Slade took a ragged breath. "Kris-"

"Running here and there, spinning their wheels when they could be-"

"Kris!"

"-doing things like playing their old cornet." He patted the instrument and carefully set it on the workbench.

Slade stared, first at the old man, then at the horn. He had misunderstood. Obviously. Kris couldn't have said… "Are you telling me that you found an old horn, played "Taps" on it and expected me to know that you were going to test the lights?" he demanded.

Kris beamed. "Ha, you recognized it! I must not be as rusty as I thought. Of course that's what I'm saying. But-" he held up a pudgy index finger, then pointed at the opposite wall "-first I opened the window facing your house so you could hear me. In fact, I stood right there and blew out the window,"

Slade glanced over his shoulder at Carroll. When she just shrugged, he turned back to meet Kris's expectant gaze. Yelling at him would be like kicking a cocker spaniel. "Couldn't you have just used the telephone?" he asked with a resigned sigh.

Kris shook his head. "Can't stand the things. All they do is make a lot of noise and interrupt busy people. I never understood what possessed Bell to come up with such a nuisance. With a little more effort, he could have managed something really good."

"I'm not asking you to conduct a lengthy conversation, for God's sake! When I answer, just say you're going to test and hang up. Is that asking too much?"

Kris stared at the ceiling and smoothed his luxuriant beard. "Why don't we compromise?" he finally suggested. "When I get through playing the cornet, you'll have a full minute. From beginning to end, that should give you about two minutes. A little longer when I get to work on 'The Flight of the Bumblebee.' "

A few minutes later, safely upstairs, Slade paced the length of the kitchen. On the return trip he demanded, "Is that what he calls a compromise? I do what he wants?"

Carroll picked up a pastry bag and squeezed gently, leaving a squiggle of frosting on a piece of waxed paper. "Don't fight it," she recommended. "I speak from experience. You're not going to change him. Take your two minutes and be grateful."

He pulled out a chair and straddled it, folding his arms across the back and staring moodily at the table. It was covered with frosted cookies cut in the shapes of bells, wreaths and trees. "Has he always been like that?"

"Like what?" Carroll murmured absently, tracing a ribbon on one of the wreaths, muttering when she smudged it.

"Stubborn as a mule. Uncaring. Unaware of what's going on around him."

Carroll looked up and regarded him thoughtfully. "Stubborn, yes. The rest, no. For years he was a political cartoonist for a large newspaper. He knows better than most what reality is like. But when he retired he decided to concentrate on what could be, on the nicer things in life. That's his world now, and I'm not going to yank him out of it."

Slade watched her meticulously add ornaments to one of the trees. "You do this for fun?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"Good question. It might be fun if I had any of Mom's talent." She made a zigzag design on a bell. "If I had my choice, I'd be curled up on the couch with a good mystery."

"Then why-"

"Because last summer Mom donated ten dozen of these little suckers to the church holiday bazaar, and now she's involved in a painting and can't do them. So I-"

"Naturally. You."

Startled by his dry tone, Carroll looked up, her brows lifting. "You sound disapproving."

His steady gaze held hers. "I think I am."

"I hate to point this out," she said reasonably, "but you don't have the right. What I do is my own business." Oh dear, she thought inadequately. Another man who has the solution to my problems.

"Supposing I say that I want the right?"

"I'd tell you that you can't have it," she said promptly.

"Why?"

"Because I like my life just the way it is. I'm independent. I do what I want. I don't need someone around who disapproves of my family and criticizes everything I do."

"Is that what your husband did?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, and for a second you sounded just like him."

"I hate to see you being taken advantage of."

Carroll concentrated on a wreath. "Offering to do something for the people I love is a far cry from having them take advantage of me. It's my choice. Mine. And I'll never turn control over to another person," she vowed with sudden heat. "Never again."

"Sounds like you got burned."

"I did." Her swift glance dared him to offer sympathy.

He didn't. "How old were you when you married old what's his face?"

"Jeffrey. Nineteen."

"Just a kid."

"I didn't think so at the time, but you're right."

"And now," he gave her face an assessing glance, "you're what? Thirty? Thirty-one?"

Scowling, she snapped, "Twenty-eight."

"And you figure you haven't learned anything in the last nine years?"

"Of course I have. Plenty."

He gave a satisfied nod. "Then you know that you're a strong woman."

Carroll glared. She really did hate arguing with logical people.

"And that marriage wouldn't mean turning control of your life over to anyone else."

"Marriage?" she asked in a startled voice. "Who's talking about marriage?"

"I am."

Carroll eyed him uneasily. Trouble, that was what he was. A big, broad-shouldered bundle of it. She'd seen it all in his speculative glance that first day, and she'd wanted no part of it-or him. Of course, that had been easy to say, but the blasted man was a walking, talking temptation. He had the kind of rugged dark looks that women fantasized about, and when he wasn't sending murderous glances at Kris, he was dangerously appealing. Why, she didn't know, because she wasn't usually drawn to engineering types. Pragmatic, honest to a fault, logical and blunt, he wasn't a man one would consider especially charming. Except, of course, for his smile. It flashed at unexpected moments, totally disarming her.

Now she eyed him suspiciously, wondering what he was up to. He didn't mean anything personal, she told herself firmly. He couldn't. He was probably going to quote some statistics about second marriages. Or something. Just in case, hoping to divert him, she asked brightly, "Are you planning to get married?"

Slade's gaze didn't waver. "I hope so."

Carroll snatched up another bell and absently frosted it. "Be sure to tell us-"

"You'll be the first to know."

He didn't look like a man who had statistics on his mind, she concluded glumly, her heart skipping a beat.

Now what? Take the bull by the horns? "Slade," she began hesitantly, "I hope you're not-"

"I am. Marriage." He grinned at her stunned expression. "You. Me. Us." He picked up a tree and nibbled on it absently. "I knew the day I met you, but I thought you might need a little more time."

Carroll's fingers tightened around the bell. Her gaze slowly rose from a handful of crumbs to his intent gaze. "More time?" she echoed. "Your idea of more time is two weeks? I think you're stark, raving mad!"

Chapter Four

"God bless us, every one.'" Christy leaned companionably against Slade's shoulder as he sat at his desk, her arm tucked through his. "What do you think? Do you like it that way? Or is this better? 'God bless us, every one'?"

Slade grinned. He couldn't help it. He should have been working, had been working, but she was collecting opinions and apparently needed his. She was so earnest. Her straight bangs framed anxious blue eyes, vividly reminding him of another pair of blue eyes that were equally concerned these days-for a far different reason.

"There're only two more," she told him. "'God bless us, every one,' and 'God bless us, every one.'"

"Why the rush to decide right now?" He ran his hand through her cornsilk hair, ending with a teasing tug. "You still have three weeks until the show, don't you?"

Christy nodded. "But we're rehearsing, and it's the very last line of the play, and since everyone in town is coming, it's gotta be a… a smasheroo."

"Smasheroo?"

She nodded again. "That's what Kris said. So which one do you like best?"

"What does your director say?"

Christy wrinkled her nose and heaved a gusty sigh. "She told me to experiment. So I have been, and now I'm collecting votes. Which one do you choose?"

Carroll had been right about one thing, he reflected. Christy was as tenacious as Kris. "They're all pretty good," he hedged, "but you missed one. How about, 'God bless us, every one'? Would that work?"

She repeated the words in a whisper, her face brightening. "Yeah!" Leaning closer, she kissed him noisily on the cheek. "Thanks. You're terrific!"

He gave her a quick, one-armed hug. "Any time. The door's always open."

Sudden doubt clouded her face. "I just remembered, Mom said I shouldn't come over here so much-that I probably bother you."

"It's nice of her to be so concerned," he said slowly, realizing with a shock just how much he would miss her unannounced visits. "You don't bother me, but she doesn't have any way of knowing that, does she? Do you suppose it would help if I told her I enjoy having you drop in?"

"I don't know. I already told her," she added in a burst of honesty, giving the floor an embarrassed poke with the tip of her crutch. "She said that Kris has already messed up your work schedule, and maybe you're too polite to tell me when you're busy."

And maybe she's running just a little scared, he concluded, narrowing his eyes. Or maybe a lot scared. Maybe what she really wanted to do was ease him out of their lives. Totally. He tugged gently at Christy's hair again, bringing her gaze back to his. "Do you think she'll feel better if I promise to tell you when I'm too busy to visit?"