Christmas Kisses (Romance on the Ranch Series #5) (8 page)

Cecelia prepared a bagel and cream cheese and
poured a cup of the coffee she'd brewed. She sat at the table just as Sean
entered the kitchen and grabbed the box of Honey Nut Cheerios he ate every
morning. When he glanced at her, he must have read something in her face that
said, "Don't even go there." Silently, he sat across from her and
poured milk in his cereal.

Mac entered the room and headed toward the coffee
pot. He grabbed a large mug from the open shelving and poured it to the brim.
Sean lifted his bowl of cereal and said, "I need to get my backpack,"
and left the room.

Cecelia and Mac spoke at the same time. She
said, "I should let you know…"

He said, "I want to…"

They looked at each other and he said, "You
first."

Cecelia set her cup on the table and circled the
rim with her finger. "I just wanted to let you know I'll be leaving in
January, when Sean leaves. Of course, I'll always be available if you need me
to grocery shop or help with anything." She tapped her fingernail against
her cup.

Mac said, "I appreciate that." He
sighed. "I just want to apologize again for last night."

Against her better judgment, Cecelia glanced up.
When their eyes met, electricity sparked between them. At least it sparked on
her end; she couldn't speak for him. She said, "I'd like to believe we've
become good friends over the past weeks–"

He interrupted. "We have."

She smiled slightly, "So, let's not read
more into last night than two lonely people in unusual circumstances. I'd hate
to lose your friendship."

"That will never happen."

There was a long silence while they both sipped
their coffee.

Cecelia spoke first. "So, here's what I was
thinking." When Mac turned an intent gaze on her, she almost lost her
train of thought. "Um, you know Sean has been helping out at the coffee
shop and I've been paying him under the table."

Mac nodded.

"Anyway, I checked with city regulations,
and he's old enough to work a regular job if he gets a work permit." Mac
lifted an eyebrow and Cecelia hastened on. "He really shows an interest in
being a barista. If he were to get a permit, I could hire him, and Justin could
train him to make all the drinks. That way, when he returns home, he'll have skills
for working at a coffee shop if he wants to earn extra money while going to
school."

Mac took another sip of his coffee and Cecelia
held her breath. He said, "I think that's an excellent idea. Have you
talked to him about it?"

"Not yet. I wanted to run it by you
first."

Sean reentered the room and took his cereal bowl
to the sink. He glanced curiously at his father and Cecelia. Mac said,
"Have a seat, son."

Cecelia saw the boy's eyes widen at his father's
address of "son." Without his usual cockiness, he sat in the chair
next to Cecelia.

Mac said, "Since you're going to be here
until January, Cecelia came up with something to keep you occupied until you
leave."

Sean glanced at Cecelia.

After a quick look at Mac, she outlined what she
had just told him. She finished with, "Of course, you'll still have to
keep up your school work via the internet. But Christmas vacation should give
you a reprieve." She expected Sean to protest—he protested about
everything—so when he shrugged and said, "Okay," she was shocked.
What?
No smart-ass remark?

Cecelia moved her gaze to Mac's and registered
the look of surprise on his face, too.

The aroma of Thanksgiving wafted throughout the
house as Cecelia pulled the turkey out to baste it. The pumpkin and apple pies
she'd baked early that morning now rested on the counter.
Another hour and we'll
be blessing this bird.

Glancing around the small kitchen that she'd
made efficient and homey during the time she'd been staying with Mac, she felt
herself choking up. Another few weeks and her stint would be finished. He had
improved greatly in the past week and now had the ability to clench and
unclench his hand. He was about to graduate to more intensive exercise therapy
and a complete recovery was looking better everyday.

As far as their romantic encounter, neither of
them mentioned it, although it was always an invisible force between them.

Cecelia removed salad makings from the fridge
and began cutting veggies. She smiled when she thought about Sean. He'd taken
to working at the coffee shop like a duck takes to water. He had learned how to
mix all the coffee specialties and now was Justin's backup for lunch and
breaks. City regulations allowed him to work no more than thirty hours a week,
but he hung out at the shop more than he did at home, bringing his laptop to do
school lessons after work. He had also made a friend in Cecelia's nephew,
Harris, and the boys often met up at the coffee house.

Frustration with Mac made Cecelia sigh. Once, when
she had broached the subject of him revealing his identity to Sean, he'd
adamantly refused, saying he was protecting the boy. Although she didn't refute
that, Cecelia thought it was only partly true. She figured Mac was protecting
his own heart because revealing something that important would only anger Sean
more. She knew Mac loved his boy, but he'd been reclusive and secretive for
such a long time, he didn't know how to behave differently. Cecelia could see
the hurt in Mac's eyes every time the boy rejected him. But if there was one
thing she knew for a fact, it was that Sean would not embrace his father until
his father opened his heart to him. It was a vicious cycle.

"That sure smells wonderful," Mac said
from the doorway.

Cecelia had been so wrapped up in her musings
that she hadn't heard him. "I just hope it tastes as good as it smells."

Mac glanced at the pies. "What time did you
get up this morning?"

"A little after six."

"You know, I appreciate you staying with us
on Thanksgiving, but you should be spending it with your family."

Cecelia reached for a carrot to grate. "I
wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving with you and Sean. When I lived in New York, I
had no one to cook for. I always spent the holidays with my parents with lavish
meals prepared by their chef. The atmosphere was–" She searched for words,
"–regal and stiff." She blushed when she admitted, "I'm loving
this."

"But I'm sure the atmosphere is anything
but regal at your brother's house with five children."

Cecelia laughed. "That's true. You could
call it the opposite of regal. More like chaotic." She winked. "But I
couldn't be in charge of the kitchen there."

*

The wink that Cecelia gave Mac was so endearing
he wanted to sweep her into his arms and kiss her endlessly. Since their kiss,
he'd been bombarded by visions of the two of them together, and not in a
platonic way. He ground his back teeth and willed those thoughts to the recesses
of his mind. Leaning on his cane, he headed toward the coffee pot.

Cecelia said, "Oh, let me pour you a cup."

"No, honey, I've got it." The
endearment just slipped out and they both stared at each other.

Sean said from the doorway, "Hey, do you
guys need a private moment?"

Mac jerked his mug off the shelf. "Of
course not. Come on in."

Sean got that shit-eating grin that was
appearing more and more and Mac sloshed hot coffee over the edge of his cup.
"Damn!"

Sean's grin widened. He said, "After
dinner, Harris and I are going to the movies. There's a new Transformer flick
out. We've been waiting ages to see it."

Mac said, "Are you telling me or
asking?"

His son frowned. "What do you want me to
do?"

Mac rubbed his eyebrow. "Have fun."

Sean glanced from his father to Cecelia.
"How much longer until we eat? I've been working on a new beverage for the
shop and I just need to check a few things on the internet."

Cecelia stopped her motion of tossing the salad.
"That's fabulous. I can't wait to hear about it. Oh, dinner will be ready
in an hour."

An hour later, the three of them sat at the
small dining room table that could have been decorated by Martha Stewart. Mac
had already berated himself for his touchy attitude and kept the conversation
light. Somehow the current topic turned to hobbies and Cecelia admitted how
much she loved to cook and decorate. When Sean questioned her further, Mac was
mesmerized by the joy on her face as she described the perfect home. She
blushed and said, "Sorry about being such a motor mouth. What about you,
Sean. What's your hobby?" She paused and then asked, "Do you paint or
sketch?" Mac shot her a warning glance.

Sean said, "The only thing I can draw are
stick figures. And my best paintings are done with finger paints."

Cecelia laughed. "Okay. I'm the same. But I
do appreciate beautiful artwork." She glanced at Mac when Sean wasn't
looking. He sent her another warning look.

Sean took a bite out of a turkey leg. "I do
love music and play the guitar and piano."

Mac inhaled sharply. Rose had been a gifted
musician and Mac had encouraged her to pursue her gift. She'd laughed and told
him she would when Sean was older. The turkey dressing in Mac's mouth suddenly
tasted like sawdust.

Softly, Cecelia said, "Maybe someday you'll
play for us."

Sean glanced at his father. "Sure."

Their conversation ceased and the congenial
atmosphere vanished. Mac glanced at his watch. "What time does your movie
start?"

"In an hour."

Cecelia said with what sounded like forced
cheerfulness, "Then you have time for pie."

Sean picked up his plate and stood. "Would
you mind if I saved it until after the movie? I'm walking to the theater to
meet Harris and there might be a line. I want to get there early."

"Of course you can wait until you get home.
And just leave your plate. I don't mind cleaning up."

Pointedly looking at Mac, Sean replied, "My
mom
and
dad
always make me take my plate to the sink." He
quickly turned and left the room.

Mac sat silent, still lost in memories of Rose
playing beautiful melodies on the piano. Neither he nor Cecelia said anything.
A few minutes later they heard the front door close.

Cecelia started to scoot her chair back but
stopped when Mac said, "Why did you ask Sean if he's artistic?"

In a soft and compassionate voice, she replied,
"You know why. If he is, then it's something the two of you can bond
over."

Mac could hear the torment in his own voice when
he responded, "I don't want to bond with the boy and I'd appreciate it if
you'd stop meddling where you're not wanted."

"You're a liar, Mac. Are you telling me you
don't want to hear him play the guitar or piano?"

Mac slapped his left hand on the table. "Dammit,
you don't understand! His mother was a gifted musician. Listening to him play
would only open wounds that need to stay closed. The boy belongs back with his
family in San Diego. His coming here has been a travesty."

His words catapulted Cecelia from her chair.
With her hands gesturing wildly, she said, "You selfish bastard." Mac
marveled at the fire in her eyes. "Do you really think the world revolves
around your desire to paint? My God, you have a son who is crying out for his
father's attention and you can't even acknowledge his revelation that he plays
music. That boy wants your love more than anything. Don't tell me you know
nothing about child psychology. Sean acts like a brat to gain your attention.
But you're so wrapped up in your own woes you haven't time for the precious
gift of your own child. Yes, you lost your wife. Yes, you lost some physical
abilities. But–" She leaned across the table,
"You didn't lose
your SON!"
she shouted.

Mac couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.

She gulped a breath and continued with the same
anger. "I would give anything,
anything,
to have a child. When I
was thirty-eight, I was reckless and had a brief affair with a man I met
through a business associate. I was lonely. He was lonely. But we never had a
spiritual connection. We parted ways with no regrets. Later, when I found out I
was pregnant, I was so happy. Selfishly, I kept putting off the day I would
have to tell the father about his child…and then I didn't need to." Her
lips trembled when she continued, "For a short time, I basked in knowing I
would have a child to love. But just as importantly–" Her voice broke on a
sob, "I would have someone to love
me!"

Mac felt paralyzed by her admission.

Cecelia sobbed, staring past him. "But the
pregnancy was ectopic and I lost not only the baby, but any chance of having
children." Another heartfelt sob broke Mac's heart. Tears streamed down
her face. She whispered, "And you're blind to anything but yourself. I
hate you."

Mac watched her rush from the room. As fast as
he could with the aid of his cane, he followed. She had entered her bedroom and
shut the door, but he opened it anyway.

"I want you to leave!" she shouted.

Ignoring her protest, he advanced forward and
she stepped backward until her legs bumped a chair. Her eyes widened when he
tossed his cane away and reached for her.

"No. Please don't," she cried.

He ignored her and pulled her into his arms. He
half expected her to fight him, but when she said, "Oh, God," and
planted her lips on his, he returned her passionate kiss. She kept repeating,
"Oh, God. Oh, God," while fervently kissing him.

His restraint crumbled in the wake of this sweet
woman's passion. He needed her passion as much as he needed air. Cupping the
back of her head he infiltrated her mouth with searing kisses. Her hands roamed
his body and when she fumbled trying to unbutton his shirt, he reached and pulled
it apart, popping the buttons. Her hands molded to his chest and then moved
down to his abs. She groped his waist and pulled him so close they were one
skin.

He rasped in her ear. "God, how I want
you." As he backed her toward the bed, he reached to unfasten her skirt.
She lifted her mouth from his only long enough to pull her blouse over her
head. Her skirt dropped to the ground, as did his shirt and her blouse. Now
bare-chested, he pulled her forward until her breasts, clad in a lacy bra,
flattened against him. Cupping her bottom, he pulled her center upward toward
his own as he bent his knees. She felt so good he groaned at the long dormant sensations
rampaging his body and forgot the ache caused by bending.