With an impatient wave of her hand, she gave up. "It's an old story, and a dull one. He did exactly what the other two did-walk. Only I got the courtesy of an explanation. He was looking for something."
"He had you and Christy, and he went looking for more?" Slade's gray eyes registered disbelief. "He's a fool."
Carroll stared at him. "Where were you years ago when I needed to hear that from someone besides my mother and grandfather?" she finally asked with wry humor.
"Where is he now?"
"Last I heard, he was in some over-the-hill hippie, vegetarian commune."
Her casual shrug told Slade all he needed to know. She wasn't mourning the loss of a husband. She'd had the strength to rebuild her life, and she wasn't wasting any time looking over her shoulder. If her steady gaze was any indication, she was, apparently, happy.
"You're better off without him," Slade said flatly.
She nodded. "I couldn't agree more. Actually, I feel a little sorry for him. I have full custody of Christy, and he'll never see her grow up. He has no idea what he's missing."
Slade raised his mug and sipped thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving her face. He liked what he saw. Life had made her strong, yet she still had compassion for a loser ex-husband. She wasn't bitter, but she knew her own value and wouldn't let the guy within a hundred feet of her or Christy. Which was exactly as it should be.
Carroll wasn't beautiful, he reflected. She didn't have the anorectic, hollowed-cheekbones and exotic glamor found in fashion magazines. She was small-boned and barely came to his chin. Slim, but not excessively so, with a neat little bottom that had kept him awake more nights than he wanted to count. Her steady blue gaze reflected intelligence and a lively sense of humor. Straight blond hair framed her face and usually looked as if she had been running her hands through it. No, she wasn't beautiful, Slade reflected, but the sum total of what she was had a lethal effect on him.
He leaned back and was idly considering the state of his hormones when Santa Claus threw open the door.
Chapter Two
Slade blinked at the sight before him and silently corrected himself. First you'd have to swap the old man's blue sweatsuit and hightop tennies for an outfit of red velvet, fur and boots; then he would be Santa Claus. Kris had blue eyes that actually twinkled beneath thick snowy brows, ruddy cheeks, a glistening white beard that fanned out over his chest and a frame that needed no artificial padding. He also had a booming voice and an inextinguishable supply of enthusiasm. Fanaticism might be a better word, Slade decided.
"Slade!" Kris beamed at him, slamming the basement door and pulling up a chair next to Slade's. "The very man I want to see. The word's out that you're a hotshot engineer. Exactly what is it that you do?"
After a slight pause, Slade said briefly, "Right now, I'm designing a type of radar for the military."
"Ah." Kris blinked and returned to his primary concern. "Ever do much with electricity?"
Slade nodded cautiously. "Some."
"Ha!" Rubbing his hands in satisfaction, Kris chortled, "Just what I thought. I need your help."
Eyeing the old man's expectant smile with fascination, Slade demanded, "You want my help?"
"Right." Kris nodded, pleased by what he apparently considered an eager volunteer.
"Mine?"
"Sure. Can you come down to the basement? I want to show you something."
"Wait a minute." Slade held up a restraining hand. "I have a slight problem of my own that we need to discuss."
Kris blinked, his blue eyes thoughtful. "You mean the power?"
Slade nodded grimly.
"About it going off, you mean?"
He nodded again.
Kris's face brightened. "I knew you were going to fit in around here, boy." He swiveled around to Carroll and demanded, "Didn't I tell you that you were wrong about him?" Turning back to Slade, he said, "I suppose when it went off, you knew I needed help."
"Not exactly."
"And you came right over," he continued, ignoring Slade's terse reply. "What a neighbor!"
"Kris-"
"Ready to pitch right in and help. I didn't even have to ask!" He jumped to his feet. "Well, that's the way things work sometimes. You worry and fret about a problem, and then you turn around and find the answer sitting in your kitchen." He opened the basement door. "Come on down and let me show you what I'm wrestling with."
"Kris, I'm not-"
"Teh, don't be modest," the old man urged, his cheeks rosy with barely suppressed excitement. "It should be a snap for someone like you. I know what I want. I just don't know how to get it. Come on, we've only got four weeks." Taking in Slade's puzzled expression, he added, "Until Christmas Eve." Bounding down the stairs, he called back over his shoulder, "That's when all the lights I've strung around town go on and stay on for a week."
"Well, hell." Slade glared in frustration at the empty doorway, then swung around to Carroll, his frown deepening when she grinned. "He doesn't listen."
"I know."
"The only reason I came over here was to tell him to stop that damned testing during the day."
"I know."
"What does he mean, all?"
"He's going to dazzle us in degrees. Some lights go on in two weeks, more the following week, and more-"
"I get the idea." He ran a hand through his dark hair, making it stand on end. "He's hell-bent on getting me involved in this idiotic project."
"You're absolutely right." At that point, she honestly didn't know who needed protecting, her grandfather or Slade. "Why do you think I've been trying to keep you two apart?"
"To save his neck."
Carroll nodded thoughtfully. "There is that," she admitted. "But actually, I've been thinking of you, too. I know how Kris is. He works on the premise that everyone has the same enthusiasm for his schemes that he does, and before his unsuspecting victims know what's happened, he's suckered them in."
Resting his hand on the edge of the open door, Slade said firmly, "I'm not a victim. I guess I'll just have to set him straight, won't I?"
"I guess you will." Carroll picked up her mug and made a small toasting gesture. "Good luck." Her smile was rueful. It wasn't easy to pop her ebullient grandfather's balloon, to rain on his parade. Slade would need more than luck.
When he hit the middle of the stairs, Slade caught a glimpse of Kris's workshop that made him stop in midstride. By the time he reached the bottom, he knew he had underestimated the redoubtable old man. So what else was new? he asked himself disgustedly. He had misjudged the entire family.
On the basis of a few short days of observation, he had decided that he'd moved in next to a den of dreamers. Carroll, who seemed free to come and go at will, had been his first mistake. He'd pegged her as a dazzling wildflower who apparently didn't have to worry about basics like paying rent and finding a job. Then he'd learned that she ran a flourishing secretarial service from the house, enabling her to be home with Christy and keep an eye on her flighty mother and loony grandfather.
After Christy's first visit, he'd mentally labeled her as precocious and a bit spoiled. Wrong again. She was bright, talented, articulate and fiercely loyal. She also wanted a father and had apparently set her sights on him.
His first encounter with Noel had been on his front porch. She had been gazing abstractedly through a spray of pine needles at a billowing formation of cumulus clouds, not even turning to acknowledge his greeting. His gut reaction had been that she was playing the part of a vague, eccentric artist. Another mis-take. She wasn't playing at anything; she was a vague, eccentric artist. A very good one.