Snowflakes on the Sea by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online Page B

the things Diane had implied than she would have admitted. “What did you do over Christmas, Nathan?”
    He looked away. “I drank a lot.”
    “No Christmas tree?”
    “No Christmas tree.”
    Mallory sighed wistfully. “I didn’t put one up, either. But Trish had a lovely one—”
    Suddenly, Nathan was staring at her. She knew he was thinking of the beautiful tree ornaments she’d collected in every part of the world, of the way she shopped and fussed for weeks before Christmas every year, of the way she always threw herself into the celebration with the unbridled enthusiasm of a child. “No tree?” he echoed in a stunned voice that was only part mockery. “No presents?”
    Mallory had received a number of gifts—a silk blouse from Kate, books from Trish and Alex, a gold chain from Nathan’s sister Pat—but she saw no point in listing them aloud. The package Nathan had sent was still stored in a guest room closet at the Seattle penthouse, unopened.
    She lifted her coffee cup in a sort of listless toast. “Just call me Scrooge,” she said.

3
    F ortunately, Nathan dropped the touchy subject of that Christmas just past—the first Christmas since their marriage that the McKendricks had spent apart—and said instead, “Your turn to cook, woman.”
    Mallory glanced at the small electric clock hanging on the wall near the telephone, and started guiltily. Lunchtime was long past. “And cook I will,” she replied.
    In the next few minutes, Mallory discovered that her husband had done a remarkable job grocery shopping; the cupboards were full. She was humming as she assembled sandwiches and heated soup, regardless of the fact that she had absolutely no appetite.
    While Mallory labored over that simple midday repast, Nathan fidgeted at the table. He looked almost relieved when the telephone rang, and moved to answer it with a swiftness that injured his wife. Was it so hard for him to talk to her that he was grateful for any excuse to avoid it?
    “Hello,” he muttered, and then, as Mallory watched, she saw him turn his back to her, saw the powerful muscles stiffen beneath his shirt. “Yes, Mrs. Jeffries,” he said in a low voice. “Yes, Diane is supposed to stay there. The band is coming, too—they’ll all be there before nightfall, I suppose. No, get extra help if you need it—”
    Mallory set the sandwich plates down on the table with an eloquent thunk and whirled angrily to ladle hot soup into two bowls. Nathan was talking to his housekeeper, giving her orders to make Diane Vincent and the others comfortable in the sprawling Spanish-style villa on the other side of the island. His villa.
    “Damn!” she muttered. She should have known that there would be no private time for the McKendricks—Diane and the band would see to that.
    “Right,” Nathan said, turning to scowl at Mallory, as though reading her inhospitable thoughts. “Hell, I don’t care. Whatever’s in the freezer—”
    “What?” Mallory grumbled. “No lobster? No filet mignon?”
    “Shut up!” Nathan rasped, and then he colored comically and glared at Mallory. “No, Mrs. Jeffries,” he said into the telephone receiver, “I wasn’t talking to you. Well, they usually bring their wives, don’t they?”
    “Whip out the satin sheets!” Mallory said, gesturing wildly with a soup spoon in one hand and a tuna fish sandwich in the other.
    Nathan gave his wife an evil look and then grinned. “Oh, and one more thing, Mrs. Jeffries—put satin sheets on all the beds.”
    Mallory stuck out her tongue and sank into her chair at the table with as much visible trauma as she could manage.
    Clearly, Nathan was enjoying her tantrum. She knew that she was behaving like a child but couldn’t seem to stop. He ended the conversation with an additional order, meant to make his wife seethe. “We’ll need lots of towels for the hot tub, too.”
    “We’ll need lots of towels for the hot tub, too!” Mallory mimicked sourly. “God forbid that