Slade's gaze didn't waver. "I hope so."
Carroll snatched up another bell and absently frosted it. "Be sure to tell us-"
"You'll be the first to know."
He didn't look like a man who had statistics on his mind, she concluded glumly, her heart skipping a beat.
Now what? Take the bull by the horns? "Slade," she began hesitantly, "I hope you're not-"
"I am. Marriage." He grinned at her stunned expression. "You. Me. Us." He picked up a tree and nibbled on it absently. "I knew the day I met you, but I thought you might need a little more time."
Carroll's fingers tightened around the bell. Her gaze slowly rose from a handful of crumbs to his intent gaze. "More time?" she echoed. "Your idea of more time is two weeks? I think you're stark, raving mad!"
Chapter Four
"God bless us, every one.'" Christy leaned companionably against Slade's shoulder as he sat at his desk, her arm tucked through his. "What do you think? Do you like it that way? Or is this better? 'God bless us, every one'?"
Slade grinned. He couldn't help it. He should have been working, had been working, but she was collecting opinions and apparently needed his. She was so earnest. Her straight bangs framed anxious blue eyes, vividly reminding him of another pair of blue eyes that were equally concerned these days-for a far different reason.
"There're only two more," she told him. "'God bless us, every one,' and 'God bless us, every one.'"
"Why the rush to decide right now?" He ran his hand through her cornsilk hair, ending with a teasing tug. "You still have three weeks until the show, don't you?"
Christy nodded. "But we're rehearsing, and it's the very last line of the play, and since everyone in town is coming, it's gotta be a… a smasheroo."
"Smasheroo?"
She nodded again. "That's what Kris said. So which one do you like best?"
"What does your director say?"
Christy wrinkled her nose and heaved a gusty sigh. "She told me to experiment. So I have been, and now I'm collecting votes. Which one do you choose?"
Carroll had been right about one thing, he reflected. Christy was as tenacious as Kris. "They're all pretty good," he hedged, "but you missed one. How about, 'God bless us, every one'? Would that work?"
She repeated the words in a whisper, her face brightening. "Yeah!" Leaning closer, she kissed him noisily on the cheek. "Thanks. You're terrific!"
He gave her a quick, one-armed hug. "Any time. The door's always open."
Sudden doubt clouded her face. "I just remembered, Mom said I shouldn't come over here so much-that I probably bother you."
"It's nice of her to be so concerned," he said slowly, realizing with a shock just how much he would miss her unannounced visits. "You don't bother me, but she doesn't have any way of knowing that, does she? Do you suppose it would help if I told her I enjoy having you drop in?"
"I don't know. I already told her," she added in a burst of honesty, giving the floor an embarrassed poke with the tip of her crutch. "She said that Kris has already messed up your work schedule, and maybe you're too polite to tell me when you're busy."
And maybe she's running just a little scared, he concluded, narrowing his eyes. Or maybe a lot scared. Maybe what she really wanted to do was ease him out of their lives. Totally. He tugged gently at Christy's hair again, bringing her gaze back to his. "Do you think she'll feel better if I promise to tell you when I'm too busy to visit?"
She nodded, then shrugged. "I don't know."
"We'll give it a try and see how it works. If I'm in the middle of something and can't stop, I'll let you know. Agreed?" When she nodded, he held out his hand. "Let's shake on it." Once they had completed the solemn little ceremony, he smiled and said, "Be sure and tell your mother."
"Okay, but I think I'll wait a little while. She's making a gingerbread house for the bazaar, and she always gets nervous when she does that," she confided in a rush. "I'm going to stay out of the kitchen till she's done."
Outside, a cornet burst into a series of staccato squawks. Slade tilted his head, automatically reaching out to punch the save key, wondering if the agitated toots meant that Kris was beginning work on the bumblebee tune. Well, he was entitled. The day before, he had rendered a shaky but recognizable version of "Taps."
Slipping the disk into its protective sleeve, Slade grinned in anticipation. Since he couldn't work, he had an overwhelming urge to see Ms. Christmas Carroll when she was rattled. Turning to Christy, he said, "What do you say we go visit your mom?"
"The gingerbread house," she reminded him.
"Maybe I can help."
She looked doubtful, but grabbed her jacket, tucked her crutches under her arms and hopped along beside him. "I think she's worried about something," she blurted.
He glanced down at her troubled expression and slowed his pace even more. "What makes you say that?"
"Maybe it's money. That's about the only thing she gets upset about."
"Why do you think she's worried?" he repeated patiently.
"Because she's real quiet, and kinda stares at things but she doesn't really see them. She only acts like that when something's bothering her." She slanted a glance up at him. "Do you think maybe if she was married she wouldn't be upset?"
"I don't know. What do you think?" He had a strong hunch that marriage was a factor here. With a child's unerring instincts, Christy had zeroed in on the right problem; she just had the wrong angle.
"I think she feels bad because I don't have a daddy," she said with a self-important little jiggle and all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. "I think she'd feel better if she married someone who liked kids, don't you?" She paused thoughtfully, then said, "Especially girls. Someone big, so we could both sit in his lap. And since we all have light hair, maybe someone with dark hair. Real dark," she clarified after taking a long look at Slade's near-black hair.
"Anything else?" he asked blandly, wondering what she would do if he scooped her up and gave her a big hug.
"It would be okay if he worked at home instead of going away every day," she assured him. "Mom does that already, so we're all kinda used to it. And he shouldn't be too old. How old are you?"
"Thirty-four."
"That's a good age." She hopped a few feet on her good leg, then stopped and looked at him with a puz-zled frown. "What's so funny? Why are you laughing?"
"I have a weird sense of humor. Watch out. Don't trip over that tangle of weeds."
Once inside the house, Christy opted to visit her grandmother and warned him again about going into the kitchen. He nodded and stayed where he was until she thumped her way up the stairs; then he turned and took a good look around.
The house was decorated for Christmas.
Somehow, he realized, the simple statement didn't adequately cover the situation. Candles, greenery, wall hangings and wreaths were just the beginning. Every flat surface was covered with miniature houses, carolers and snow scenes. The large coffee table had been converted into a creche, with squads of angels and shepherds. Several snowmen looked on with interest. The floor-to-ceiling tree, almost hidden beneath an avalanche of ornaments, took up one corner of the big living room.
In the dining room he discovered more of the same. Brightly colored ornaments and candles formed a centerpiece for the table, and the walls were covered with garlands of pungent pine boughs tied back with enormous red velvet bows.
Even the kitchen had been decorated. He cast a swift glance around and decided that the brightest ornament was sitting at the table scowling at a wobbly wall on the gingerbread house.