A Dixie Christmas by Sandra Hill Read Free Book Online Page B

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    “No, he lives in a trailer, you dweeb,” Hank remarked, nudging Johnny in the ribs with an elbow.
     
    “No. Definitely not. Uh-uh. I do not live in a mansion.” This was the most incredible conversation Clay had ever experienced. Why was he trying to downplay his lifestyle?
     
    To make Annie more comfortable, that was why.
     
    Annie’s eyes narrowed. “How big is this non-mansion?”
     
    “Tweytfllrms,” he mumbled.
     
    “What?”
     
    “Twenty-two rooms. But it’s not a mansion.”
     
    “Twenty-two rooms! And you live there alone?” She appeared as if she might cry. “You probably have caviar for breakfast.”
     
    He shook his head quickly. “Toast, fresh squeezed orange juice and black coffee, that’s what I have. Every day. I don’t even like caviar.”
     
    “—gold faucets in your bathrooms and—”
     
    “They’re only gold-plated. Cheap gold-plating. And brass. I’m pretty sure some of them are brass.”
     
    “—and date movie stars—”
     
    “The only movie star I ever dated was Natalie Portman, and that was before she was famous, when we were both students at Harvard. Her name was Natalie Hershlag. And it wasn’t really a date, just brunch at—”
     
    “Natalie Portman!” five males at the table exclaimed.
     
    Annie honed in on another irrelevant fact. “He eats brunch. Brunch. Oh, God! He must think he’s landed on Welfare Row. Better Homes and Slums .”
     
    “Who’s Natalie Portman?” Aunt Liza wanted to know. “Is she one of those “Desperate Housewives” hussies Roy watches all the time?”
     
    Before anyone could explain, Annie sighed loudly and declared, “Maybe I better take you back to your hotel tonight.”
     
    “An-nie!” Johnny whined. “You promised we would put up the Christmas tree tonight.”
     
    “Yeah, Annie,” Jerry Lee chimed in. “We would have had it up by now if it wasn’t for your dumb Nativity scene idea.”
     
    “Well, actually  . . . uh, I’m not feeling so good,” Clay surprised himself by saying. He was in a sudden panic. If he went back to the hotel, he’d have no opportunity to study this fever thing with Annie  . . . or this falling in  . . . uh, whatever. He could easily conduct business on his cell phone and iPad from the farm, for a day or two anyhow.
     
    “You aren’t?” Annie was immediately concerned.
     
    “Maybe coming downstairs was too much for you.” Aunt Liza got up and walked to his end of the table, then put a hand to his forehead to check his temperature. “Yep, he’s got a fever.”
     
    No kidding! What else is new?
     
    “I’ll help you back up the steps,” Chet offered.
     
    “No, that’s all right. I think I could sit in a chair and watch you put up your tree.” I am shameless. Pathetic, even. Then, before he had a chance to bite his tongue, he blurted out, “I’ve never had a Christmas tree.”
     
    Everyone stared at him as if he’d just arrived from Mars. Or New Jersey.
     
    “My father didn’t believe in commercial holidays,” he disclosed, a defensive edge to his voice. Put a zipper on it, Jessup. You don’t want pity. You want . . . well, something else.
     
    “That settles it, then,” Aunt Liza said, tears welling in her eyes.
     
    Yep, pity.
     
    Annie reached under the table and took his hand in hers.
     
    On the other hand, I can stomach a little pity. Immediately, a warm feeling of absolute rightness filled him almost to overflowing. He knew then that he’d made the right decision forestalling his return to the city. Besides, he’d just remembered something important.
     
    He hadn’t checked out the hayloft yet.
     
    Getting into the Christmas spirit…
     
    Annie had thought she was drowning in troubles this morning before she ever left for Memphis. Little had she known that her troubles would quadruple by nightfall.
     
    In fact, she’d brought trouble home with her, willingly, and it sat big as you please right now on her living room