Read A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree Online
Authors: Janet Dailey
A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree (14 page)
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Sam felt Nicole very close to him. Of course, she had little choice. The people in line kept going, though this was nothing like the chaos of Times Square. She was absorbed in the scenes, pointing out tiny, delicious details he hadn’t noticed at first. He saw much more when he was with her, he realized.
“Are these the same every year?” he asked.
“No. They always change. But the same companies design and build them. Windows like these, with animatronic figures, take a year to create. ”
“That’s amazing.”
They had reached the last window, a charming snow scene. Different moving figures, animal and human, waved good-bye to the viewers and wished them happy holidays. The music and voices were in perfect sync.
Nicole and Sam exited. She took his hand and tugged him back the way they’d come, but on the sidewalk. “There’s another tree you should see. It’s in the Saks window on the corner.”
“Okay. Lead on.”
There wasn’t a line, but there was a crowd. Mostly kids. The parents stayed to the side. Sam had no problem seeing the main attraction, though the tree itself was essentially invisible. Hundreds of unique glass ornaments, each made by hand, completely covered it from bottom to top.
“Fantastic. Wow.”
Nicole smiled up at him. “You keep saying that. ”
“I don’t know what else to say,” he answered honestly. “I’m wowed.”
They were suddenly caught up in the flow of fresh crowds heading for Rockefeller Center, retracing their steps and walking north. Some people continued on, mounting the blockwide stairs of St. Patrick’s Cathedral and going through the massive bronze doors to attend evening services. Sam stopped to look up at its stone spires, deeply carved, as light as lace.
Across the street from the cathedral was a massive bronze statue of Atlas holding up the world. The statue’s face gazed down at the hurrying passersby, impassive and timeless.
Sam looked down at Nicole. She had slipped her hand around his arm. “What now?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know. Are you hungry? We could go out to eat.”
“That’s an idea.”
She led the way again, but this time they were connected by their linked arms. Nicole headed for a street off Fifth, stopping in front of a restaurant on Madison and looking in the highly polished, brass-framed window. The interior was decorated in deep red, with snowy damask tablecloths already set.
“There’s the menu.” They moved to the frame within the window that held it.
Sam read the offerings with puzzlement. One in particular caught his eye.
Slivers of raw sole enrobed in kelp-infused foam and finished with shaved alpine truffles, nestled in grappa-sauce risotto studded with organic pomegranate seeds.
“Does all that fit on one plate?” he asked.
“It probably fits on a saucer.” She laughed.
“Oh. Then what is grappa?” he asked. “Have you ever eaten kelp?”
“Not that I know of. This place looks ridiculously pretentious. And much too expensive.”
“Hey, price is no object,” he protested.
“We’re not eating here.” She tugged him away in the direction of Park Avenue and they looked at a few more menus in other windows, not seeing anything that appealed to either of them.
“You know something,” he said, feeling his stomach begin to growl. “I bet I could cook you a better meal than any of these places. Do you like steak?”
“I love it.”
“So tell me where I can buy the best steak in New York and we can go to my place and I’ll cook it there.”
“You’re on.” Nicole seemed pleased by the idea. She thought for a moment. “Okay. We’re a block away from Lexington and an uptown train. We can go to Ottomanelli’s for the steak.”
She just about dragged him to the subway station, and they went quickly down the stairs as a train approached. She swiped a MetroCard through the turnstile and handed it back to him to do the same.
Sam saw the number 6 glowing red in a circle and stood back as the sleek, brushed-metal train streaked in. The doors
whooshed
open. People streamed off as he and Nicole stood to the side, and then they entered.
whooshed
open. People streamed off as he and Nicole stood to the side, and then they entered.
There was one open seat. Nicole swung into it as the doors closed and the train moved on. Sam grabbed a bar overhead and looked around, surprised by how new the train was. An electronic board at his eye level informed the riders of the stations coming up, and the announcer echoed it. No graffiti anywhere. The blue and gray of the sleek interior was soothing.
But it was crowded. The riders, standing and sitting, followed an unspoken etiquette, he noticed, and nobody got stepped on. You just had to move fast, that was all.
Nicole craned her neck to glance at the board. “We get off in two more stops.”
Sam nodded. He swayed with the movement of the rushing train, studying the ad placards and the wacky MTA poster art. There was always something to look at in New York, no matter where you were.
The crowd thinned out at each stop. Nicole rose when the electronic board flashed for 81st Street. “This is it.”
They exited and went up a square-tiled staircase to an East Side neighborhood that looked a lot like theirs. But here the streets were wider, and the brownstones and corniced brick buildings had been well maintained for decades. Some of the street trees had been strung with tiny lights as carefully as the ones in Rockefeller Center.
“Ottomanelli’s is a block up and two blocks east on Second Avenue.”
He nodded, matching his stride to hers.
“We lived there when I was a kid.” She pointed to a tall, white-brick apartment building. “The neighborhood hasn’t changed much.”
He didn’t want to argue. But he could see new residential buildings that towered over the white-brick ones, and made the old brownstones look small by comparison.
The butcher shop was a pleasantly old-fashioned place, immaculately clean. The glass meat case held an array of fine cuts, laid out in overlapping slabs.
Nicole and Sam waited to be served, listening to the butchers chat with neighborhood customers. The aproned staff greeted the regulars like family.
“Ready ta order?” a butcher asked them. “Specials on the board. How’re ya today?” The growled patter was friendly.
“Doing fine. Yourself?” Sam stepped up.
“Can’t complain. What’ll ya have?”
“Give me a porterhouse and a couple of T-bones. That one and those two.”
The butcher behind the glass counter winked at Nicole. “Your man knows his steak.” He took out the cuts Sam had pointed to and wrapped them in traditional brown paper, then bagged and weighed them.
Sam put his hand over the digital display on the scale. “Don’t look. On me,” he said to Nicole.
She pretended to sigh. “All right.”
Purchase made, they left and added a few items from a fruit-and-vegetable market. Sam spotted a liquor store and made her wait outside with the Ottomanelli’s bag while he went in and bought two bottles of really good cabernet.
“Done,” he said with satisfaction. “How do we get home from here?”
She rattled off an answer. He listened carefully. It involved taking the 6 downtown to Grand Central, jumping on the shuttle across midtown to 42nd Street, and switching to a C or an E going uptown one stop to their neighborhood.
“Nothing doing. I vote for a taxi.” Sam stepped out into the street and whistled, seeing one in the near distance stopped at a light. The piercing sound made her cover her ears.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry. I usually use that for cattle dogs.”
“Poor things.”
The taxi veered in their direction when the light changed, crossing several lanes of traffic to reach their side of the street. He was even getting used to death-defying stunts like that.
“After you.” He opened the back door for her and slid in when she was settled. Nicole told the driver where to go.
“Can I make the salad or anything?”
“Did that while you were checking your messages. ”
A small folding table was already set, with the salad on it in a wooden bowl.
“The potatoes are baking in the toaster oven. Guess I should say re-baking.”
The market had had a great selection of prepared food to go. Sam saw no reason not to take advantage of it.
“Okay. I have nothing to do but sit here and enjoy this glass of wine.”
Sam grinned. “That is the plan.” He poured one for himself and adjusted the dishtowel he’d tucked behind his belt. He was going to rock this dinner, big-time. Alex Walcott apparently liked to cook too. Sam had found a well-seasoned cast-iron frying pan in a drawer of its own.
“Are you ready for cowboy steak, Colorado style?”
“Absolutely.” She took a big sip of wine and looked his way. “I assume you don’t want help.”
Sam shook his head. “Nope.”
Nicole settled herself on the tiny sofa. “Cute little place. How’d you find it?”
“The guy came by to look at Christmas trees and I overheard him telling Theo that he’d auditioned for a cruise ship show and was thinking about subletting if he got the gig.”
“You really got lucky,” Nicole said.
“For a big city, it sure seems like everybody knows each other.”
“That’s true,” she admitted. “Sometimes.”
“Anyway, long story short, he’s an elf.”
“That explains the size of the furniture.” She laughed.
“I don’t even want to think about how I’m going to sleep on that foldout thing you’re sitting on.”
Nicole had moved into a corner of the couch, tucking her tights-clad legs under her. She’d taken off her boots when she’d come in.
She seemed utterly content, her cheeks already rosy from the wine. Sam unwrapped the steaks.
“T-bones or porterhouse?”
“You pick.”
He lifted the smaller T-bones out of the brown paper, putting them on a platter and rewrapping the porterhouse before he stuck it back in the refrigerator.
“So here’s what you do.” He poured a healthy dash of oil in the cast-iron skillet and turned on the gas.
“I’m watching.”
“First get the oil good and hot but not smoking. You want to see the surface roll just a bit. Like a Colorado meadow. Then you season it. Nothing fancy.”
He poured a healthy pinch of coarse salt into his hand and let it fall from between his fingers over the raw steaks.
“Like this. Let it float down like the first snow of a Colorado winter.”
She giggled. “You’re too much.”
“Yikes. Almost forgot the fresh-ground pepper.” He picked up a pepper grinder he’d set to the side of the stove and put it to good use.
Sam jabbed both steaks at once with a carving fork and got them into the pan.
“Listen to that sizzle,” Nicole said encouragingly.
“Music to my ears.”
The savory smell of good grilled T-bones filled the air. Sam hovered over the frying pan, long fork in hand, “Two or three minutes on each side. Until it smokes like a Colorado forest fire.”
He took a step and opened the tiny kitchen window. It opened onto a brick wall. Sam grabbed a dishtowel and fanned out some of the smoke, coughing.
“Can’t wait. Medium rare for me.”
He flipped them over in time. “Remove to a hot platter when done.” He had a clean one waiting on the back of the stove.
Served up and on the table, the steaks were incredibly tempting. Nicole and Sam didn’t say a word as they ate, savoring each bite.
She leaned back in her folding chair as he cleared. “I don’t think I ever had a steak that delicious.”
“Told you. Forget the potatoes—they got dried out. And I guess we can have the salad for a second course. I didn’t get around to putting dressing on it.”
“Whatever. I’m too stuffed to think.”
Nicole folded up her chair and headed back for the same corner. “Thank you. That was the perfect ending to a perfect day. I didn’t think about work once,” she added with a guilty smile.
Sam came back to put the table away. “Me neither. ”
They were both settled in, and a comfortable silence fell. He stretched out his long legs as far as he could.
Nicole’s cell phone rang. She didn’t get up to take it out of her bag. The call went to voice mail.
“Mind if I look? That could be Darci.”
“Not at all.”
She half rose, twisting to reach her bag and fished out the phone, looking at the screen. “Nope. Just a text from Finn.” He watched her read it. Her eyes widened. She seemed slightly stunned. “Holy cow. I don’t believe it.”
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