I'll Be Home for Christmas and One Golden Christmas: I'll Be Home For Christmas / One Golden Christmas

Bristling, Myla shot Carolyn a proud look. “I’m working for Mr. Rudolph while his housekeeper is on vacation.”

“Working for Nick?” Carolyn whirled around. “Is that true—even after what you told me last night?”

Nick’s look warned her to drop it. “Things have changed since then. I’ll explain later.”

Myla’s eyes met his. He was embarrassed, but she saw the hint of an apology. He was too much of a gentleman to make a scene. Obviously though, he’d avoided telling Carolyn everything. Wondering if he was ashamed of her being here, Myla felt like a circus sideshow.

Deciding she’d really give them all something to talk about and try to save Nick’s reputation and her much needed job in the process, she pinned Carolyn with a level look. “Yes, it’s true. Mr. Rudolph was kind enough to help us out last night. You see, we’ve had a rough time lately. We’ve been living in our car.” That statement caused an audible rumbling through the room, but it didn’t stop Myla. “He found us stranded on the interstate during the ice storm, and he brought us here. Knowing I needed a job, he asked me to work for him while his regular housekeeper, Henrietta, is on vacation. And as long as he doesn’t have a problem with that, I don’t, either. I’m just very thankful that he was kind enough to care about my children and me.

“The Bible says, ‘Blessed are ye that hunger now: for ye shall be filled. Blessed are ye that weep now: for ye shall laugh.’ Yesterday, I was hungry and weeping. Today, thanks to Mr. Rudolph’s kindness, I’m warm and full and laughing, in spite of all of this mess.” Dismissing Carolyn’s surprised, cynical look, she turned to Nick. “Isn’t this the true spirit of Christmas? You took us in, when there was no room at the inn. You did something entirely unselfish. It’s the best Christmas present I could ask for, and I thank you. And I take full responsibility for my children’s actions.”

Nick stood still, in shock. He should be angry that she’d turned his party into a sermon on the mount. Instead, he felt a great rush of warmth moving through his body. Ashamed, he blinked to hold back the blur of tears forming in his eyes. He’d never seen a woman as brave as Myla Howell. She had more courage among this crowd of cutthroats than he’d ever possessed, ruthless as he was supposed to be.

Of course, her courage was one thing. Being called a pushover was quite another. Glancing around, he waited for the looks and whispers that were sure to come. But to his surprise, his guests didn’t condemn him or laugh at him. They came, one by one, to pat him on the back.

The senator was the first in line. “Perfect, my friend. Helping the homeless is one of my campaign pledges. I’ll hold you up as an example.”

That comment was followed by Dottie’s tear-filled pledge. “How could I ever doubt your sincerity again, Nick? Jacob and I will be happy to serve on the board of Rudolph Oil, and I intend to call our broker first thing tomorrow and instruct her to buy a substantial amount of Rudolph Oil shares.” Then, glancing at Myla, she whispered, “And I’ll leave a check for your housekeeper, too. A little Christmas gift. Such a tragedy.”

“But…” Nick didn’t know what to say. Myla had single-handedly turned a disaster into a public relations dream. Now, after giving her eloquent speech, she went on to introduce herself to the group and assure them that they would have a decent meal, after all.

Sending Nick a daring look, she called, “Pizza, anyone?” Then, turning to him with a gracious smile, she whispered, “You can’t fire me now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered back, his eyes full of a grudging admiration, and his heart full of something warm and unfamiliar.

All the guests started talking and laughing, except Carolyn. Myla saw the blonde throw Nick a scrutinizing look.

Carolyn stood, then smiled sweetly at Nick. “Since when did you find religion, Nicky?”

Nick didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “Carolyn, why don’t you wait for me in the den?”

“I’ll order the pizza,” Lydia said, jumping over broken dishes to find the phone. “How about three vegetarians and three with pepperoni and sausage, all large with extra cheese?”

Everyone clapped their approval. Lydia herded the humans and Pooky toward the den. “Just make yourselves at home while I dial the emergency pizza number.”

Carolyn gave Myla a cold look, then pranced into the den with the rest of the crowd. As she walked past Nick, she said, “We really need to talk.”

Nick watched her go, then turned to stare at his wrecked kitchen, before settling his gaze on Myla and her daughter. Lifting Patrick down, he sent the little boy scooting toward his mother. A long sigh escaped from deep within Nick’s lungs as he watched Patrick hug Myla’s neck and smear her with shrimp dip. How could he be mad at them when they stood huddled together as if he were about to issue an order for their execution?

“I’ll clean it up immediately,” Myla said, her voice firm while her hands shook. “I’m so sorry, Nick.”

He held up a hand to ward off her apology. She’d put up a good front for his guests, but he could see she was visibly upset. She’d said she’d handled a few dinner parties, but never one such as this, he’d wager.

“It’s okay,” he said, pushing away his questions for now. Swallowing the lump of pride caught in his throat, he added, “Thanks. You sure handled that better than I did. You made me sound like a saint.”

“Saint Nick,” Patrick said, giggling as he wiped a glob of dip on his pajamas.

“Not a saint, Patrick,” his mother corrected, “just a very kind and understanding man.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Nick retorted, smiling in spite of himself. “You obviously have me confused with someone else.”

She wouldn’t let him get away so easily. “Oh, no. I know what I’m talking about. You’re uncomfortable in this role, being heroic, I mean. What happened to make you so afraid of reaching out to others, Nick?”

Lydia hung up the phone, interrupting before he could answer. “I can’t believe Carolyn. She knows that dog doesn’t belong at a dinner party. She should have left the big brute at home to run around on that two-acre lot she calls a backyard.”

“She brought him along for protection,” Nick said, glad to change the subject.

Lydia snorted. “I’ve never know Carolyn to need protection.”

“Careful, sis.”

Lydia turned to Myla and the children. “He’s right. I have to remember not to judge too harshly. It’s so nice to meet you. Nick’s told me all about you.”

Myla looked at Nick. Yes, she was sure he’d called Lydia first thing this morning, telling her how much he regretted being a Good Samaritan. “Well, he apparently didn’t tell Carolyn all about us.”

Getting back to the immediate problem, Nick said, “I’m not worried about Carolyn or her dog right now.” Motioning toward the fan, he said, “What about that?”

The cat still sat on guard, its bright yellow eyes narrowing suspiciously each time anyone made a move.

“We’ll get it down and clean it up, don’t worry,” Lydia said. “How about we call it Shredder, kids?”

“Yeah, Shredder,” Patrick agreed, clapping his sticky hands together.

“Who said we were going to keep it?” Nick asked, his hands on his hips.

“The worst is over.” Myla turned to Lydia. “Would you mind getting Shredder out of the way so I can clean this up?”

“Sure.” Lydia called softly to the frightened animal. “We’ll take him to Henny’s sitting room and teach him some manners while you two straighten things out.” The meaningful gaze she shot her brother told him she was referring to much more than the mess on the floor.

“Gee, thanks.” Nick pulled off his navy-and-burgundy patterned wool sweater, then rolled up his blue shirtsleeves so he could get down to work. “Lydia, you just want to see me get my hands dirty, right?”

Lydia bobbed her head and grinned.

Myla stepped forward as Lydia bribed the cat down with a piece of roast beef. “Nick, you don’t have to help.”

The animal refused to come into Lydia’s arms, but did jump down and run into the safety of Henny’s apartment. Lydia and the giggling children followed, discussing the now famous battle with animation.

Left alone, Nick and Myla could only stand and stare around them. Everything was ruined. Nick moaned softly when his eyes lit on the mashed remains of his prized coconut cake.

“You have guests,” Myla stated, picking up the cake plate to remove the source of Nick’s woes. “Go ahead. I’m sure Carolyn needs comforting after her horrid ordeal.”

Nick heard the sarcasm in her words and saw the twitch of a smile pulling at her lips. He relaxed and smiled back, his eyes meeting hers. “Carolyn Parker and I grew up together,” he explained. “She’s divorced and rich, and expects me to jump when she calls. We escort each other around town on various occasions. And about last night—”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Myla sidestepped a pile of spinach salad. “Your social life is your business. But why didn’t you tell her everything…about me?”

“Because I didn’t think I owed her an explanation. I didn’t feel the need to go into detail about your situation.”

“That was considerate,” she said, thinking he was one of the most gentlemanly men she’d ever met. Then again, maybe he used his impeccable manners as a shield.