The Man Under The Mistletoe. Muriel Jensen

      Mrs. Page frowned. “Isn’t that awkward for you?”

      “Not at all,” Rosie lied, then tucked her arm in his to prove her point, and walked him onto the dance floor.

      He hesitated before taking her into his arms. “I thought you didn’t want to dance with me.”

      She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder. “I don’t, but I didn’t know where else to take you. I want everything to be perfect for Francie.”

      “So you keep saying, but what about how things should be for you?”

      She seemed surprised that he’d asked such a question. He had to forestall what he was sure would be her response.

      “If you say, why should I care because I left you,” he warned, “I swear I’ll kiss you senseless right here in front of God and everybody.”

      She took his hand and forced him into a dance attitude. “Then I’d say dancing is the lesser of two evils.”

      Taking her into his arms was so easy. Her hand on the shoulder of his sports jacket, her fragrant hair skimming his nose, her slender body in his arms. Everything was dearly familiar.

      Painful as hell, but dearly familiar.

      She did, however, hold herself rather stiffly tonight, when she used to lean into him trustingly, comfortably. She’d always been warm and invitingly physical, even in a crowd, touching him, bumping against him, whispering things to him, her lips and her cheek touching his. He wanted that back with a desperation he struggled not to show.

      But he’d been the one to admit there was no going back. They couldn’t recapture even the best parts of the old days. They had to find a new way to connect, another method of communication.

      He splayed his left hand between her shoulder blades and applied enough pressure to bring their bodies into contact.

      “Matthew…” she warned under her breath.

      “Relax, Roseanne. It’s just a dance. That’s all life is. That’s all love is.”

      “I’m not…” She tried to wedge some distance between them, but he thought the effort a little halfhearted, so he held on to her.

      He lowered his head until his cheek rested against the side of her temple. “You’re still a warm and vital woman. The three most important people in your life may have died, but you didn’t. Just let yourself be alive for the space of this dance.”

      “I…don’t want to dance,” she complained, but she’d stopped pulling away.

      “You led me to the dance floor,” he reminded her.

      She said in a breathless whisper, “There was nowhere else to go.”

      He held her closer. “That’s right. Until the music stops, just pretend you belong right here.”

      To his amazement, she did. “Embraceable You” played on, mellow and torchy, and when it was finally over, she drew out of his arms with seeming reluctance. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears, and all he knew for sure was that she considered him responsible for those tears. That was fine with him, he thought, watching her hurry off the dance floor toward the ladies’ room. He’d become familiar with assuming the blame.

      FRANCIE AND DEREK’S wedding was as perfectly organized and executed as any major military or political event Matt had ever covered as a journalist. He knew it was a testament to Rosie’s expertise that every detail was perfect, right down to the red ornament at every place setting. FRANCIE AND DEREK and the date, had been hand-printed on it in gold leaf.

      Matt overheard several women at a table behind where he sat with Chase speculate over why it was, when Rosie could probably be an event planner in Hollywood if she wanted to, that she felt tied to Maple Hill.

      “She lost everything here,” one of them said. “Her brother, her father, her baby, her marriage. And contrary to popular opinion, you don’t run when that happens, you stay and spend the rest of your life trying to figure out what went wrong.”

      “I think she stays because her mother needs her,” another guessed. “Sonny Erickson comes on like she knows and understands everything, but I’ll bet she’s hollow inside since the tragedies. If it wasn’t for Rosie, she’d fall apart.”

      “I think she’ll leave now that her sister’s moving away next year.” That came from a younger voice. “Francie’s brilliant, but a little wild. Rosie’s been a steadying influence.”

      “Rosie was just waiting for Matt to come and take her away,” a fourth voice said with authority. “She never stopped loving him. Have you seen how she watches him now? There’s greed in her eyes! I’ll lay you odds—”

      “Shh!” One of the other women, probably recognizing the back of his head, stopped her abruptly. Matt heard mad whispering, a giggle, a groan of regret. Ordinarily he might have been annoyed at being the object of gossip, but he was happy to hear that last opinion.

      “Aunt Francie looks beautiful!” Chase said, scarfing down his third piece of cake with ice cream. “Even with her blue hair.”

      “Yes, she does.”

      “And so does Aunt Rosie.”

      She certainly did. The raspberry-colored dress clinging to her breasts and waist, and yards and yards of filmy stuff flying out around her, lent color to her complexion and drama to her very presence. Everything was going so well that she’d stopped being the wedding planner and reverted to her role as maid of honor.

      He had a sudden flash of memory of when she’d been the bride and the sparkle in her eyes had been all for him. That had been an eternity ago.

      “Hey, handsome.” Sara Ross, Rosie’s old high-school friend, sat down between Matt and Chase, looking very glamorous in a plum-colored suit and a broad-brimmed hat in the same color. She patted Chase’s hand. “Or should I say, you two handsome men?” Chase preened. “You guys look so cool,” she went on. “And I hear you’re on your way to China with a hefty advance in your bank account, Matt.”

      Matt reached for the carafe in the middle of the table to pour coffee into her cup. He remembered her as a smart but plain young woman, not at all the curvaceous beauty she was today. He didn’t even remember that she’d been blond. He had to stop himself from staring. “I am,” he replied finally. “And what have you been up to? Whatever it is, it agrees with you.”

      “I’m working for a law firm here,” she replied, placing a pink linen napkin on her lap. “And I’m going back to school next term to get a law degree.”

      “I’m impressed.” As he recalled, she’d worked for the city, the hospital, and clerked in several stores. She’d even done a stint in the army, though there was nothing remotely military about her appearance. “Ambition is very appealing in a woman.”

      Her cocoa-brown eyes widened.

      “To whom, exactly?” She heaved a big sigh as she picked up her fork. “I had a life of domestic bliss planned,” she said in a jocular tone, “but that doesn’t seem to be working out, so I’m making new plans. Smarts and money are my focus now.” She winked at him and picked up her fork. “Well, tell me what you’ve been up to. If Rosie knows, she isn’t talking.”

      They spent half an hour catching up, then Corin and his wife joined them, and by the time they noticed that the crowd was thinning and Francie and Derek were ready to leave for their honeymoon, it was midafternoon.

      Everyone collected coats and gathered outside where Francie threw her bouquet. It was caught, ironically, by Sara. The small crowd pressed the bride and groom toward a waiting limousine, but Francie broke free to throw her arms around Matt’s neck. “Thanks for coming,” she said. Her smile was blinding. Then she grew serious and said for his ears only, “Make this work, Matthew. Get her back.” Then she kissed him noisily on the cheek and got into the car.