No Mistletoe Required Read online

  Nancy tossed the towel she was using to wipe her hands on the counter. “This timeline is nonsense. If you meet a man who has potential, you don’t push him off until your magical number has passed.”

  “It’s just common sense, Mom. Who gets two different types of cancer before they’re thirty?” Anna walked across the kitchen and tossed the rest of the roll in the trash. Her appetite was completely gone.

  “The tumor in your breast was benign,” her mother reminded her, as if she’d forgotten.

  “This time.” Anna wished she hadn’t thrown the roll away. Then she’d have something to chuck at her mother. “But it was there. Can’t ignore a sign like that. And I still have to go through the screenings. And my luck is clearly not all that great when it comes to this sort of thing. So why in God’s name would I think to drag someone completely innocent into my life only to end up getting another form of cancer and having to go through the whole process of chemo and radiation and surgeries? Or worse, dying on them. How fair is that?” She didn’t realize until she was finished that she was yelling.

  Nancy stared at her. “Why are you getting so upset? You’ve never been upset about this before. Unless...” With mother’s intuition, her eyes widened. “You met someone.”

  “I meet people daily. It’s what we do in the nursing profession.” Opening the fridge, she hid her face—and the flush she could feel creeping up her neck—by pretending to look for something to drink.

  “Anna Jo Smith, you met a man and you pushed him away, didn’t you.”

  “Damn,” she whispered. The middle name. Shutting the door, she leaned against the fridge. “This really isn’t a big deal. If he’s the right guy for me, he’ll be there in a year.” Probably not, but that wasn’t the point.

  “And so you’re willing to waste a year because of this? If he’s the right man for you, he’ll go into a relationship eyes open wide, and accept the risk.” Her mother stood very still, very quiet. It’d always been these moments when she and her brother had listened the most carefully.

  “Hey, Ma!” Steven’s voice belted out from the front door. “Where are you?”

  Saved by the brother.

  Her mother’s steely gaze never left Anna’s. “In the kitchen, smacking some sense into your sister.”

  Not so saved.

  Steven walked in and immediately pounced. “Cinnamon rolls. Score.” With a mouth full of roll, he nudged Anna aside and went into the fridge for a drink.

  Nancy shook her head and went back to chopping vegetables. “I raised monkeys. It’s the only explanation for both your manners.”

  Steven grinned at Anna and grabbed a half-gallon of milk. “I think she likes us.”

  “She’s our mother.” Anna bumped him with her hip. “Where’ve you been? And where are the gifts? You didn’t get me a coupon for a bigger birthday gift again this year, right?”

  Her brother smirked. “Guess you’ll find out later.”

  Their mother chopped an onion particularly hard. “Tell your sister she’s crazy.”

  “You’re crazy,” he said dutifully. “Why are you crazy?”

  Anna sighed, but her mother answered before she could.

  “She’s pushing a man away because of her deadline.”

  Steven laughed. “Mom, come on. Everyone knows Anna uses that as an excuse to ditch the assholes.”

  “Language,” Anna and their mother said at once. Only Anna’s comment was mocking. “And I do not.”

  “Yes, you do.” Steven uncapped the milk and started to drink from the jug, only to grab a cup from the cabinet when Nancy gave him The Stare. “You go out with guys, and you don’t like them, and you don’t want to give them the time of day. Which is fine, but you always give them the It’s-just-not-the-right-time speech.”

  “I do not.” Did she? “No. I don’t do that.”

  “Of course you do.” Steven shrugged and put the milk back in the fridge. “So the guy must have been an as—jerk,” he finished, hands in the air to ward off The Stare again.

  Nancy’s chopping slowed. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he is a jerk.”

  “Still here,” Anna muttered.

  “Well? Is he?” When Anna stared at him, Steven added, “The guy?”

  She closed her eyes and thought back to the past week. What did she feel for Dan? Was it love? No, she rejected that almost as soon as it came. Love took longer to grow. To be nurtured and developed. Not love.

  Dan’s surly first day volunteering.

  His insistence that Christmas wasn’t his thing.

  Wearing the Santa suit, telling a little boy he’d been wonderful this year.

  Shrugging out of his suit jacket and tie, rolling up his sleeves to help Aubrey create a glitter-dredged ornament masterpiece, complete with purple ribbon.

  The broken, confused look on his face when she told him she was ending the fling.

  Not love. Possibility. The spark that could lead to more. Lead to the future. That only took an instant. And she’d felt it.

  She’d instigated her no-dating rule with good intentions. But had her insistence that the timing was wrong extinguished that spark for good?

  She needed to know. Now. Suddenly, she couldn’t stand still in her own skin. “Mom, Steven, I have to run somewhere. Can you tell Dad I’ll be back?”

  Her mother smiled and patted her cheek. “Of course. Just be back for supper, or I’ll skin you alive.”

  “Of course.” She kissed her mother and jogged to the front door. But, on second thought, backed up a few steps and grabbed the poinsettia sitting in the middle of the kitchen table.

  “Where do you think you’re going with that?” her mother called out after her.

  “Thanks, Mom! Back for dinner!”

  * * *

  “Geoff, I told you, I appreciate the invite, but I’m just sticking close to home this year.” Dan shut his front door and turned to lock it behind him. “Yeah. No, I’m heading out to the cemetery now.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “I’m good. I need to do it myself.” Swinging his keys into his palm, he prepared to walk down his front steps when the sight of something in his driveway stopped him short. “Uh, I’ll call you back later.”

  “She’s there, isn’t she?” Geoff’s voice was smug.

  “Bastard,” he said mildly and shut his phone, slipping it into his jacket pocket. Taking the last two steps to his driveway felt like a mile. Anna walked his way with short, hesitant steps.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Anna froze, looking almost as confused as he felt. Then she pushed out her arms and shoved a plant into his stomach. A plant he hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. “These are for you. I mean, your parents. I guess I mean both of you.” She screwed her eyes shut and opened them. “Can I try that again?”

  He nodded. “Come in.” Though he’d been all set to go, this was infinitely more important. He opened the door and took her jacket from her, leading her to the living room where he set the plant down on the coffee table.

  She stood awkwardly, wringing her hands. “I need—”

  “Sit down, Anna.” He patted the sofa and she sat, her movements automatic, as if she was glad to not have to think about something for a moment. When she didn’t speak, he realized she needed a little help. “Is everything okay?”

  “I had cancer.”

  The quick admission had his mind reeling. Jesus. She has—no, wait, she said had—cancer? “When?” he asked hoarsely.

  Her hands came up to rub over her arms as if they were cold, though the room felt almost too warm to him. “I was sixteen. Leukemia. A little on the old side, but it still happens. I spent a good portion of that year in the hospital.”

  “The hospital.” Ice slid through his gut. “The same one we—”

  “Yup. The same one we volunteered at.” Her mouth curved slightly, realizing the irony. She used one hand to trace the pattern of the fabric covering his couch, not meeting hi
s eyes. “It sucked, obviously. But I got through it. And was determined to put it behind me. Then almost a year ago, I found a lump in my breast.”

  He sucked in a breath, held it. Wanted to pull her onto his lap and cuddle her, hold her, keep every bit of evil away from her. But he couldn’t, so he waited for her to continue.

  “It was benign. But thanks to my history, I still get regular screenings, and will for awhile yet.” She looked up, eyes glassy. “See my problem with commitment?”

  He tried to connect the dots, he really did. But came up disappointingly blank. He shook his head.

  She stood, started pacing in front of the coffee table. “I’ve had it once, had another scare again. I get checked out all the time. But you have to admit, I seem to be a magnet for the stuff. I just...I needed time. And the two year mark is when I stop going in so often for my screenings and checkups. It seemed like the natural answer. I needed to have two full years behind me with no negative screens, no indicators, no anything that said it would be coming back to bite me in the ass. Mentally, I needed it.”

  “Okay,” he said slowly, starting to put the picture together.

  “And that wasn’t such a big deal, because I hadn’t really met that many guys that were all that tempting anyway. And then you.” She stopped in front of him, hands on her hips, glaring a laser beam of accusation straight through his head. He could almost feel the burn. “You came along with your ‘Bah humbug’ outer shell and your adorable, sweet soft center and you melted me. And you made me want more than I thought I could have. More than I should have.”

  More dots connected. He wanted to whoop with relief. Rubbing a hand over his mouth to hide the smile, he let her go on.

  “And I panicked. Because how fair would that be if we started something, knowing what I know? I don’t have a great track record so far, when you look at my health charts. What if I got involved with someone—anyone—and then another scare happened, a more serious one?”

  “Anna,” he started, his heart breaking for her.

  “I’m damaged goods.”

  “Don’t you dare say that.” His voice was fierce, and he didn’t bother to check it. She was down, and he didn’t want to kick her. But she needed to hear it. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

  She nodded. “I do. It just sometimes takes a bit for my head and my heart to sync up. Like a laptop searching for wireless internet,” she said with a watery laugh. “But it gets there. Eventually. And now I’m afraid I freaked you out with all this talk.”

  “Not one bit.” Finally, he stood and took the chance, holding his arms out for her. Felt relieved when she stepped easily into them and let him wrap his arms around her. “For the person who showed me I was being an idiot, holding onto grief because I was scared to feel happy during the holidays? Trust me, I can put up with a lot from you right now.”

  She sniffed and laughed again, rubbing her cheek against his chest and burrowing into him. It was a feeling he could get used to.

  “So now what?”

  “Now,” she said, voice muffled against his shirt, “I pray you will give us another shot. Because I like you. I really, seriously like you. And I think you might like me too.”

  “You think?” he scoffed. “You should know.”

  “So I guess the question is whether you want to put up with the crazy, hopefully ex-cancer patient.”

  “No, not really.” He tapped one finger on her chin. When she tipped her face up to his, he added, “I’d rather have Anna. Just Anna. Think she’s available?”

  “Yeah,” she breathed. “She’s available.”

  “Thank God for that.” For once, he used surprise to his own advantage and executed a quick spin, bringing her down to the floor with a controlled drop. As he knelt over her, he grinned and nuzzled into her neck. “I think this calls for some holiday festivities.”

  Her eyes widened. “But we don’t even have any mistletoe.”

  “No mistletoe required. Remember?” He kissed her, working her shirt up and over her head with ease. “Now. Since I’m not typically home for the holidays, I was thinking of starting up my own traditions this year. Including a very intimate party for two. Are you interested in attending?”

  “Mark me down as a yes.” She smiled and pulled his shirt from the waistband of his jeans.

  Twenty minutes later, he buttoned the last of his shirt buttons for the second time that day. Only this time, the scenery was much improved. Anna stood nearby, jumping until her jeans slid up and over her butt. He couldn’t resist giving her a kiss. When she captured his face between her hands, he called on the single ounce of restraint left to pull away. “Can I ask what the flower thing is for?”

  Her face brightened. “Oh! I almost forgot.” She stepped away and grabbed the pot, holding it up for him. “Geoff told me where to find you.”

  “Figured that out by the way he knew you were in the driveway.” He took the plant from her, stroking one velvety, dark green leaf.

  “And he also said if you’re in town, you’d go see your parents. So this is for them. If you haven’t already gone, that is.”

  Touched, he looked down once more at the potted plant. “It’s that Christmas flower.”

  “Poinsettia.”

  “Yeah. That.” He never even brought anything for his parents, just went to visit, sit by their headstones for awhile. Tell them about his year. Bringing flowers seemed like a nice, feminine touch his mother would have appreciated. Seeing something among the leaves, he rooted around a bit. “What’s this?”

  “Hmm?”

  He pulled the card out from the small plastic stake tucked into the soil, half-hidden by the plant. Reading out loud, he smiled. “To the best second grade teacher ever.” He arched a brow at her.

  “Oh. Oh, Lord.” She turned beet red and reached for the flowers. “I sort of stole them from my mom.” When he started to laugh, she snatched them back. “Nothing’s open! What, was I supposed to break into a florist’s shop?”

  “It’s the thought that counts.” Tucking her into his side, he started back for the door, helping her in her jacket before going to his car. “You’ll come with me to see my parents?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Do you want me to?”

  “Absolutely.” For the first time, he did want company. Wanted someone else to share in that moment. It was the closest he’d ever come to introducing his parents to a girl he cared about. And he wanted it to be Anna.

  “Then yes. I’d love to come with you.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, Anna pulled up to her parents’ house once again, lighter in spirit than the first time. She’d always loved Christmas before, but this year her best gift by far was the reminder to trust in life.

  “Hey, Mom. I’m back! And this time I brought company.”

  * * * * *

  Sometimes the game of love can hand out some hard hits...but the rules of the game are about to be broken.

  Read more from author Jeanette Murray!

  Look for

  The Game of Love

  Chris St. James is walking away from her pro tennis career and a toxic relationship with a star hockey player, and starting a new life as a teacher and tennis coach in a small town. Now all she needs is an average guy to share it with.

  Brett Wallace is no average guy. Forced to retire from the NFL after an injury, he’s returned to his hometown to coach the varsity football team.

  The last thing Chris needs is to get involved with another pro athlete...but the rules of the game change when she falls for him...

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  About the Author

  Jeanette Murray lives with her daughter, husband and extremely stupid (but utterly lovable) Goldendoodle. Nonwriting hobbi
es include blogging, learning new, healthy recipes and watching really horrible reality TV. (Hey, we all have a vice!) She also loves tennis, football and rugby.

  Jeanette put pen to paper (or, rather, fingers to keyboard) after she finally realized she didn’t have multiple personalities. Just characters roaming her imagination, waiting until she had the time and courage to give them life. It’s been a whirlwind ever since. She absolutely loves to talk and does her best to respond to every email, blog comment, tweet or wall post. Find her on Facebook, Twitter (@JeanetteMurray) or on her website at www.jeanettemurray.com.

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  ISBN: 978-14268-9457-2

  Copyright © 2012 by Jeanette Murray

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