Christmas In The Snow: Taming Natasha / Considering Kate

Here the grass, the trees, the flowers he saw belonged to him. They were for him to enjoy and to care for. Here he could let Freddie take out her dolls for an afternoon tea party and not have to worry every second she was out of his sight. They would make a good life here, a solid life for both of them. He’d felt it when he’d flown down to discuss his position with the dean—and again when he’d walked through this big, rambling house with the anxious real-estate agent dogging his heels.

She hadn’t had to sell it, Spence thought. He’d been sold the moment he’d walked in the front door.

As he watched, a hummingbird swooped to hover at the cup of a bright red petunia. In that instant he was more convinced than ever that his decision to leave the city had been the right one.

Having a brief fling with rural living. Nina’s words rolled through his mind as he watched the sun flash on the bird’s iridescent wings. It was difficult to blame her for saying it, for believing it when he had always chosen to live in the middle of things. He couldn’t deny he had enjoyed those glittery parties that had lasted until dawn, or the elegant midnight suppers after a symphony or ballet.

He had been born into a world of glamour and wealth and prestige. He had lived all of his life in a place where only the best was acceptable. And he had relished it, Spence admitted. Summering in Monte Carlo, wintering in Nice or Cannes. Weekends in Aruba or Cancun.

He wouldn’t wish those experiences away, but he could wish, and did, that he had accepted the responsibilities of his life sooner.

He accepted them now. Spence watched the hummingbird streak away like a sapphire bullet. And as much to his own surprise as to that of people who knew him, he was enjoying those responsibilities. Freddie made the difference. All the difference.

He thought of her and she came running across the back lawn, her new rag doll tucked under her arm. She made a beeline, as he expected, to the swing set. It was so new that the blue and white paint gleamed in the sunlight, and the hard plastic seats were shiny as leather. With the doll in her lap, she pushed off, her face lifted skyward, her tiny mouth moving to some private song.

Love rammed into him with a velvet fist, solid and painful. In all of his life he had never known anything as consuming or as basic as the emotion she brought to him simply by being.

As she glided back and forth, she cuddled the doll, bringing her close to whisper secrets into her ear. It pleased him to see Freddie so taken with the cloth and cotton doll. She could have chosen china or velvet, but had picked something that looked as though it needed love.

She’d spoken of the toy store throughout the morning, and was wishing, Spence knew, for a return trip. Oh, she wouldn’t ask for anything, he thought. Not directly. She would use her eyes. It both amused and baffled him that at five, his little girl had already mastered that peculiar and effective feminine trick.

He’d thought of the toy store himself, and its owner. No feminine tricks there, just pure womanly disdain. It made him wince again to remember how clumsy he’d been. Out of practice, he reminded himself with a self-deprecating smile and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. What was more, he couldn’t remember ever experiencing that strong a sexual punch. It was like being hit by lightning, he decided. A man was entitled to fumble a bit after being electrified.

But her reaction… Frowning, Spence replayed the scene in his mind. She’d been furious. She’d damn near been quivering with fury before he’d opened his mouth—and put his foot in it.

She hadn’t even attempted to be polite in her refusal. Just no—a single hard syllable crusted with frost at the edges. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her to go to bed with him.

But he’d wanted to. From the first instant he had been able to imagine carrying her off to some dark, remote spot in the woods, where the ground was springy with moss and the trees blocked out the sky. There he could take the heat of those full, sulky lips. There he could indulge in the wild passion her face promised. Wild, mindless sex, heedless of time or place, of right or wrong.

Good God. Amazed, he pulled himself back. He was thinking like a teenager. No, Spence admitted, thrusting his hands into his pockets again. He was thinking like a man—one who had gone four years without a woman. He wasn’t certain if he wanted to thank Natasha Stanislaski for unlocking all those needs again, or throttle her.

But he was certain he was going to see her again.

“I’m all packed.” Nina paused in the doorway. She gave a little sigh; Spence was clearly absorbed in his own thoughts again. “Spencer,” she said, raising her voice as she crossed the room. “I said I’m all packed.”

“What? Oh.” He managed a distracted smile and forced his shoulders to relax. “We’ll miss you, Nina.”

“You’ll be glad to see the back of me,” she corrected, then gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“No.” His smile came easier now, she saw, dutifully wiping the faint trace of lipstick from his skin. “I appreciate all you’ve done to help us settle in. I know how tight your schedule is.”

“I could hardly let my brother tackle the wilds of West Virginia alone.” She took his hand in a rare show of genuine agitation. “Oh, Spence, are you sure? Forget everything I’ve said before and think, really think it through. It’s such a big change, for both of you. What will you possibly do here in your free time?”

“Cut the grass.” Now he grinned at her expression. “Sit on the porch. Maybe I’ll even write music again.”

“You could write in New York.”

“I haven’t written two bars in almost four years,” he reminded her.

“All right.” She walked to the piano and waved a hand. “But if you wanted a change, you could have found a place on Long Island or even in Connecticut.”

“I like it here, Nina. Believe me, this is the best thing I could do for Freddie, and myself.”

“I hope you’re right.” Because she loved him, she smiled again. “I still say you’ll be back in New York within six months. In the meantime, as that child’s only aunt, I expect to be kept apprised of her progress.” She glanced down, annoyed to see a chip in her nail polish. “The idea of her attending public school—”

“Nina.”

“Never mind.” She held up a hand. “There’s no use starting this argument when I have a plane to catch. And I’m quite aware she’s your child.”

“Yes, she is.”

Nina tapped a finger on the glossy surface of the baby grand. “Spence, I know you’re still carrying around guilt because of Angela. I don’t like to see it.”

His easy smile vanished. “Some mistakes take along time to be erased.”

“She made you miserable,” Nina said flatly. “There were problems within the first year of your marriage. Oh, you weren’t forthcoming with information,” she added when he didn’t respond. “But there were others all too eager to pass it along to me or anyone else who would listen. It was no secret that she didn’t want the child.”

“And how much better was I, wanting the baby only because I thought it would fill the gaps in my marriage? That’s a large burden to hand a child.”

“You made mistakes. You recognized them and you rectified them. Angela never suffered a pang of guilt in her life. If she hadn’t died, you would have divorced her and taken custody of Freddie. The result’s the same. I know that sounds cold. The truth often is. I don’t like to think that you’re making this move, changing your life this dramatically because you’re trying to make up for something that’s long over.”

“Maybe that’s part of it. But there’s more.” He held out a hand, waiting until Nina came to him. “Look at her.” He pointed out the window to where Freddie continued to swing high, free as the hummingbird. “She’s happy. And so am I.”

CHAPTER TWO

“I’m not scared.”

“Of course you’re not.” Spence looked at his daughter’s brave reflection in the mirror while he carefully braided her hair. He didn’t need the quaver in her voice to tell him she was terrified. There was a rock in the pit of his own stomach the size of a fist.

“Some of the kids might cry.” Her big eyes were already misted. “But I won’t.”

“You’re going to have fun.” He wasn’t any more certain of that than his nervous daughter. The trouble with being a parent, he thought, was that you were supposed to sound sure of everything. “The first day of school’s always a little scary, but once you get there and meet everyone, you’ll have a great time.”

She fixed him with a steady, owlish stare. “Really?”

“You liked kindergarten, didn’t you?” It was evasive, he admitted to himself, but he couldn’t make promises he might not be able to keep.

“Mostly.” She lowered her eyes, poking at the yellow, sea horse-shaped comb on her dresser. “But Amy and Pam won’t be there.”

“You’ll make new friends. You’ve already met JoBeth.” He thought of the pixieish brunette who had strolled by the house with her mother a couple of days before.

“I guess, and JoBeth is nice, but…” How could she explain that JoBeth already knew all of the other girls? “Maybe I should wait till tomorrow.”

Their eyes met in the mirror again; he rested his chin on her shoulder. She smelled of the pale green soap she loved because it was shaped like a dinosaur. Her face was so much like his own, yet softer, finer, and to him infinitely beautiful.

“You could, but then tomorrow would be your first day of school. You’d still have butterflies.”

“Butterflies?”

“Right here.” He patted her tummy. “Doesn’t it feel like butterflies dancing in there?”

That made her giggle. “Kind of.”

“I’ve got them, too.”

“Really?” Her eyes opened wide.

“Really. I’ve got to go to school this morning, just like you.”

She fiddled with the pink ribbons he’d tied on the ends of her pigtails. She knew it wasn’t the same for him, but didn’t say so because she was afraid he’d get that worried look. Freddie had heard him talking to Aunt Nina once, and remembered how impatient he had sounded when she’d complained that he was uprooting her niece during her formative years.

Freddie wasn’t sure exactly what formative years were, but she knew her daddy had been upset, and that even when Aunt Nina had gone again, he’d still had that worried look. She didn’t want to make him worried, or to make him think Aunt Nina was right. If they went back to New York, the only swing sets were in the park.

Besides, she liked the big house and her new room. Even better, her father’s new job was so close, he would be home every night long before dinner. Remembering not to pout, Freddie decided that since she wanted to stay, she’d have to go to school.

“Will you be here when I get home?”

“I think so. But if I’m not, Vera will be,” he said, thinking of their longtime housekeeper. “You can tell me everything that happened.” After kissing the top of her head, he set her on her feet. She looked achingly small in her pink and white playsuit. Her gray eyes were solemn, her bottom lip trembling. He fought back the urge to gather her up and promise that she’d never have to go to school or anywhere else that frightened her. “Let’s go see what Vera packed in your new lunch box.”

Twenty minutes later he was standing on the curb, holding Freddie’s hand in his own. With almost as much dread as his daughter he saw the big yellow school bus lumbering over the hill.

He should have driven her to school, he thought in sudden panic—at least for the first few days. He should take her himself, instead of putting her onto that bus with strangers. Yet it had seemed better to make the whole event normal, to let her ease into the group and become one of them from the outset.

How could he let her go? She was just a baby. His baby. What if he was wrong? This wasn’t just a matter of picking out the wrong color dress for her. Simply because it was the designated day and time, he was going to tell his daughter to get onto that bus, then walk away.

What if the driver was careless and drove off a cliff? How could he be sure someone would make certain Freddie got back onto the right bus that afternoon?

The bus rumbled to a halt and his fingers tightened instinctively on hers. When the door clattered open, he was almost ready to make a run for it.

“Hi, there.” The driver, a large woman with a wide smile, nodded at him. Behind her, children were yelling and bouncing on the seats. “You must be Professor Kimball.”

“Yes.” He had excuses for not putting Freddie on the bus on the tip of his tongue.

“I’m Dorothy Mansfield. The kids just call me Miss D. And you must be Frederica.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She bit her bottom lip to keep from turning away and hiding her face against her father’s side. “It’s Freddie.”

“Whew.” Miss D gave another big grin. “I’m glad to hear that. Frederica sure is a mouthful. Well, hop aboard, Freddie girl. This is the big day. John Harman, you give that book back to Mikey, less’n you want to sit behind me in the hot seat the rest of the week.”

Eyes swimming, Freddie put one foot onto the first step. Swallowing, she climbed the second.

“Why don’t you take a seat with JoBeth and Lisa there?” Miss D suggested kindly. She turned back to Spence with a wink and a wave. “Don’t worry about a thing, Professor. We’ll take good care of her.”

The door closed on a puff of air, then the bus rumbled ahead. Spence could only stand on the curb and watch it take his little girl away.

He wasn’t exactly idle. Spence’s time was eaten up almost from the moment he walked into the college. He had his own schedule to study, associates to meet, instruments and sheet music to pore over. There was a faculty meeting, a hurried lunch in the lounge, and there were papers, dozens of papers to read and digest. It was a familiar routine, one that he had begun three years before when he’d taken a post at the Juilliard School. But like Freddie, he was the new kid in town, and it was up to him to make the adjustments.

He worried about her. At lunchtime he imagined her sitting in the school cafeteria, a room that smelled of peanut butter and waxy cartons of milk. She would be huddled at the end of a table scattered with crumbs, alone, miserable, while other children laughed and joked with their friends. He could see her at recess, standing apart and looking on longingly, while the others raced and shouted and climbed like spiders on jungle gyms. The trauma would leave her insecure and unhappy for the rest of her life.

All because he’d put her onto that damn yellow bus.

By the end of the day he was feeling as guilty as a child abuser, certain his little girl would come home in tears, devastated by the rigors of the first day of school. More than once he asked himself if Nina had been right all along. Perhaps he should have left well enough alone and stayed in New York, where at least Freddie had had friends and the familiar.

With his briefcase in one hand and his jacket slung over his shoulder, he started for home. It was hardly more than a mile, and the weather remained unseasonably warm. Until winter hit, he would take advantage of it and walk to and from campus.

He had already fallen in love with the town. There were pretty shops and rambling old houses all along the tree-lined main street. It was a college town and proud of it, but it was equally proud of its age and dignity. The street climbed, and here and there the sidewalk showed cracks where tree roots had undermined it. Though there were cars passing, it was quiet enough to hear the bark of a dog or the music from a radio. A woman weeding marigolds along her walkway looked up and waved at him. Cheered, Spence waved back.

She didn’t even know him, he thought. But she had waved. He looked forward to seeing her again, planting bulbs perhaps, or sweeping snow from her porch. He could smell chrysanthemums. For some reason that alone gave him a shot of pleasure.

No, he hadn’t made a mistake. He and Freddie belonged here. In less than a week it had become home.

He stopped on the curb to wait for a laboring sedan to pass, and glancing across the street saw the sign for The Fun House. It was perfect, Spence thought. The perfect name. It conjured up laughter and surprises, just as the window display with its building blocks, chubby-cheeked dolls and shiny red cars promised a childhood treasure trove. At the moment he could think of nothing he wanted more than to find something that would bring a smile to his daughter’s face.

You spoil her.

He could hear Nina’s voice clearly in his ears.

So what? Glancing quickly up and down the street, he crossed to the opposite curb. His little girl had walked onto the school bus as bravely as any soldier marching into battle. There was no harm in buying her a small medal.

The door jingled as he entered. There was a scent, as cheerful as the sound of the bells. Peppermint, he thought and smiled. It delighted him to hear the tinny strains of “The Merry-Go-Round Broke Down,” coming from the rear of the shop.

“I’ll be right with you.”

He had forgotten, Spence realized, how that voice could cruise along the air.

He wouldn’t make a fool of himself again. This time he was prepared for what she looked like, sounded like, smelled like. He had come in to buy a present for his daughter, not to flirt with the proprietor. Then he grinned into the face of a forlorn panda. There didn’t seem to be any law against doing both.

“I’m sure Bonnie will love it,” Natasha said as she carried the miniature carousel for her customer. “It’s a beautiful birthday present.”

“She saw it in here a few weeks ago and hasn’t been able to talk about anything else.” Bonnie’s grandmother tried not to grimace at the price. “I guess she’s old enough to take care of it.”

“Bonnie’s a very responsible girl,” Natasha went on, then spotted Spence at the counter. “I’ll be right with you.” The temperature of her voice dropped a cool twenty degrees.

“Take your time.” It annoyed him that his reaction to her should be so strong, while hers played tug-of-war at the opposite end of the spectrum. It was obvious she’d decided to dislike him. It might be interesting, Spence thought, while he watched her slender, capable hands wrap the carousel, to find out her reasons.

And change her mind.

“That’s 55.27, Mrs. Mortimer.”

“Oh no, dear, the price tag said 67.”

Natasha, who knew Mrs. Mortimer juggled expenses on a fixed income, only smiled. “I’m sorry. Didn’t I tell you it was on sale?”

“No.” Mrs. Mortimer let out a little breath of relief as she counted out bills. “Well, this must be my lucky day.”

“And Bonnie’s.” Natasha topped the gift with a pretty, celebratory pink bow, remembering it was Bonnie’s favorite color. “Be sure to tell her happy birthday.”

“I will.” The proud grandmother lifted her package. “I can’t wait to see her face when she opens this. Bye, Natasha.”

Natasha waited until the door closed. “May I help you with something?”

“That was a very nice thing to do.”

She lifted a brow. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” He had the absurd urge to take her hand and kiss it. It was incredible, he thought. He was almost thirty-five and tumbling into puppy love with a woman he barely knew. “I’d meant to come in before.”

“Oh? Was your daughter dissatisfied with her doll?”

“No, she loves it. It was just that I…” Good God, he was nearly stuttering. Five minutes with her, and he felt as awkward as a teenager at his first dance. He steadied himself with an effort. “I felt we’d gotten off on the wrong foot before. Should I apologize?”

“If you like.” Just because he looked appealing and a little awkward was no reason to go easy on him. “Did you come in only for that?”

“No.” His eyes darkened, just slightly. Noting it, Natasha wondered if she’d erred in her initial impression. Perhaps he wasn’t harmless, after all. There was something deeper in those eyes, stronger and more dangerous. What surprised her further was that she found it exciting.

Disgusted with herself, she gave him a polite smile. “Was there something else?”

“I wanted something for my daughter.” The hell with the gorgeous Russian princess, he thought. He had more important things to tend to.

“What was it you wanted for her?”

“I don’t know.” That was true enough. Setting down his briefcase, he glanced around the shop.

Unbending a little, Natasha came around the counter. “Is it her birthday?”

“No.” Feeling foolish, he shrugged. “It’s the first day of school, and she looked so…brave getting on the bus this morning.”

This time Natasha’s smile was spontaneous and full of warmth. It nearly stopped his heart. “You shouldn’t worry. When she comes home, she’ll be full of stories about everything and everyone. The first day is much harder, I think, on the parent than on the child.”

“It’s been the longest day of my life.”

She laughed, a rich smoky sound that seemed impossibly erotic in a room full of clowns and stuffed bears. “It sounds like you both deserve a present. You were looking at a music box before. I have another you might like.”

So saying, she led the way to the back of the shop. Spence did his best to ignore the subtle sway of her hips and the soft, fresh-scrubbed flavor of her scent. The box she chose was carved of wood, its pedestal topped with a cat and a fiddle, a cow and a quarter moon. As it turned to “Stardust,” he saw the laughing dog and the dish with the spoon.

“It’s charming.”

“It’s one of my favorites.” She’d decided that any man who adored his daughter so blatantly couldn’t be all bad. So she smiled again. “I think it would be a lovely memento, something she could play on her first day of college and remember her father was thinking of her.”

“If he survives first grade.” He shifted slightly to look at her. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

It was the oddest thing—his body had hardly brushed hers, but she’d felt a jolt. For an instant she forgot he was a customer, a father, a husband, and thought of him only as a man. His eyes were the color of the river at dusk. His lips, as they formed the barest hint of a smile, were impossibly attractive, alluring. Involuntarily she wondered what it would be like to feel them against her own—to watch his face as mouth met mouth, and see herself reflected in his eyes.

Appalled, she stepped back and her voice grew colder. “I’ll box it for you.”

Intrigued by the sudden change in tone, he took his time following her back to the counter. Hadn’t he seen something in those fabulous eyes of hers? Or was it wishful thinking? It had gone quickly enough, heat smothered in frost. For the life of him he could find no reason for either.

“Natasha.” He laid a hand on hers as she began to pack the music box.

Slowly she lifted her eyes. She was already hating herself for noticing that his hands were beautiful, wide-palmed, long-fingered. There was also a note of patience in his voice that stretched her already frayed nerves. “Yes?”

“Why do I keep getting the feeling you’d like to boil me in oil?”

“You’re mistaken,” she said evenly. “I don’t think I’d like that.”

“You don’t sound convinced.” He felt her hand flex under his, soft and strong. The image of steel-lined velvet seemed particularly apt. “I’m having some trouble figuring out exactly what I’ve done to annoy you.”

“Then you’ll have to think about it. Cash or charge?”

He’d had little practice with rejection. Like a wasp it stung the ego. No matter how beautiful she was, he had no desire to continue to ram his head against the same brick wall.

“Cash.” The door jangled open behind them and he released her hand. Three children, fresh from school, came in giggling. A young boy with red hair and a face bursting with freckles stood on his toes in front of the counter.

“I have three dollars,” he announced.

Natasha fought back a grin. “You’re very rich today, Mr. Jensen.”