A Christmas Blessing

He stood in his office for a good fifteen minutes, his gaze fixed on Erik and Jessie’s wedding picture just to remind himself of the stakes. He figured his resolve was about as solid as it possibly could be.
He tried to pretend that there was nothing special about the evening by choosing to wear one of his many plaid shirts, the colors muted by too many washings, and a comfortable, well-worn pair of jeans. Consuela would have ripped him to shreds for his choice. His mother would have declared herself disgraced. He considered it one small attempt to keep the atmosphere casual.
There were more. He set the kitchen table with everyday dishes and skirted the temptation of candles with careful deliberation. He would have used paper plates and plastic knives and forks if he’d had them just to make his point.
Still, there was no denying the festive atmosphere as he heated the cornish game hens with wild rice, fresh rolls and pecan pie that Consuela had left for his holiday meal. The wine was one of his best, carefully selected from the limited, but priceless, assortment in his wine cellar. The kitchen was filled with delicious aromas by the time Jessie put in an appearance.
She’d dressed in an emerald green sweater that had the look of softest cashmere. It hung loosely to just below her hips, suggesting hidden curves. Her slacks were a matching shade of wool. She’d brushed her coal black hair and left it to wave softly down her back.
“Something smells wonderful,” she said peering into the oven. The movement sent her hair cascading over her shoulder. She shot him an astonished look. “Cornish game hens? Pecan pie?”
“Consuela,” he confessed tightly as he fought the desire to run his fingers through her hair.
Her gaze narrowed speculatively. “She must have suspected you’d be having a special guest here for the holidays.”
Was that jealousy in her voice? Luke wondered. Dear heaven, he hoped not. Jealousy might imply that his feelings were returned and he knew without any doubt that all it would take to weaken his resolve was a hint that Jessie felt as he did.
“Not suspected,” he denied. “Hoped, maybe. Consuela is a hopeless romantic and my bachelor status is a constant source of dismay to her. She stays up nights watching old videos of Hepburn and Tracy, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. I think she’s worn out her tape of An Affair to Remember. She wakes me out of a sound sleep with her sniffling.”
Jessie smiled. “A woman after my own heart. Maybe we should watch an old movie tonight. Does she have It’s A Wonderful Life or Miracle on 34th Street?”
“I’m sure she does, but I refuse to watch them if you’re going to start bawling.”
“Can’t stand to see a woman cry, huh?”
Certainly not this one woman in particular, he thought to himself. He would shift oceans, move continents if that’s what it took to keep Jessie happy. His brother had broken her heart.
As soon as the disloyal thought formed, Luke banished it. Jessie had loved Erik. Their marriage had been solid. It wasn’t for him to judge whether Erik’s decisions had disappointed her. He dragged himself back to the present and caught Jessie studying him curiously.
“Nope, I never could stand to see a woman cry,” he said, deliberately keeping his tone light. “I’m fresh out of hankies, too.”
Jessie grinned. “No problem. I saw boxes of tissues stashed in the bathroom closet.”
Luke heaved an exaggerated sigh of resignation. “I’ll find the tapes right after dinner.”
Dinner was sheer torture. Jessie found the candles Luke had avoided and lit them. The kitchen shimmered with candlelight and the glow from the fireplace. It was the kind of romantic lighting that turned a woman’s complexion delectably soft and alluring, the kind of lighting that stirred the imagination. Luke’s was working overtime. He could barely squeeze a bite of food past the lump lodged in his throat.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Jessie observed.
“Just enjoying the meal,” he claimed.
She eyed his full plate skeptically. “Really?”
He was saved from stammering out some sort of explanation by the sound of whimpers from the bedroom. “Angela’s awake,” he announced unnecessarily and bolted before Jessie could even react.
With the baby safely tucked against his chest, it was easier somehow to keep his emotions in check. Right now he figured Angela was as critical to his survival as a bulletproof vest was to a cop working the violent streets.
“She’s probably hungry,” Jessie said when the two of them were settled back at the table.
The innocent observation had Luke’s gaze suddenly riveted on Jessie’s chest. So much for keeping his attention focused elsewhere.
“She’s not making a fuss yet,” he replied in a choked voice, clinging to the baby a trifle desperately. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Jessie seemed about to protest, but finally nodded and picked up her fork. Luke kept his gaze firmly fixed on the baby.
“How are you doing, sweet pea? Ready for your very first Christmas? It’s almost time for the big show, the lighting of the tree.”
“It’s amazing the effect you have on her,” Jessie commented. “It must be your voice. It soothes her.”
Luke grinned. “Can’t tell you the number of women I’ve put to sleep by talking too much.”
Blue eyes observed him steadily as if trying to assess whether he was only teasing or boasting. Apparently she decided he was joking. To his amazement, he could see a hint of satisfaction in her eyes.
“I doubt that,” she countered dryly. “I suspect it’s the kind of voice that keeps grown-up women very much awake.”
“You included?” The words slipped out before he could stop them. His heart skidded to a standstill as he watched the color rise in her cheeks. Those telltale patches were answer enough. So he hadn’t totally misread those occasional sparks of interest in her eyes. Nevertheless, a few sparks weren’t enough to overcome a mountain of doubts.
Jessie seemed to struggle to find her voice. When she finally did, she said dryly, “Now that’s the famous Luke Adams