The corners of his mouth lifted in a small smile as Holden turned my hand over and stroked a finger down my palm. “I learn something about you every time you talk to me.”
An odd rustling filled my chest, like leaves in a windstorm. “So, you went to live with your mom after that?”
“Tried too. She was a mess. Drugs, some mental health issues, lots of boyfriends. My dad died in the summer, and by the fall, my mom had taken off, and I went to stay with Uncle Paul and Aunt Betsy.”
“And got a new brother in Wyatt.”
He took a drink of tea, watching a couple stroll past the window arm in arm. “Something like that. By the time I met you in college—”
“Hello, Annie.”
I turned at that melodically appealing voice and found the man of my dreams approaching. Speaking of the handsome devil.
Dr. Wyatt Thomas gave a nod to his cousin. “What’s up, Holden?”
Holden smiled, but his eyes didn’t quite flash the same level of warmth as Wyatt stopped at our table. “Just having some dessert…with my wife.”
The way he said wife reminded me of the jagged barbs of a fish hook, sliding in easily, then ripping out with an unexpected tear.
“Kind of cold for ice cream.” Wyatt turned those sky blue eyes to me. “How’s the head?” With no care for onlookers, he slipped his doctor’s hands into my hair and did an exploratory search. If I hadn’t had a mouth full of peppermint chip, I’d probably have purred. “Still got a heck of a knot. Are you taking it easy?”
If I said no, would Wyatt continue?
“You know my Annie.” Holden’s teeth sank into his cone with a crunch. “She can’t sit still for a second.”
Wyatt frowned in his cousin’s direction. “She also looked a little peaked. Annie, had any dizziness? Fever?”
I felt a bit feverish right then. There was Wyatt standing right in front of me, getting to second base with my lumpy scalp, and I was sure I looked a total mess. From my reflection in the metal napkin holder, I could see Gothic tracks of mascara beneath my red, bleary eyes. I resembled a backup singer for a Cure cover band. “I didn’t get my promotion today,” I blurted, needing him to understand this sad clown appearance was warranted. “Kind of a blow.”
“I’m so sorry.” Wyatt’s sympathy sailed to me on the wings of a dove, with hearts and rainbows circling its flight. My college love leaned against the table, as if he only had eyes for me. Why had I ever let this one go? I could’ve had a baby with those eyes by now. Wyatt Junior would be smart as a whip, have his dad’s surfer-dude hair, and be enrolled in the advanced program for toddlers at his posh daycare.
Holden tore off the corner of a white packet and added sugar to his tea. “You probably have some patients to get back to. Someone who needs mouth-to-mouth or an enema?”
Wyatt waved this thought away. “As luck would have it, guess who just joined the board of trustees at the museum?” He pointed two thumbs to his chest. “That’s right. This guy.”
Could I love him any more? We were at butt-tattoo levels of adoration here. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, Johnny DeLuca of DeLuca’s Car Emporium had a heart attack last week and didn’t make it. So I’m taking his place.”
“That’s amazing!” I clapped a hand over my awestruck mouth.
“Isn’t it great?” Wyatt laughed.
“I’m sure Johnny DeLuca’s widow Mary would disagree.” Holden gathered up some of the trash, crushing it in his hand. “We should get you back, Annie.”
“It’s a crime that the museum won’t promote you,” Wyatt said. “The board meets next week, so I’ll see what I can find out. Put in a good word for my girl.”
“Okay, we’re out.” Holden stood, his chair squeaking in retreat. “I’ve got to return to work myself. Divorces don’t wait for ice cream breaks.”
Wyatt clapped Holden on the back, then hugged me as I stood. “Don’t give up. Okay, Annie?”
“I won’t.” Closing my eyes, I sniffed that man like a woman starved and tightened my embrace. “Wyatt, I’m never going to give up.”
Chapter Twelve
Museums did not take weekends off, but on this particular Saturday, I decided I did.
Like a petulant child, I was still angry over Mr. Strickland pulling the promotion rug out from under my heels and thought we could both benefit from a day apart. So I’d stayed home this morning, choosing to use my time to tracking down the Frisco Holiday Express and one particular volunteer.
“Good morning.” Holden walked into the kitchen, giving us almost a duplicate of our cozy scene from yesterday. He already had coffee brewing, and he had kindly laid out bagels from Bugle Boy Bagels on the counter. “Sleep well?”
I had a feeling neither one of us had, but I didn't have the energy to repeat this conversation. “Fine.” He was dressed in slacks and a blue Oxford that paired stunningly well with his dark hair. “Going into the office today?” Please say yes.
“I've got a nine a.m. appointment with Mavis Sprinkles. She's divorcing her husband.”
I laughed into my coffee. "What number is this?"
“This would be number seven. But it's a good reason this time. Harvey refuses to go with her to the casino, and he leaves the lid up on the toilet at least twice a week.”
“Sounds positively abusive. I hope Mavis take him for everything he's got.”
“Pretty sure she already has. That's why she's ready to move on to the next one.”
Last night had passed exactly like the one that came before. We took turns with our evening showers, awkwardly passing one another in various states of undress in the bedroom. Holden was not one to wear shirts at bedtime, given me a heaping dose of man chest to look at. I wasn't sure if he went to a gym. Maybe his muscles were honed from work on his property, but whatever he was doing was working for him. A dead woman couldn't ignore those abs or the small jagged scar that covered one side of them.
Holden’s pajama pants had hung low on his hips as he’d approached the bed where I lay reading a book. He’d told me goodnight before placing a chaste kiss on the top of my head. I’d caught his hesitation, as if he wanted to say—or do—more. But instead, he’d padded out of the room on bare feet mumbling about walls that had to be painted and trim that was calling his name.
I had stayed up till two in the morning following any leads I had on the train and the woman who had called herself Mrs. Claus. Emails I’d previously sent on Friday had either gone unanswered or the recipients had no idea who I was talking about. I pulled photos of the event from Facebook and emailed Mrs. Claus’s photo all over creation, but no one recognized her.
The train’s next stop was in Little Rock tonight. A former co-worker lived there now, and with a fabricated story about a lost purse, I had my friend’s assurance she would stop by the Little Rock depot to see if my Mrs. Claus made an appearance.
Did I feel crazy pursuing this woman? Maniacally so. But what else could I do?
If anyone had answers, if anyone could possibly fix this and give me back my old life, surely it was this strange woman.