A Magical Christmas by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online Page B

the sound of footsteps.
    Jon discovered that he was almost uncontrollably angry. Whatever the hell had happened to a home being a man’s castle? Hell, he didn’t need a damned castle, just a quiet refuge from the storm.
    He strode into the kitchen, tossing his briefcaseon the table and loosening his tie. It probably didn’t help that the temperature seemed to be holding at an all-time high for December. “Hello, darling,” he told Julie, who looked startled and unhappy at his arrival. Julie would be thirty-eight on her next birthday; somehow, she still managed at times to look no more than a woman of twenty or so. She stayed very slim, and her face was a classic oval that never seemed to age. Her blue eyes had gone from an excited, exuberant bright shade to a dark and guarded one the second she had seen him. Her smile had faded. If there had not been others in the room, he was certain she would have moved away when he planted a quick kiss on her lips. As it was, he was certain that she’d cringed.
    He could damned well guarantee she didn’t pucker in return.
    But he didn’t care right then. He opened the refrigerator, drawing out a beer even as Millie offered him champagne.
    “Naw, thanks, I’ll stick to the classless stuff in the can,” Jon told her. “What’s the celebration?” he asked, taking a long swallow and staring at his wife. God, he was starving. He’d skipped lunch to get to his meeting faster. Now one swallow of beer and he felt a strange buzz in his head. No food. He’d better be careful. The kitchen might smell ofchampagne, but there wasn’t the first scent of food within it.
    Julie didn’t answer; she was swallowing champagne, a big swallow of it.
    “Jon, your wife made her first half-million-dollar sale today,” Millie told him. “She sold the Pearsons the Trendmark house in the Gables.”
    He arched a brow to Julie, feeling the strangest sinking sensation. Well, hell. He didn’t think that he was that much of a chauvinist. He wanted her to be a success, right? Or did he?
    Honestly—no. So far, he’d thought that maybe she was holding on to him for the money. Not in a really greedy way—just holding on because his was the income that kept the home and the kids in good shape. His was the income that would send Christie—then Jordan and Ashley in good time—to college.
And admit it, old buddy!
he told himself. He had wanted her to need him for that income.
    He lifted his beer can to Julie. “Here, here! Congratulations!”
    He set his beer down. Not to kiss his wife again. One brush of cold lips was enough for the moment. He went to the table and slipped his arms around Ashley. She looked up from her industrious cutting at last. “Daddy!”
    “Ash. Napkins aren’t for cutting, huh?” Hekissed the top of her head. “Jordan—get the rodents out of the kitchen,” he said firmly.
    His son, tall for his age, a nice-looking combination of him and Julie, with his green eyes and Julie’s light blond hair, looked up guiltily.
    Jon glanced to Julie. His glance, he was certain, was condemning, and he just couldn’t manage to care that he was going to aggravate her further. “Julie, what’s he doing with the rats in the kitchen?” he grated.
    She was going to hate him for that. She hated to be humiliated in any way in front of Millie. Millie was the next best thing to the Messiah in Julie’s eyes. He didn’t care. No matter what the celebration, the gerbils didn’t belong in the damned kitchen.
    “They’re not rats, Daddy,” Ashley corrected, “they’re gerbils.”
    “One and the same, honey,” Jon said.
    “They weren’t hurting anything,” Jordan protested, eyeing him evilly.
    Right. Jordan’s mother was the good parent, willing to overlook the small things.
    “I love the gerbils, Daddy,” Ashley said.
    “But you’re going to get gerbil poopies in your peanut butter sandwiches if you’re not careful!” Jack Taylor warned.
    “Get them out of the kitchen,