Home Free - Fern Michaels [72]
She had decided earlier on the ride home that she would serve dinner on the old plank table in the kitchen, which sat in the middle of the wraparound windows. As she was walking out the door, Yoko had shyly presented her with a beautiful evergreen centerpiece with a fat red bayberry-scented candle.
The house smelled so good, the cooking scents vying with the fragrant odors from the Christmas tree in the living room and the centerpiece. She wondered if it was true that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach and his nose. She hoped so. She checked the mess in the Crock-Pot, sniffed, and then tasted the rich gravy. Perfect. She added the wine and covered the pot. Next, she set the table and held a match to the shiny red candle. The last thing she did was build a fire in the living room and turn on the tree lights. It was all perfect, so much so that she crossed her fingers the way she had when she was a little girl and wanted some good-luck fairy to make her wish come true.
Her stomach in knots, Maggie sat down in front of the fire. She propped her elbows on her knees and let her mind race. This was a whole new ball game. Her emotions had never been this twisted, this unpredictable. She couldn’t ever remember not being in control. The feeling was so alien, she wanted to cry.
Work versus love. Love versus work. Not exactly. Factor in the Sisters, and it wasn’t just work or love. Why did it have to be one or the other? Why couldn’t she blend it all together? Millions of women did it. But, she argued with herself, those millions of other women didn’t have a loyalty to the infamous vigilantes. Common sense told her to just let things play out. Whatever was meant to happen would happen.
Maggie continued to watch the flames, mesmerized as they danced and frolicked and raced up the chimney. There was something about a good fire in the winter with a Christmas tree that was so comforting, she couldn’t put it into words. And I’m a reporter, she thought, so I should have the words. The best she could come up with was, it evoked childhood memories, belief in Santa coming down the chimney. She remembered asking someone, an aunt, she thought, why Santa’s pants didn’t catch on fire. She smiled at the memory just as the doorbell rang.
Maggie uncurled herself and took a deep breath before she walked to the door. She actually wanted to run to the door, but she held herself back. She opened it, a welcoming smile on her face. The smile turned into a wicked grin when Gus said, “I’m staying the night.” He had a small canvas bag under one arm and was walking with two canes. “Because of the weather. I hope it’s okay. On Sundays, my therapy doesn’t start till one o’clock.”
Maggie noticed for the first time that it was sleeting out. Gus’s curly hair was glistening with little ice crystals. “Sure it’s okay. When did it start sleeting?” she asked inanely.
“Oh, about four hours ago.” Gus laughed as he made his way inside.
“I didn’t notice. Well, I have a nice fire going and my tree is up, and if I do say so myself, it is spectacular. Follow me, and I’ll hang up your jacket. How about a glass of wine? Wow, Gus, you’re walking pretty good.”
“I know. My doctors are pleased with my progress but not as much as I am. One more operation next month, more therapy, and they tell me I’ll be good to go by late spring. Everything depends on my progress, though. We’ve had to revise deadlines several times. Good thing I have lots of patience.”
They were in the living room, and Gus turned to view the tree and the fire. “Oh, this is the perfect end to a great day. You were right. This is a spectacular tree. I love sitting in front of a fire and just daydreaming. The Christmas season really is here.”
“I was doing that when you rang the doorbell. When I was a kid, I remember asking one of my aunts why Santa’s pants didn’t catch on fire coming down the chimney. I don’t remember if she answered me or, if she did, what she said. Grown-ups hated me because I was always the kid with the questions no