A Christmas Message Read online

  That seemed to ease his father’s mind. “So what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?” he asked brightly.

  Wynn cast K.O. a look as if to say he’d told her so.

  “I can take you on a tour of Pike Place Market,” K.O. offered.

  “That would be great.” Max thanked her with a warm smile. “I was hoping to get a chance to go up the Space Needle while I’m here, too.”

  “We can do that on Tuesday.”

  Max nodded. “Do you have any free time, Wynn?” he asked.

  “Some,” Wynn admitted with obvious reluctance. “But not much. In addition to my appointments and writing schedule, I’m still doing promotion for my current book.”

  “Of course,” Max murmured.

  K.O. detected a note of sadness in his voice and wanted to reassure him. Unfortunately she didn’t know how.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wynn phoned K.O. early Monday morning. “I don’t think this is going to work,” he whispered.

  “Pardon?” K.O. strained to hear.

  “Meet me at the French Café,” he said, his voice only slightly louder.

  “When?” She had her sweats on and was ready to tackle her treadmill. After shedding the two pounds, she’d gained them again. It wasn’t much, but enough to send her racing for a morning workout. She knew how quickly these things could get out of control.

  “Now,” he said impatiently. “Want me to pick you up?”

  “No. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

  By the time she entered the café, Wynn had already purchased two cups of coffee and procured a table. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she pulled out the chair.

  “He’s driving me insane!”

  “Wynn, I like your father. You made him sound worse than a deadbeat dad, but he’s obviously proud of you and—”

  “Do you mind if we don’t list his admirable qualities just now?” He brought one hand to his temple, as if warding off a headache.

  “All right,” she said, doing her best to understand.

  “The reason I called is that I don’t think it’s a good idea to set him up with LaVonne.”

  “Why not?” K.O. thought her plan was brilliant. She had everything worked out in her mind; she’d bought the liquor and intended to dust and vacuum this afternoon. As far as she was concerned, the meeting of Max and LaVonne was destiny. Christmas romances were always the best.

  “Dad isn’t ready for another relationship,” Wynn declared. “He’s still mourning my mother.”

  “Shouldn’t he be the one to decide that?” Wynn might be a renowned child psychologist but she believed everyone was entitled to make his or her own decisions, especially in matters of the heart. She considered it all right to lend a helping hand, however. That was fair.

  “I can tell my father’s not ready,” Wynn insisted.

  “But I invited him for drinks this evening and he accepted.” It looked as if her entire day was going to be spent with Max Jeffries, aka Moon Puppy. Earlier she’d agreed to take him to Pike Place Market, which was a must-see for anyone visiting Seattle. It was always an entertaining place for tourists, but never more so than during the holiday season. The whole market had an air of festivity, the holiday mood infectious.

  “What about LaVonne?” he asked.

  “I’ll give her a call later.” K.O. hadn’t wanted to be obvious about this meeting. Still, when LaVonne met Max, she’d know, the same way Wynn and K.O. had known, that they were being set up.

  “Don’t,” he said, cupping the coffee mug with both hands.

  “Why not?”

  He frowned. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  K.O. smothered a giggle. “Are you telling me you’ve found your own psychic powers?”

  “Hardly,” he snorted.

  “Wynn,” she said, covering his hand with hers in a gesture of reassurance. “It’s going to work out fine, trust me.” Hmm. She seemed to be saying that a lot these days.

  He exhaled slowly, as if it went against his better judgment to agree. “All right, do whatever you think is best.”

  “I’ve decided to simplify things. I’m serving eggnog and cookies.” And olives, if anyone wanted them. When she’d find time to bake she didn’t know, but K.O. was determined to do this properly.

  “Come around five-thirty,” she suggested.

  “That early?”

  “Yes. You’re taking care of arranging their dinner, right?”

  “Ah... I don’t think they’ll get that far.”

  “But they might,” she said hopefully. “You make the reservation, and if they don’t want to go, then we will. Okay?”

  He nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.” Wynn took one last swallow of coffee and stood. “I’ve got to get to the office.” Slipping into his overcoat, he confided, “I have a patient this morning. Emergency call.”

  K.O. wondered what kind of emergency that would be—an ego that needed splinting? A bruised id? But she knew better than to ask. “Have a good day,” was all she said. In his current mood, that was an iffy proposition. K.O. couldn’t help wondering what Max had done to upset him.

  “You, too,” he murmured, then added, “And thank you for looking after Moon Puppy.”

  “His name is Max,” K.O. reminded him.

  “Maybe to you, but to me he’ll always be the hippie surfer bum I grew up with.” Wynn hurried out of the café.

  * * *

  By five that afternoon, K.O. felt as if she’d never left the treadmill. After walking for forty minutes on her machine, she showered, baked and decorated three dozen cookies and then met Wynn’s father for a whirlwind tour of the Seattle waterfront, starting with Pike Place. She phoned LaVonne from the Seattle Aquarium. LaVonne had instantly agreed to drinks, and K.O. had a hard time getting off the phone. LaVonne chatted excitedly about the man in the soup, the man K.O. had claimed to see with her “psychic” eyes. Oh, dear, maybe this had gone a little too far....

  Max was interested in absolutely everything, so they didn’t get back to Blossom Street until after four, which gave K.O. very little time to prepare for the meeting.

  She vacuumed and dusted and plumped up the sofa pillows and set out a dish of peppermint candies, a favorite of LaVonne’s. The decorated sugar cookies were arranged on a special Santa plate. K.O. didn’t particularly like sugar cookies, which, therefore, weren’t as tempting as shortbread or chocolate chip would’ve been. She decided against the olives.

  K.O. was stirring the rum into the eggnog when she saw the blinking light on her phone. A quick check told her it was Zelda. She didn’t have even a minute to chat and told herself she’d return the call later.

  Precisely at 5:30 p.m., just after she’d put on all her Christmas CDs, Wynn arrived without his father. “Where’s your dad?” K.O. demanded as she accepted the bottle of wine he handed her.

  “He’s never on time if there’s an excuse to be late,” Wynn muttered. “He’ll get here when he gets here. You noticed he doesn’t wear a watch?”

  K.O. had noticed and thought it a novelty. LaVonne wasn’t known for her punctuality, either, so they had at least that much in common. Already this relationship revealed promise—in her opinion, anyway.

  “How did your afternoon go?” Wynn asked. He sat down on the sofa and reached for a cookie, nodding his head to the tempo of “Jingle Bell Rock.”

  “Great. I enjoyed getting to know your father.”

  Wynn glanced up, giving her a skeptical look.

  “What is it with you two?” she asked gently, sitting beside him.

  Wynn sighed. “I didn’t have a happy childhood, except for the time I spent with my grandparents. I resented being dragged hither and yon, based on where the best surf could be found. I hated living with a bunch of self-absorbed hippies whenever we returned to the commune, which was thei
r so-called home base. For a good part of my life, I had the feeling I was a hindrance my father tolerated.”

  “Oh, Wynn.” The unhappiness he still felt was at odds with the amusing stories he’d told about his childhood at Chez Jerome and during dinner with Vickie and John. She’d originally assumed that he was reflecting his own upbringing in his “Free Child” theories, but she now saw that wasn’t the case. Moon Puppy Max might have been a hippie, but he’d imposed his own regimen on his son. Not much “freedom” there.

  “Well, that’s my life,” he said stiffly. “I don’t want my father here and I dislike the way he’s using you and—”

  “He’s not using me.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but apparently changed his mind. “I’m not going to let my father come between us.”

  “Good, because I’d feel terrible if that happened.” This would be a near-perfect relationship—if it wasn’t for the fact that he was Wynn Jeffries, author of The Free Child. And the fact that he hadn’t forgiven his father, who’d been a selfish and irresponsible parent.

  His eyes softened. “I won’t let it.” He kissed her then, and K.O. slipped easily into his embrace. He wrapped his arms around her and they exchanged a series of deep and probing kisses that left K.O.’s head reeling.

  “Katherine.” Wynn breathed harshly as he abruptly released her.

  She didn’t want him to stop.

  “You’d better answer your door,” he advised.

  K.O. had been so consumed by their kisses that she hadn’t heard the doorbell. “Oh,” she breathed, shaking her head to clear away the fog of longing. This man did things to her heart—not to mention the rest of her—that even a romance novelist couldn’t describe.

  Wynn’s father stood on the other side of the door, wearing another Hawaiian flowered shirt, khaki pants and flip-flops. From the way he’d dressed, he could be on a tropical isle rather than in Seattle with temperatures hovering just above freezing. K.O. could tell that Max’s choice of clothes irritated Wynn, but to his credit, Wynn didn’t comment.

  Too bad the current Christmas song was “Rudolph,” instead of “Mele Kaliki Maka.”

  K.O. welcomed him and had just poured his eggnog when the doorbell chimed again. Ah, the moment she’d been waiting for. Her friend had arrived. K.O. glided toward the door and swept it open as if anticipating Santa himself.

  “LaVonne,” she said, leaning forward to kiss her friend’s cheek. “How good of you to come.” Her neighbor had brought Tom with her. The oversize feline was draped over her arm like a large furry purse.

  “This is so kind of you,” LaVonne said. She looked startled at seeing Max.

  “Come in, please,” K.O. said, gesturing her inside. She realized how formal she sounded—like a character in an old drawing room comedy. “Allow me to introduce Wynn’s father, Max Jeffries. Max, this is LaVonne Young.”

  Max stood and backed away from LaVonne. “You have a cat on your arm.”

  “This is Tom,” LaVonne said. She glanced down lovingly at the cat as she stepped into the living room. “Would you like to say hello?” She held Tom out, but Max shook his head adamantly.

  By now he’d backed up against the wall. “I don’t like cats.”

  “What?” She sounded shocked. “Cats are magical creatures.”

  “Maybe to you they are,” the other man protested. “I don’t happen to be a cat person.”

  Wynn shared an I-told-you-so look with K.O.

  “May I get you some eggnog?” K.O. asked, hoping to rescue the evening from a less-than-perfect beginning.

  “Please,” LaVonne answered just as “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” began.

  Eager for something to do, K.O. hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the pitcher of eggnog.

  She heard Tom hiss loudly and gulped down some of her own eggnog to relax.

  “Your cat doesn’t like me,” Max said as he carefully approached the sofa.

  “Oh, don’t be silly. Tom’s the friendly one.”

  “You mean you have more than one?”

  “Dad,” Wynn said, “why don’t you sit down and make yourself comfortable. You’re quite safe. Tom is very well-behaved.”

  “I don’t like cats,” Max reiterated.

  “Tom is gentle and loving,” LaVonne said.

  Max slowly approached the sofa. “Then why is he hissing at me?”

  “He senses your dislike,” LaVonne explained. She gave Max a dazzling smile. “Pet him, and he’ll be your friend for life.”

  “See, Dad?” Wynn walked over to LaVonne, who sat with Tom on her lap. He ran his hand down Tom’s back and the tabby purred with pleasure.

  “He likes you,” Max said.

  “He’ll like you, too, as soon as you pet him.” LaVonne was still smiling happily, stroking the cat’s head.

  Max came a bit closer. “You live in the building?” he asked, making his way, step by careful step, toward LaVonne.

  “Just across the hall,” she answered.

  “Your husband, too?”

  “I’m single. Do you enjoy cards? Because you’re welcome to stop by anytime.”

  K.O. delivered the eggnog. This was going even better than she’d hoped. Max was already interested and LaVonne was issuing invitations. She recognized the gleam in the other man’s eyes. A sense of triumph filled her and she cast a glance in Wynn’s direction. Wynn was just reaching into his pocket, withdrawing a real-looking catnip mouse.

  Relaxed now, Max leaned forward to pet Tom.

  At that very moment, chaos broke out. Although LaVonne claimed she’d never known Tom to take a dislike to anyone, the cat clearly detested Max. Before anyone could react, he sprang from her lap and grabbed Max’s bare arm. The cat’s claws dug in, drawing blood. He wasn’t about to let go, either.

  “Get him off,” Max screamed, thrashing his arm to and fro in an effort to free himself from the cat-turned-killer. Wynn was desperately—and futilely—trying to distract Tom by waving the toy mouse. It didn’t help.

  “Tom, Tom!” LaVonne screeched at the top of her lungs.

  Blood spurted onto the carpet.

  In a panic, Max pulled at Tom’s fur. The cat then sank his teeth into Max’s hand and Max yelped in pain.

  “Don’t hurt my cat,” LaVonne shrieked.

  Frozen to the spot, K.O. watched in horror as the scene unfolded. Wynn dropped the mouse, and if not for his quick action, K.O. didn’t know what would have happened. Before she could fully comprehend how he’d done it, Wynn had disentangled Tom from his father’s arm. LaVonne instantly took her beloved cat into her embrace and cradled him against her side.

  At the sight of his own blood, Max looked like he was about to pass out. K.O. hurriedly got him a clean towel, shocked at the amount of blood. The scratches seemed deep. “Call 911,” Max shouted.

  Wynn pulled out his cell phone. “That might not be a bad idea,” he said to K.O. “Cat scratches can get infected.”

  “Contact the authorities, too,” Max added, glaring at LaVonne. He stretched out his good arm and pointed at her. “I want that woman arrested and her animal destroyed.”

  LaVonne cried out with alarm and hovered protectively over Tom. “My poor kitty,” she whispered.

  “You’re worried about the cat?” Max said. “I’m bleeding to death and you’re worried about your cat?”

  Wynn replaced his phone. “The medics are on their way.”

  “Oh...good.” K.O. could already hear sirens in the background. She turned off her CD player. Thinking she should open the lobby door, she left the apartment, and when the aid car arrived, she directed the paramedics. Things had gotten worse in the short time she was gone. Max and LaVonne were shouting at each other as the small living room filled with people. Curious onlookers crowded the hallway outside her door.

  �
��My cat scratched him and I’m sorry, but he provoked Tom,” LaVonne said stubbornly.

  “I want that woman behind bars.” Max stabbed his finger in LaVonne’s direction.

  “Sir, sir, we need you to settle down,” instructed the paramedic who was attempting to take his blood pressure.

  “While she’s in jail, declaw her cat,” Max threw in.

  Wynn stepped up behind K.O. “Yup,” he whispered. “This is a match made in heaven, all right.”

  Then, just when K.O. was convinced nothing more could go wrong, her phone started to ring.

  Chapter Twelve

  Don’t you think you should answer that?” the paramedic treating Max’s injuries asked.

  K.O. was too upset to move. The romantic interlude she’d so carefully plotted couldn’t have gone worse. At least Wynn seemed to understand her distress.

  “I’ll get it,” Wynn said, and strode into the kitchen. “O’Connor residence,” he said. At the way his eyes instantly shot to her, K.O. regretted not answering the phone herself.

  “It’s your sister,” he said, holding the phone away from his ear.

  Even above the racket K.O. could hear Zelda’s high-pitched excitement. Her idol, Dr. Wynn Jeffries, had just spoken to her. The last person K.O. wanted to deal with just then was her younger sister. However, she couldn’t subject Wynn to Zelda’s adoration.

  She took the phone, but even before she had a chance to speak, Zelda was shrieking, “Is it really you, Dr. Jeffries? Really and truly?”

  “Actually, no,” K.O. informed her sister. “It’s me.”

  “But Dr. Jeffries is with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Keep him there!”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t let him leave,” Zelda said, sounding even more excited. “I’m calling on my cell. I’m only a few minutes away.” She took a deep breath. “I need to talk to him. It’s urgent. Zach and I just had the biggest argument ever, and I need to talk to Dr. Jeffries.”

  “Zelda,” K.O. cut in. “Now is not the best time for you to visit.”