes. Perhaps coffee will kick my mind into some kind of rational ability to carry on a conversation. After all, it’s a simple latte? Isn’t it?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Sugar-free vanilla syrup, please.”

  Thane smiled down at his companion. “Not straight up, eh?”

  “Nope, but extra espresso. I need all the help I can get.” Blythe waved two fingers at the perky blonde behind the counter.

  “Make mine a double, no syrup.”

  “Latte?” The smile she gave him had ramped up the voltage.

  “Yes.”

  She wrote the instructions on the cups and disappeared behind the espresso machine.

  “So why the extra caffeine?”

  “I’ve got deadlines up to here,” Blythe said, waving her hand over her head. And tonight will most likely be sleepless. But that wasn’t something she really wanted to share with this striking hunk of manhood. Better to come across as capable. She’d been accused of flakiness in the past, more than once if she were to be honest. Amazing how slights of years ago still pained like barbs under the skin. She’d heard enough dumb blonde jokes to write a book of them and every one of them managed to irk her. Not that she was always a blonde, but it was the principle of the thing. As if the color of one’s hair had anything to do with brain power. Or common sense for that matter.

  Both of which she knew she had in plenteous supply, except when it came to succumbing to the pleadings of her regular clients, in spite of the sign on her wall that read, “You running behind does not constitute an emergency for me.”

  While these thoughts skipped through her mind like deer over fences, she kept her lashes covering the interest she knew showed in her eyes. Who would have thought a runaway dog could have brought such a man into her life? She reached down to pat Harley’s head as he sat right by her knee, the perfect picture of doggy obedience. Thank you, hound dog, thank you.

  They took their lattes outside and strolled between single-story brick buildings to Main Street, turning right as if they’d done this many times before.

  “So, tell me about your business.” Thane smiled down at her.

  She forced her attention from a smile that reminded her of twinkling Christmas lights. Come on brain, a simple answer would be sufficient, promptly would help.

  “How long have you been a graphic artist?”

  “Ah, forever.” She shook her head. “No, as my own business for five years now. I’m really more a designer than artist. I mean I do projects for other people, not like creating my own art. Mostly advertising.” Why don’t you stutter and stammer like a real airhead?

  “And you love what you do?”

  She nodded. “Usually, but right now everyone needs their things finished by Christmas. You know how that is. Time gets away.” After another sip, she asked, “How about you? What is it you do?”

  “My company goes in to fix mainframe computer problems for midsized companies. Interfacing programs, not so much hardware but software.”

  “Do you write software, too?”

  “I can but that’s not usually the case. More like puzzle solving.”

  “Did you like puzzles as a kid?” She glanced up at him. When he smiled, his right cheek creased in a dimple.

  “Was there anything else?”

  “Computer games?”

  “Death to the invaders.” He waved his latte like a sword.

  “You still play them?”

  “No, not really. I’d rather solve real puzzles.” He took a swig of cooling coffee. “What do you do when you’re not up to your hairline in deadlines?”

  “I love music, my church…”

  “What kind and where do you go?”

  “Everything but heavy metal and acid rock. Oh, I don’t care much for rap, either—hate the violence. I attend the Alhambra Community Church, have all my life. One of the things I need to finish are the programs for the singing Christmas tree. Do you like music?”

  “About the same as you, but heavy on the classical side.”

  “Really? Are you going to the sing-along Messiah concert?”

  “Hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Are you a sports fan?” Every guy loved to talk about sports.

  “When I have time. You?”

  “My family is divided.”

  “Divided?”

  “Mom and I love the A’s, Dad and my sister are bone-deep Giants fans. Good thing they rarely play each other during the regular season or there might be bloodshed at our house.”

  “Surely you jest.”

  “I might be stretching it a little, but you get the point.”

  “Did you get tickets to the Bay Bridge World Series games?”

  “No, World Series tickets are out of our league.” She tipped her head in a sort of shrug. “And after the earthquake, we were glad we stayed home.”

  “Clients give me tickets to a game now and then. Maybe we could go sometime.”

  “I’d never turn down a ball game. You like football better?”

  “Not really. I just don’t have a lot of time to keep up with any team.”

  “So, you’re a workaholic?”

  “That’s a rather offensive word.”

  “Sorry.” Hey, it takes one to see one and on the plus side, workaholics rarely want kids. Her inner voice tried to join the conversation.

  “I do what needs to be done.” His eyebrows drew together, eyes narrowing.

  Touchy subject. What might be safer? “Look at those two, trotting along like they’ve never broken free, just well-mannered dogs out for some air.”

  “Bassets, ya gotta love them.”

  “How old is Matty?”

  “Three. I thought about showing her, but even with a trainer…”

  “It took up too much time?”

  Blythe glanced ahead. End of walk coming up soon. “Read any good books lately?” She’d have missed h
is shrug if she hadn’t glanced in the passing window.

  “I don’t read a lot for pleasure.”

  Why am I not surprised? She stopped at the corner of Alhambra. “We go up the hill.” Draining her cup, she tossed it in the trash. “Thanks for the latte and the visit.”

  “I’m taking Matty home and going to Briones for a run. Are you interested?”

  “I wish I could, not that I’m much good on the hills.” She chewed on her lower lip. “No, I better not.” Please ask me for something else. I’ve got an extra ticket to the concert, will you go? Her mother’s voice blasted her. Nice girls do not ask men on a date. This nice girl hasn’t gone on a real date, as in asked out by the man, for who knows how long.

  “See you in the morning then?”

  “The morning?”

  “Walking the dogs.” He smiled that lazy, megawatt smile again.

  “Ah, sure.” The sun came back out. “Eightish?”

  “Good.” He waved and started south.

  “Come on, Harley, we’ve got work to do.” She waved and headed across the street. Would she ever see him again?

  “Blythe.”

  She caught her toe on the curb and half stumbled. “Yes?”

  “I’ll call you. You’re in the book, right?”

  “Yes.” The sun brightened indeed.

  “Good—see you.”

  She waved again and tugged on the leash. “Come on, dog, we got lots to do.”

  Harley dragged his feet, looking over his shoulder as his friend trotted up the street.

  “Sorry, dog, but you’ll see Matty tomorrow.” That is—if her owner lives up to his word and if I’m able to sleepwalk down there.

  Harley only stopped her twice for smell breaks as they climbed the hill toward home, her mind on the man, not the dog.

  While she hung up her coat and Harley’s leash, she thought of calling her sister to share the good news. I’ve met a man, a triple-scoop kind of guy and you didn’t even have to find him for me. But then, what if he didn’t call? How embarrassing. No, how normal. That thought brought her back to earth with a teeth jarring jolt. That same thing had happened far too often. But this time there had been chemistry. The tingle kind and surely not just on her part.