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“You’re an accountant,” he reminded dryly. “Being creative could land you in the slammer. Now, are you going to let me cut the damn tree or not?”
She fished the key to the property gate out of her purse with a big grin. “Here you go, Don Hemingway Juan. Knock yourself out.”
Ellin was poking Lizzie’s arms and legs into her purple snowsuit when someone knocked on the door. She glanced at Ida Faye’s weird clock that burst into birdsong every hour, on the hour. Madden was right on time.
“Just a minute!” She zipped Lizzie up and tucked her hair into her stocking cap. “There. Run and open the door for Santa’s friend.”
She collected her parka and purse. She had changed into a heavy sweater, jeans and thick-soled boots. She snugged a wide knit headband over her ears and dashed into the living room.
If she had been one of Lizzie’s Saturday morning cartoon characters, the rug would have accordioned as she plowed to a stop and her eyes would have popped out on springs. The man standing by the door, his hands clasped behind his back, could not be Santa Jack.
He was younger than she’d expected. Way younger. A good four or five years her junior, for sure. And taller than she remembered. Without the extra pillow padding, his slim, well-built physique was even more impressive. Wide shoulders. Trim waist. Narrow hips. And, unless she was completely out of touch with reality, which was possible considering she’d agreed to this rendezvous, that heavy seaman’s coat concealed a nicely developed chest and biceps.
His brown hair was cut in a short, messy-trendy style that he must have combed with his hand. With his eyes closed. His bottom lip was fuller than the top and high cheekbones lent his face an interesting angularity. The arching brows were brown, not white. And without the beard, well, you really had to admire the strong chin.
He wasn’t soap-opera handsome. His features weren’t quite perfect enough. But damn, he was cute. Adorable. Like a great big, cuddly, overgrown elf. He still wore the wire-rims, which were obviously not part of the costume, and the smug look in the merry eyes behind the lenses indicated just how much he was enjoying her discomfort. He opened the door with a lopsided grin and dramatic flourish.
“Mommy, this is Santa’s friend Jack.” Lizzie performed the necessary introductions as they walked to the street. “And guess what? He gots a truck just like Santa’s.”
“What a coincidence.”
He grinned. “So. Ellin Bennett. How’re you this fine day?”
It took her a moment to respond. Jack Madden was just full of surprises. “Fine.”
“Are you ladies ready to chop down a Christmas tree?” He opened the truck door, and she and Lizzie climbed inside.
“Yeah!” Lizzie submitted to being buckled into a regular lap belt on the seat between them but couldn’t sit still.
Ellin pulled on her gloves as though her composure were perfectly intact. Jack gallantly ignored her as he drove out of town. By directing his comments to Lizzie, he gave her time to get over her initial shock.
What had happened to her internal alarm? It was supposed to warn her when she was about to do something really stupid, but it seemed to be malfunctioning today. She considered bailing out and running back to the house. She didn’t trust that instant spark of attraction that had cranked up her heart rate and interfered with her objectivity. She knew how dangerous desire could be.
Something was happening here, chemistry-wise. It might feel good, but it was bad. It was beyond bad. The man aroused feelings she’d hadn’t felt in a long time. They would only complicate things, and her life was plenty complicated enough. If she were to research “Bad Idea” on the Internet, Jack Madden’s name would definitely pop up.
Then she looked at Lizzie’s excited little face. How could she deny her only child a much-anticipated experience?
It wasn’t like this was a date, she told herself. It didn’t have to be the start of anything. In fact, she was probably reading far more into it than she should. The man was just being neighborly. Wasn’t that what people did in Arkansas? What was she so worried about? They would get the stupid Christmas tree to make Lizzie happy, and that would be the end of it. It was up to her to keep their relationship strictly professional. She could do that. She wasn’t known as the Ice Queen of Chicago for nothing.
So what was the problem?
Him. Her. The situation. Spending time alone in the woods with a charmer who didn’t even know how appealing he was. Letting herself get close to someone she’d have to leave behind in a few months. The list could go on and on, but the point was Jack Madden would be nothing but trouble. And it was her policy to not go out looking for trouble. It found her often enough on its own.
Jack looked at her over Lizzie’s head, and his grin sent a rush of heat through her. Why did she feel he could actually read her thoughts? This was not good. As Ida Faye would put it, she was poking a wildcat with a short stick.
Chapter Three
While Jack steered the truck in and out of winding hairpin curves with practiced ease, Ellin fielded Lizzie’s questions and faked intense interest in the country landscape. Having spent her entire life within city limits, she was not accustomed to seeing nature as it was in northwestern Arkansas. Trees and gnarled underbrush flourished with in-your-face abandon just beyond the reach of highway brush-cutting crews.
Brown and russet leaves carpeted the ground beneath winter-bare trees. Oaks, hickories and bois d’arcs stretched gray limbs toward the pale, cloudless sky. Tall pines and squat cedars splashed the drab hillsides with waves of green.
Across the valley, the land rolled to the horizon in a crazy quilt of muted colors. Here and there, wispy columns of smoke spiraled from chimneys and flues and drifted lazily above the treetops.
“How much longer?” Lizzie bounced on the seat, unable to contain her excitement.
“Nearly there.” Jack flipped on the turn signal and angled off the highway onto a rocky track that wound through the trees. When they came to a heavy gate secured with a looped chain, he stopped, set the brake, and jumped out to release the padlock. The gate swung wide.
“Holy-moley! Is this a road?” Ellin asked skeptically as the truck began its bone-jarring climb up the hill.
“Actually it’s an old dry stream bed.” He explained the property belonged to his sister and brother-in-law who’d given him permission to cut a tree from an upland meadow. “They had the bed leveled to make it easier to get in and out.”
“You call this level?” Ellin braced her hand against the dash. “And easier?”
“For these parts, it is.” Jack drove carefully. He didn’t want to blow a tire or knock the front wheels out of alignment. “Jana and Ted drive SUVs,” he said. “They don’t have any trouble getting up to Crazy Bear Holler.”
“Crazy Bear Holler?” Lizzie giggled. “That’s a silly name.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Jack grinned down at the little girl. “But back in the 1800s a mean old bear terrorized the homesteads around here. The men tried tracking it down with dogs, but they couldn’t find his trail.”
“’Cause it was a crazy bear,” Lizzie put in.
“That’s right.” Jack went on in his storyteller voice. “That bear caused a lot of trouble. Then one morning, a settler’s wife caught him raiding her chicken coop.”
“What did she do?” Lizzie’s eyes widened.
“Well, she didn’t like it one bit that he was stealing her chickens. So she grabbed up the shotgun and filled his ornery old hide full of buckshot. He ran off and no one ever saw him again.”
“Good for her.” Ellin smiled at him over Lizzie’s head. “Never underestimate the wrath of a ticked-off pioneer woman.”
Jack laughed. “Or any woman, for that matter. That’s always been my policy.”
“Oh, I get it,” Lizzie said. “It’s called Crazy Bear Holler ’cause the lady made the crazy bear holler.”
Careful not to discount the little girl’s conclusion, he explained that in Arkansas, the valleys between hills were known as hollows, but most people called them hollers.
“Does your sister’s family live out here?” Ellin’s tone clearly expressed her opinion of extreme living.
“No. They have a place in town. They plan to build a house here later, when the kids are older. Laurel’s just a year old and they have a boy almost five.”
“What’s his name?” Lizzie asked.
“Colton. Maybe you’d like to play with him sometime.”
“I might,” she allowed. “Does he like princesses?”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Does your sister work?” asked Ellin.
Jack nodded. “According to Jana, all mothers work. Besides taking care of the kids and the house, she has a bookkeeping and accounting business.”
“Are her children in day care?”
“She leaves them with a lady in town. Mrs. Kendall.”
“I’ll need a sitter for Lizzie,” Ellin said. “Ida Faye was planning to watch her, but that’s out of the question for the time being. Do you think your sister would recommend someone?”
“I’ll ask her. Or better yet, I’ll introduce you, and you can ask her yourself.” Jack wanted the two women to meet so his twin would see how wrong she was about Ellin. He had no doubt the self-assured woman beside him could be a pain if the occasion demanded, but he didn’t think she actually was one. A small, but important, distinction.
“You’ve always lived in Washington?”
She gave the question an accusatory spin, like a cross-examining prosecutor. So, Mr. Madden, you would have this court believe vanilla is the only ice cream flavor you’ve ever tasted?
“Born and raised,” he said with a sly challenge.
“I suppose you went to school locally, as well?”
Come now, Mr. Madden, have you never been tempted to try chocolate? Or strawberry? What about Rocky Road?
Objection, Your Honor. Pressuring the witness. “I earned a bachelor’s degree at the University of Arkansas. I traveled a bit before completing postgraduate work at Stanford.”
She looked skeptical, like she could produce DNA evidence to the contrary. “You have an advanced degree? From Stanford?”
Jack nodded solemnly. A less secure man might be affronted by her surprise, but he rather enjoyed it. “You’d be amazed at the number of closet educated people in Arkansas. Gotta protect that possum-eating hillbilly image Hollywood gave us.”
“I intended no offense.” Her pretty flush assured him she meant it.
“None taken.” Jack had to watch the rugged road, but he glanced in her direction often. He enjoyed looking at Ellin Bennett, making little discoveries about her. Like the dimple that appeared at one corner of her mouth when she smiled a certain way. The tiny white scar that bisected the tip of her left brow. The canine that lapped ever so slightly over its neighbor. Getting to know her was akin to opening a brightly wrapped gift box and finding another one inside—a never-ending surprise. The suspense was killing him.
He’d already learned some interesting things about her. She was an attentive mother. She actually said “holy-moley.” She was city-bred but knew how to dress for a trip to the woods. And she was trying hard to conceal her nervousness. He suspected she was not often ill at ease, and it pleased him to think he made her fidget like a four-year-old.
He would have been sorely disappointed if she hadn’t been tipped a little off-balance when she met him sans Santa suit. She needed to have her strong opinions challenged once in a while, and he believed he was just the man to do it.
He liked her hair down. Restrained by a skier’s headband, it tumbled to her shoulders in glorious brown waves, as soft as he imagined and smelling of wildflowers. He tightened his hands on the steering wheel. Even on such a short acquaintance, he understood her well enough to know she would not appreciate him reaching over and sifting his fingers through the silky strands. But that was exactly what he wanted to do.
“You said you traveled after college. Any place in particular?”
“Africa.” He didn’t elaborate and hoped she wouldn’t press for details.
“Really? And you decided to live here?”
You claim you actually tried Rocky Road, Mr. Madden, and prefer vanilla? Yes, prosecutor. Guilty as charged. “I like Washington. My friends are here, my family’s here. I love my work. Why wouldn’t I want to stay?”
She shrugged. “There’s a whole world out there.”
“Yep, and I’ll stick with Washington. You sound like Jana. It’s okay for her to settle down here, but she thinks I’m a slacker because I want to.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t think that.”
Jack laughed. “She not only thinks it, she broadcasts it to the public on a regular basis. I’m surprised she hasn’t taken out an ad.” He drew a banner headline in the air with one hand. “Jack Madden Is Not Fulfilling His Potential. Do you have brothers or sisters?”
She shook her head. “I’m an only child, born before mom realized how time-consuming motherhood would be. My parents divorced when I was ten.”
Insight based on teaching experience and intuition gave Jack a glimpse of Ellin as a little girl, lonely and desperate for parental attention. He’d seen it before. When the acceptance they craved wasn’t forthcoming, some kids acted out. Others withdrew. The smart ones, the survivors, found comfort in achievement.
“Jana and I are twins,” he said. “She thinks sharing a womb and being born first gives her squatter’s rights on my destiny.”
“You two must be very close.”
He nodded. “Yeah, we are.” It would be hard to explain twinship to someone without a sibling. He liked to complain about Jana’s well-intentioned meddling, it was part of the game they played. But he couldn’t imagine living without her or the other noisy, nosy members of his extended family.
“Your parents are here, I take it?”
“Yep. Hal and Mary. They run a chicken farm a few miles south of town. I’ll have to show you two their operation sometime. It’s all automated. Up to date. Very impressive.”
“I don’t know.” Ellin inclined her head in Lizzie’s direction. “I’m afraid if she finds out where drumsticks and chicken nuggets really come from, she won’t want to eat them.”
“They don’t raise chickens for the packing plant,” he said. “They sell eggs.”
“Oh, that’s different. A trip to a real egg farm might be very educational.”
“I recall Ida Faye saying your dad passed away a few years back, but what about your mother?”
“She finally left Chicago for Phoenix. Said she was tired of snow. She sells commercial real estate.”
Interesting that she described her mother by occupation, as though what a person did for a living revealed the most about them. But that fit with what he’d heard about Ellin. She was more than just career-minded; getting ahead was more important to her than getting along.
Had her drive to succeed undermined her marriage? According to Ida Faye, it had ended more than two years ago. Before he could ask about it, Lizzie interrupted with another question.
“Do deers live in these woods?” She looked around hopefully.
“Sure, they do. Lots of them.” Jack parked the truck in a small meadow dotted with young cedars. In the summertime the grass fairly glowed with yellow wildflowers, but now, a week before Christmas, it was dry and brown, limned by frost.
“Reindeers?”
“No. Just little whitetails.”
“Can we see some?”
“Maybe. They come down to drink at the creek in the evening. We might see some there.”
“Goody.” Lizzie clapped her mittened hands at the prospect.
Ellin picked up the thread of their conversation as though trying to settle something in her mind. “You say you like it here and all, but haven’t you ever just wanted, well, more?”
Jack switched off the engine. She seemed to think not wanting more meant settling for less. He’d have to set her straight about that. He smiled as he turned to face her and cocked his elbow on the seat behind Lizzie.
“I never said I didn’t want more.” He caught her gaze and held it. “I do. I just don’t happen to think I have to go somewhere else to find it.”
