Christmas Trio B. Debbie Macomber

was. She’d hoped it would be and had done her best to sell it. However, after the past twenty-four hours, she didn’t need to try very hard; the toy sold itself. Apparently, its sudden popularity had begun like so many trends, on the West Coast. Now, the moment someone heard that Finley’s still had robots in stock, they dashed over. Then they couldn’t whip out their credit cards fast enough.

      “I’d better stay,” Emily murmured to Jake. “As much as I’d like to walk away right now, I wouldn’t give your father the satisfaction.”

      J.R. stomped his foot.

      “Are you having a temper tantrum?” she asked sweetly.

      Jake only laughed. “Dad, I think it might be best if you went back to your office now. Or you could go home.”

      “This is my store and I’ll stay anywhere I darn well please.”

      Jake leaned closer to his father and whispered, “You’re scaring off my customers.”

      “Oh, sorry.”

      “We want customers, don’t we, Dad? Isn’t that the whole idea?”

      “Don’t get smart with me,” J.R. muttered.

      “Yes, Dad.” Jake winked at Emily, who winked back.

      J.R. must have caught sight of what they were doing. “What’s that about?”

      “What?” Emily asked, again the picture of politeness.

      “What?” Jake echoed.

      Seeing that he’d forfeited even the pretense of control, J.R. sighed. “Forget it.”

      “I can stay on, then?” Emily asked the store owner.

      “Why ask me? I seem to have lost complete control of this company to a man I no longer recognize—my son.” With that he marched toward the elevator that would deliver him to his private office on the fourteenth floor.

      Chapter Eleven

      People are funny. They want the front of the bus,

      the middle of the road and the back of the church.

      —Mrs. Miracle

      Holly knew she couldn’t postpone calling Bill Carter, since the boys wanted to get together two days from now. It would be petty to allow her awkward relationship with Bill to stand in the way of her nephew being friends with his son.

      The problem was how to approach him. She waited until Gabe was in bed on Wednesday night. Then she drew in a deep breath and looked up Bill’s home number, which she’d made a point of erasing from her mind—and her phone. She hated feeling nervous about this. It was a courtesy call and nothing more.

      Bill picked up on the fourth ring, when she was about to hang up, almost relieved he hadn’t answered. Then all of a sudden, she heard, “Hello.”

      “Bill, it’s Holly.”

      “Do you realize what time it is?”

      “Uh, yes. It’s nine-thirty. Am I calling too late?”

      He didn’t respond immediately. “I know why you’re calling and I—”

      “You do?” So all this angst had been for nothing. She should’ve noticed earlier how silly she was being, how badly she’d overreacted.

      “It’s about Tiffany, isn’t it?”

      “No … who’s Tiffany?”

      “You mean you don’t know?”

      Obviously she didn’t. “Sorry, I think we’re talking at cross-purposes here. I don’t know any Tiffany—well, other than the one I met through work. I’m calling about Billy.”

      “My son?”

      He sounded both relieved and worried, which confused Holly. “Listen, can we start over?” she asked.

      “It’s too late for that.”

      Just how obtuse was the man? “I don’t mean our relationship, Bill. I was referring to our conversation.”

      “Just tell me why you called,” he said, with more than a hint of impatience.

      “I’m trying to, but you keep interrupting me. This isn’t an easy phone call for me and your attitude’s not helping.” If Bill was a decent human being, he should understand this was difficult and appreciate the courage it had taken her to contact him. The fact that he didn’t angered her. “No wonder the two of us aren’t dating anymore,” she muttered.

      “Okay, fine. But what’s that got to do with my son?”

      She sighed loudly. “Since you haven’t worked it out for yourself, I’ll tell you. Billy and Gabe have become friends.”

      “Yeah? So what?”

      “Well, I—” Before she could answer his rudely phrased question, he broke in.

      “Wait a minute,” he said suspiciously. “How do you know my son’s friends with this kid?”

      The way he said it practically implied that Holly had been stalking his son. “That’s the most ridiculous question I’ve ever heard! I know because Gabe’s my nephew.”

      “So?”

      “So Billy wants Gabe to come home with him after school on Friday.”

      “Fine. And this concerns you how?”

      “I thought I should tell you we’re related.”

      “That still doesn’t explain why you’re calling. Shouldn’t Gabe’s parents clear this with me? Not you.”

      Holly gritted her teeth at his offensive tone. What she’d ever seen in this man was completely lost on her now. At the moment, she was grateful he’d broken it off.

      “I have custody of Gabe,” she said calmly. She didn’t feel like describing how that had come about; it was none of his business—and besides, she wanted to keep the conversation as short as possible.

      “You have custody?”

      The question grated on her nerves. “Yes, me, and it’s working out very nicely, I might add.”

      “Ah … “ Bill apparently hadn’t figured out yet how to react.

      Holly had no intention of allowing him to make any more derogatory comments about her mothering skills. She launched right into her question, not giving him a chance to say much of anything. “Is it still okay if Gabe comes to your house after school?”

      “Uh, sure.”

      “Do you have the same housekeeper looking after Billy as before?”

      The suspicious voice was back. “Why do you ask?”

      “Because I don’t want Gabe visiting Billy if there isn’t any adult supervision.” The after-school program only went until five-thirty, and Bill was often home much later than that, which meant the part-time housekeeper picked the boy up and then stayed at the apartment to supervise him.

      “Oh, yeah, Mrs. Henry still looks after Billy from five-thirty to seven, except for the nights I have social engagements. Then she stays until I get home.”

      He seemed to delight in letting her know—in what he probably thought was a subtle fashion—that he’d started dating again. Well, she had social engagements, too, even if they mostly involved going out with friends, but was mature enough not to mention it. Let him think what he liked.

      Holly waited a moment, hoping he’d realize how juvenile his reaction had been. “Talking civilly isn’t so hard, is it?” she asked.

      “No,” he agreed.

      “Great. Now that’s settled,