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Authors: Janet Dailey

A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree (24 page)

BOOK: A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree
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“Can I have the phone?” Doug’s voice. He didn’t appear in the screen but Theo did, with Greg next to him. And Nicole.
His heart flip-flopped.
“New phone?” she asked Sam.
“My sister gave it to me. I stepped on mine.”
“Oh. I tried to call you a couple of times. So, um, how’s your dad?”
“A lot better.”
Greg and Theo leaned in. “How’s Colorado?”
“Beautiful. Colder than New York.” Sam saw Nicole ease to the side and out of the group.
“So come back and warm up,” Greg joked. He held up a gloved hand to the sky and showed Sam his empty palm. “Nothing to brag about yet, but when we get a storm, watch out. Our snowflakes are bigger than your snowflakes, man.”
“Like hell they are.”
Doug moved into the group on the screen.
“Sam, we’re making a plywood cutout of a tree with Nicole. Little kids can put their faces in and pretend they’re a tree.”
A feminine hand—it was Nicole’s, he knew the glove—was sliding the thing in front of Douglas, who demonstrated, a big grin on his face.
“That’s great,” Sam said.
“Good for business too,” Theo boomed. “We’re selling more.”
Sam didn’t want to ask about the lowlifes underselling them from trucks. Maybe the cops had run the creeps off.
Nicole stepped back in. He drank in the beautiful sight. Her dark eyes were shining, and her hair streamed out from under a patterned knit cap.
She was wearing his jacket.
“Puff wants to say hi.” Douglas moved out from behind the plywood and bent down so low he disappeared. The next thing Sam saw was a blurry tongue licking the screen.
“Douglas, put Puff down.”
He didn’t recognize the gentle voice at first, then realized it was Maureen Fulton, Doug’s mother. “Hello, Sam.”
“Hi, Maureen.”
She tucked herself into the group, and they all waved at once.
“So ... where are you?” Nicole asked.
God, how he had missed her. He’d missed them all.
“I’m in the Denver airport,” he said. “I’m on the standby list for the next New York flight, but the agent told me she’s sure I’ll get on. I’ll be back late tonight or tomorrow, not sure about that part.”
“You’re coming back?” Nicole asked.
At that moment, he saw only her. But he could hear the group around her cheering.
“Yeah. Can’t wait to see you, city girl.”
The agent and another airline employee had returned to the counter in front of the gate, and the large screen above them came to life, showing the standby list.
“Sir?” The agent looked his way.
“Gotta go,” Sam whispered. Nicole blew him a kiss.
He got up and went to the counter. “I can confirm you now,” the agent said. “But you should know we’ve been informed of a severe weather system entering the flight path. The plane may have to make more than one stop.”
“That’s okay.” Sam handed over his boarding pass.
 
 
Making the connection proved to be no problem. There was some turbulence on the flight, but his soda stayed in the plastic glass. Then the weather got worse from there on out. The pilot announced a second stop in a tone of smooth regret. No one complained. Then the storm roared around them, shaking the plane until even Sam was scared. They had finally made an unscheduled landing at a small regional airport somewhere in Indiana.
And stayed there.
Other passengers from his flight were wandering around the chilly terminal or slumped in bolted-down chairs.
He looked at his phone, checking the time. No telling when they would get out.
Sam walked over to a vending machine, his gym bag over his shoulder. He stood in front of it, contemplating the options. There were neon-orange crackers filled with peanut butter. Had to be a molecule or two of protein in those. He slipped in the required number of quarters and pressed the code buttons. A spiral server moved the cracker packet forward and jerked, dropping it too fast. He looked through the little window in the bottom flap, frowning. Inside the wrapper the crackers were crushed.
He found a buck and fed it to the bill slot, figuring he’d skip the messy crackers and have a snack cake. Both were off-brands with the same label. Eagle Cakes, Cookies, and Crackers.
He pressed the code buttons and waited.
The spiral moved the cake forward and stopped.
Sam thumped lightly on the glass. Nothing happened.
Frustrated, he reached toward the bottom flap, bumping his fingers. It didn’t open. He couldn’t even get at the crushed crackers.
Sam was tempted to rock the vending machine, but he figured it would fall on him, with his luck. He was going to send a nasty e-mail to Eagle CCC when he got out of here.
There was nothing to do but sit until the storm passed and they got clearance to fly. The colorful glow of the vending machine was about the only cheerful note in the terminal. He took a chair near it, crossing his legs and stuffing his hands into the sleeves of his down jacket.
Sam fell asleep.
A bang awoke him by dawn. Aching all over from sleeping sitting up, he looked groggily at the vending machine. The spiral was moving. It dropped the snack cake.
The Eagle had landed. He got up to try the flap door again. For some reason it opened this time. He took the cake but left the smashed crackers.
An announcement came over the PA system that made him even happier. The storm had passed. The next leg would take him all the way to New York.
Chapter 14
S
am stood outside LaGuardia Airport in the taxi line, which was moving slowly. He got in the back of a real rattletrap when it was his turn.
“Where to, mister?”
He gave the driver the cross street and the avenue, and left it at that. Sam wanted to stop at the Christmas tree lot before he went into his building.
The drive west on the Grand Central Parkway gave him a chance to get reacquainted with the Manhattan skyline before the taxi went into the Midtown Tunnel that ran under the East River. The sky was already dark gray, and millions of windows were lit up, a checkerboard of yellow against the somber colors of the buildings.
He was able to pick out several. There was the Chrysler Building, an Art Deco landmark, its spire decorated with cool white spikes of light. The Citigroup tower had a sliced-off roof. Above them all rose the Empire State Building, a midtown monument. Sam couldn’t help mentally adding King Kong to the needle-like thing at the very top.
They went through a tollbooth into the cream-tiled, featureless tunnel, coming up on the east side of Manhattan. Once they were across town, Sam changed his mind.
“Let me out a block away, not on the corner, please.”
“Okay.”
He almost couldn’t believe he was here. Or how familiar it seemed. After a stretch of time in Colorado, the jammed streets and hurrying crowds on the sidewalk seemed overwhelming.
“Right here.”
The driver stopped the meter. The small TV screen that Sam hadn’t been looking at showed the fare. He added a couple of bucks for the tip and handed it through the opening in the clear divider between back and front.
Sam got out, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. He tipped his Stetson back just a bit on his forehead in case he saw someone he knew.
He walked fast and turned the corner, half expecting to see the happy group that had greeted him on his new phone. There was someone he didn’t know in Theo’s chair, a young guy. Had to be a relative of Greg’s—he had the look.
“Hey there. I’m looking for Mr. Tsianakas,” Sam said.
The man got up. “You mean Greg or Theo?”
“Either one.”
“Actually, it’s my last name too. I’m a third cousin. Don’t ask. I’m Steve. Nice to meetcha. And you are?”
“Sam Bennett.”
“Right, right.” Steve chuckled. “They both mentioned you. Said you were coming back from someplace out west.”
“Just got in. You wouldn’t happen to know when they’d be back, would you—”
“Sam!”
He turned to see Douglas coming toward him, with Puff in the lead.
“Hi, Doug.”
The boy pulled up, out of breath. “That was fun seeing you on the phone. But we all thought you were going to be back sooner.”
“The flight was delayed. Bad weather.”
“Yeah, they say it’s coming here,” Steve said. “Big, bad storm. Heard it’s stalled over Pennsylvania right now.”
Sam felt sorry for Pennsylvania.
Douglas held the dog’s leash and looked back into the trees. His forehead furrowed. “I was going to pick up a tree,” he said to Steve, “but I don’t see it. Theo put a red tag on it for me.”
“Must be there somewhere. Let’s go look,” Steve said.
Ah. So Douglas Fulton was the mystery buyer of the fir that had been set aside. Sam remembered Theo saying that the kid was buying something special for his mother this year.
He thought of something else: the creepy guy who’d wanted to buy it. Sam had almost had to use the baseball bat to get rid of him. But he hadn’t told Theo about the incident. Still, no one on the lot would sell a tree that Theo had marked and set aside.
Douglas and Steve came back.
“It isn’t there,” the boy told Sam. “Someone must have taken the tag off and bought it.”
Steve had a look of concern on his face. “Wasn’t me. Haven’t sold any trees since I’ve been here. But there was someone else new filling in yesterday.”
Douglas shrugged. His disappointment was clear, but he kept his feelings about it to himself.
“What was so special about that one, Doug?” Sam asked. “There are others just as nice.”
“It looked like one we had when I was six and Amanda wasn’t born yet. Mom had a photo of it in the family album. Same little crooked branch on top. But perfect.”
Sam understood. He didn’t ask Douglas any more questions. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll walk you home.”
Douglas’s jubilant mood had vanished. He didn’t say anything more as they got to the stoop of the building. Sam looked at the window of his first-floor sublet. It reflected the narrow street behind him in old, wavy glass.
Douglas used his key to open the outside door. Sam glanced up to the Fultons’ window, which was brightly lit. But there was something on the fire escape that hadn’t been there before.
“What’s that red box outside your window?” he asked Douglas. “Is that for Christmas?”
“No. It’s a big cooler. Our fridge stopped working, so we’re keeping milk and eggs outside.”
“Isn’t the landlord supposed to take care of things like that—” Sam broke off when he saw Douglas’s expression. The kid was wise to the ways of the world.
“He says he will, but he hasn’t yet. Mom says we just have to make do,” Douglas replied flatly.
Sam absorbed the information in silence.
“My mom put her cake samples on the fire escape too.” The boy looked at Sam. “You should come up and try some. She’s a good baker.”
“Well, maybe I will.”
“C’mon, Puff.” Douglas gave a light tug on the dog’s leash. “Time to go upstairs.”
Sam fumbled for the key to his apartment door. It wasn’t in his pocket. He unzipped his gym bag and looked through it. “See you around,” he called when he found it.
“Okay.” The boy’s voice was distant. He was already halfway to his floor.
Before he went in, Sam took a minute to pick up the advertising circulars that the mailman had left. There was no litter can in the hallway, so he ended up bringing them into the apartment, tossing them on the coffee table because there was nowhere else to put them.
Honking outside distracted him for a few seconds. Sam frowned, remembering the deep hush of the snowy woods he’d left. He was going to have to get used to urban racket again.
He almost slipped on several menus that had been shoved under his door. The
NO MENUS
sign on the outer door only made the guys who distributed them more ingenious. Sam set down his gym bag. The sublet seemed more cramped than before.
So where was Nicole? He hadn’t gotten a call or a text message from her. Sam hung up his denim jacket by the door and bent down to scoop up the scattered menus.
There was an unstamped envelope among them. Nicole had written his name on it with a flourish. Sam opened it and pulled out a card with a funny drawing she’d done of her spooky little cat.
Welcome back. So nice to see you on Theo’s phone. Am crazy busy—ENJ wants to do a pop-up store in Soho. Call me when you get in, um, not before 11 pm. Will still be at work. Love, Nicole
Sam wondered what a pop-up store was and told himself he’d find out soon enough. Nice note. He liked the sign off. He looked at the clock. It was only seven. He could eat something, relax—the stress of the delayed flight was catching up with him.
He opened the fridge and averted his eyes from the take-out cartons, reaching for a cold beer behind them. Who knew what the leftovers had turned into while he’d been away.
Sam popped the cap and brought the bottle over to the coffee table, setting it down on a circular as he settled into the sofa, which seemed even smaller than before. He got sort of comfortable and reached out for the beer. The ad circular came with it, stuck to the cold, wet glass. He peeled it off, reading the message absently. WHITE SALE! DEEP DISCOUNTS ON ALL APPLIANCES! DON’T WAIT FOR JANUARY! Hmm.
Maureen Fulton might have gotten the same one. But if the landlord didn’t fix or replace her refrigerator, there was the unofficial Friends of the Fultons Committee, which Sam had just founded that very second. He finished the beer and appointed himself chairman, treasurer, and fund-raiser.
He knew exactly where he could pass the hat to buy the family a new one. The gang at the lot would be happy to chip in, and he’d prime the pump with a solid half of the purchase price. But it would be a good idea to go up to the Fultons and borrow a cup of sugar, see if he could measure the space the busted fridge fit into.
 
 
Douglas took off his jacket and hung it on the doorknob of their apartment. Then he went down the hall and knocked on Julie’s door, handing her Puff’s leash when she opened it.
“We had a good walk,” he said. Unclipped, the white dog ran to her water bowl and drank thirstily.
“Come on in,” Julie said. “Amanda’s here. Your mother’s talking to the super, so she sent your sister over to look at my Christmas tree. Look who decided to take a nap.”
Douglas glanced toward his sister, who was dozing under an afghan, then went to the tree, looking at the ornaments and carefully touching a few. “We don’t have ours up yet. Your tree is really nice.”
“Thanks. I enjoy decorating it.”
He went to the goldfish bowl on Julie’s table and looked in. “Hey, fish. You look hungry.”
“Herbert J. Schwimmer is always hungry.” Julie had named the fish after a kid in her Sunday school.
“Can I feed him?”
“Go right ahead.”
Douglas uncapped the fish food jar and sprinkled a little bit over the surface of the water. “Come and get it, Schwimmer.”
 
 
Maureen was good and mad. But she controlled her temper. Losing it wasn’t going to get her anywhere with Norm Krajek, who had showed up but didn’t have a clue as to refrigerator repair.
“Isn’t there anything you can do?”
Krajek lifted his shoulders in an apologetic shrug. “Ya could call the landlord.”
“He won’t buy a new one. You know that.”
“Can’t help ya, Mrs. Fulton.”
“Well, then. Thank you for coming,” she said stiffly.
“Sorry.” Krajek turned to leave and had a hand on the doorknob when her voice stopped him.
“You forgot something.” She handed him the can of wood putty and the screwdriver he’d left in the kitchenette.
“Oh. Thanks. Sorry again.”
“What did the super want?” Doug asked as he came in.
“He came to look at the fridge. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to fix it by Christmas.”
“What a pain.”
“It’s temporary. But I’ll figure something out.” She got busy stacking sample boxes to go into the cooler.
Douglas went into his room and came out with an envelope, casting a glance toward the living room, where a foot-high pink sparkly tree had been placed on the floor. Buster was propped against it.
“Amanda’s tree looks nice.”
“She’s pretty happy with it,” his mother replied absently.
Douglas handed her the envelope. “This is what I saved from walking Puff. Maybe we could get a real repairman to fix the fridge.”
Maureen stopped what she was doing and looked gratefully at her son. “You, Douglas Fulton, are the best kid ever. But that’s your money. You earned it, you keep it.”
He watched her work for a while, talking with her about other things. When she turned her back, he went into his room and closed the door. She heard the racket of a video game. The envelope was on the kitchen table. His mother knew he hadn’t forgotten it.
There was a knock at the door. Maureen went quickly to it, thinking that Krajek had come back for something else he’d left. She flung it open and saw Sam standing on the doormat holding a measuring cup.
“You’re back! So nice to see you. How was the flight?”
“Not a lot of fun. But never mind that. I wanted to know if I, uh, could I borrow a half cup of sugar?”
The idea that this brawny guy had decided to do some Christmas baking—or so she assumed—made her smile.
“Sure. I have some right here on the shelf.”
Sam followed her as far as the kitchenette. He eyed her refrigerator. “And a couple of eggs.”
“I have a dozen in the—”
“Great,” he interrupted her, “I’ll get ’em.” He opened the fridge and leaned in while he looked over his shoulder at her, sticking his arm in and fumbling around.
“They’re not in there.” She laughed. She couldn’t help it. He just looked so awkward when he straightened. “The fridge is kaput.”
“Oh.” Sam seemed a little embarrassed. “Stupid of me. The light was on.”
“It’s the motor or the compressor or something. We’re keeping perishables in a cooler on the fire escape. I’ll go get the eggs.”
BOOK: A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree
10.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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