Mistletoe and Holly by Janet Dailey Read Free Book Online Page A

through the reasons and come up with the right one, but it had something to do with being included, and sharing,of being a part of a whole. It didn’t really matter as long as it felt good.
    The living room was done in warm colors—cranberrys and golds with a smattering of orange. Richly grained maple woodwork was used throughout, including the staircase to the second floor. The house was comfortable and old and lived-in.
    “Have a seat,” Tagg invited, giving her the choice of the sofa or the matching chair with an ottoman.
    Leslie chose the chair with the ottoman so she could rest her leg on it. When he started toward the dining room with the kitchen presumably beyond it, she asked quickly. “Would you like me to help you fix the cocoa?”
    “Thanks, but I can manage,” he refused with an easy smile.
    “Look.” Holly claimed her attention. “Over here is where we’re going to put our tree. Right in front of the window. And when we turn on the lights at night, everyone who goes by can see it.”
    “That’s true,” Leslie agreed.
    “Daddy and I finished the paper chain. Let me show you.” She didn’t wait to see if Leslie wanted to see it or not, and dashed off to another room.
    Before Tagg brought the mugs of cocoa to the living room, Holly had an endless number of things to show Leslie. Some of them wereChristmas oriented and some were not. Leslie looked at all of them and listened patiently to the little girl’s prattle.
    “Has she talked your leg off yet?” Tagg asked as he handed Leslie a mug of cocoa with frothy, melted marshmallows floating on top.
    “Almost,” she smiled in understanding.
    Holly immediately took a sip of her own cocoa and stretched the tip of her tongue way out, trying to reach the sticking ring of marshmallow on her upper lip. “I got a white mustache just like Santa Claus,” she laughed.
    “You certainly do. You’d better go get a napkin,” Tagg advised. “And bring some back for us.”
    “Okay.” She set her mug carefully down on a coaster, then took off at a run for the kitchen.
    “Believe it or not, she wears down about nine o’clock every night,” he said to Leslie.
    “She’s certainly full of life and energy,” Leslie agreed. “She was right about your cocoa, too. It’s delicious. I’ve never had an instant mix that tasted this good.”
    “It isn’t instant.” He leaned forward, as if he was telling her a secret. “I made it from scratch. You are drinking the real McCoy, with milk, cocoa, sugar—the works.”
    She felt she’d really put her foot in it this time.“I … I’m sorry,” she awkwardly laughed out the apology. “I just assumed—”
    “I couldn’t always cook. You should have tasted some of my first biscuits. They were harder than any bride could make.” He smoothed over the situation by making light of it. “But like a bride, a father can learn to cook out of necessity, too.”
    “I guess so,” she conceded and took another sip of her cocoa.
    “Your aunt mentioned you work for a large advertising agency in New York.” Tagg made the comment as Holly came racing back into the room and passed napkins around.
    “I’m an assistant to the senior vice-president—which is a fancy way of saying I’m a glorified secretary,” Leslie explained with a ruefully dry smile, and didn’t mention that she earned a salary considerably higher than a secretary’s. “I’m on a first name basis with the maître d’s at the best restaurants in New York even though I’ve never eaten in one of them. And I know where you can get a suit cleaned in an hour—and the birthdays and anniversaries of my boss’s children. But I don’t make coffee.”
    “And you don’t have to report for work until after the holidays?” The rising inflection of his voice turned the statement into a question.
    “That’s right,” Leslie nodded and patted the hardcast under her pant’s leg. “My cast will be off by then.”
    “Seems to me, your boss missed a