She nodded, then shrugged. "I don't know."

"We'll give it a try and see how it works. If I'm in the middle of something and can't stop, I'll let you know. Agreed?" When she nodded, he held out his hand. "Let's shake on it." Once they had completed the solemn little ceremony, he smiled and said, "Be sure and tell your mother."

"Okay, but I think I'll wait a little while. She's making a gingerbread house for the bazaar, and she always gets nervous when she does that," she confided in a rush. "I'm going to stay out of the kitchen till she's done."

Outside, a cornet burst into a series of staccato squawks. Slade tilted his head, automatically reaching out to punch the save key, wondering if the agitated toots meant that Kris was beginning work on the bumblebee tune. Well, he was entitled. The day before, he had rendered a shaky but recognizable version of "Taps."

Slipping the disk into its protective sleeve, Slade grinned in anticipation. Since he couldn't work, he had an overwhelming urge to see Ms. Christmas Carroll when she was rattled. Turning to Christy, he said, "What do you say we go visit your mom?"

"The gingerbread house," she reminded him.

"Maybe I can help."

She looked doubtful, but grabbed her jacket, tucked her crutches under her arms and hopped along beside him. "I think she's worried about something," she blurted.

He glanced down at her troubled expression and slowed his pace even more. "What makes you say that?"

"Maybe it's money. That's about the only thing she gets upset about."

"Why do you think she's worried?" he repeated patiently.

"Because she's real quiet, and kinda stares at things but she doesn't really see them. She only acts like that when something's bothering her." She slanted a glance up at him. "Do you think maybe if she was married she wouldn't be upset?"

"I don't know. What do you think?" He had a strong hunch that marriage was a factor here. With a child's unerring instincts, Christy had zeroed in on the right problem; she just had the wrong angle.

"I think she feels bad because I don't have a daddy," she said with a self-important little jiggle and all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. "I think she'd feel better if she married someone who liked kids, don't you?" She paused thoughtfully, then said, "Especially girls. Someone big, so we could both sit in his lap. And since we all have light hair, maybe someone with dark hair. Real dark," she clarified after taking a long look at Slade's near-black hair.

"Anything else?" he asked blandly, wondering what she would do if he scooped her up and gave her a big hug.

"It would be okay if he worked at home instead of going away every day," she assured him. "Mom does that already, so we're all kinda used to it. And he shouldn't be too old. How old are you?"

"Thirty-four."

"That's a good age." She hopped a few feet on her good leg, then stopped and looked at him with a puz-zled frown. "What's so funny? Why are you laughing?"

"I have a weird sense of humor. Watch out. Don't trip over that tangle of weeds."

Once inside the house, Christy opted to visit her grandmother and warned him again about going into the kitchen. He nodded and stayed where he was until she thumped her way up the stairs; then he turned and took a good look around.

The house was decorated for Christmas.

Somehow, he realized, the simple statement didn't adequately cover the situation. Candles, greenery, wall hangings and wreaths were just the beginning. Every flat surface was covered with miniature houses, carolers and snow scenes. The large coffee table had been converted into a creche, with squads of angels and shepherds. Several snowmen looked on with interest. The floor-to-ceiling tree, almost hidden beneath an avalanche of ornaments, took up one corner of the big living room.

In the dining room he discovered more of the same. Brightly colored ornaments and candles formed a centerpiece for the table, and the walls were covered with garlands of pungent pine boughs tied back with enormous red velvet bows.

Even the kitchen had been decorated. He cast a swift glance around and decided that the brightest ornament was sitting at the table scowling at a wobbly wall on the gingerbread house.

"Who decorated the house?" he asked, pulling out a chair. "Kris?"

Carroll jumped and looked up. "I didn't hear you knock," she said pointedly.

"I came in with an escort. She warned me that you might not be in the mood for company."

"You should have listened." She squeezed a blob of frosting onto the recalcitrant wall and attempted to anchor it. "Are you trying to tell me that the decorations are a bit overdone?"

He shook his head. "Just trying to decide if it's a genetic or an environmental influence."

"Try sentimental. We just can't seem to throw any of it away. Some of the stuff is Kris's, some my mother's, some mine. Now Christy's started stockpiling things."

"Tell me about it. I think I've just been added to her collection."

"That's nice," Carroll murmured, temporarily bracing the wall with a tin canister. "There, that should hold it until it dries." She looked up and blinked thoughtfully at his satisfied grin. "You've been what?"

"You heard me." Amusement gleamed in his eyes. "She proposed."

"One of these days I'm going to have to explain to her about age differences," she muttered, wondering if her bluff would work. When his grin broadened, she knew it hadn't.

"She thinks I'm just the right age. For you."

"Oh, God."

"I didn't accept. Yet. I thought I'd better clear it with you first."

"This isn't funny, Slade. You can't encourage her when she says things like that."

"I don't think I could have stopped her. Besides, all she wants is a father."

"All? All?" She glared at him. "Maybe you've missed one of the links here. In order for her to have a father, I have to have a husband."

"No, I caught on to that right away."

"Good for you." She jumped up and collected a handful of dishes. Taking them over to the sink, she said, "I'm all for encouraging dreams, everyone's dreams. But not this one. Not for her, and not for me. I'm not about to put our futures on the line again. She was too young to be hurt when her father walked away-"

"You weren't," he said quietly.

Carroll stiffened. Grateful for the small task, she scrubbed the few dishes carefully. It was a reprieve. When she finished, he was still there, still waiting. She turned around, stormy blue eyes meeting understanding gray ones. "No, I wasn't too young. I've already told you that. Later, I got mad, but I was one of the walking wounded for a long time. No one will ever do that to Christy. At least, not while I'm around to stop it."

"Too much protection can turn people into emotional cripples," he commented. When she whirled around, outrage written all over her face, he held up a hand. "Wait a minute. Hear me out. I know you've been both mother and father to her, and it couldn't have been easy. You've done a wonderful job, one to be proud of, but you can't protect her from life. People go away, people die, and we all have to learn to deal with it. We can't refuse to trust and love because we're afraid that somewhere down the road we're going to be hurt. We may avoid some pain that way, but we miss out on a hell of a lot of pleasure."

Carroll slapped the dish towel on the counter, her eyes raking over him angrily. "That all sounds very philosophical, but unless you've gone through it, you don't know what you're talking about. Have you ever been hurt like that? Has anyone ever walked out on you, betrayed your trust? Made you feel like a gullible fool?" She took a deep breath and glared at him.

"Yeah."

Blinking uncertainly, she moved nearer and perched on the corner of the table. "You're kidding, right?"

"Nope. Five years ago." He gave her a level glance. "My partner walked off with our business, and my fiancee walked off with my partner."

"What did you do?"

He shrugged. "Got mad. Got bitter. Blamed them. Didn't trust a soul outside of my family. Cut off my social life and turned into a workaholic while I started over again."

"I'm sorry, Slade." Her voice was subdued. "I was mad, or I wouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have asked."

He shrugged again. "It's over and done with. Past history." He waited several moments, then shot her a swift grin. "You're not going to ask, are you?" He shook his head. "A stubborn woman. I'll tell you anyway. I recovered. Somewhere along the way, I realized that I shared some of the blame. I had been a rotten judge of character. I had known them both for a couple of years, but I didn't know them, if that makes any sense."

She nodded.

"'I have another partner now." He pushed himself away from the table. "Lecture's over," he said briskly. "Since we can't work, how about walking into town? Maybe I'll tell you how my search for a new fiancee is going."

Chapter Five

Carroll gestured toward the towering trees. "Once the lights go on, hoards of people will be driving in to see them. You can't imagine what it's like. Cars are bumper-to-bumper, snaking up one street and down the next. The traffic gets so bad most of us don't even bother using our cars, so if you have any shopping to do, you'd better hop to it." Her voice was breathless as they followed the winding road into town. "We always stock up ahead of time, as much as we can. All the store owners love the crowds, of course, and the gas station leases a few more tow trucks, because cars overheat and have to be hauled away."

It wasn't the altitude that had her gasping for air, nor was it the exercise. She was accustomed to both. It was just that she had talked, without stopping, for the fifteen minutes it had taken to walk from the house to the center of town. Babbling was more like it, she amended silently. She had covered the weather: brisk and getting cooler every day; Kris's prediction of snow: unlikely; the town: an ideal place to raise children but not big on social life; Christy's belief in the existence of Santa Claus: teetering; and Slade's lack of holiday decorations: she had some she would loan him. Innocuous fare, admittedly, but better than the alternative. She didn't want to hear about his fian-cée-past: the idiot; present: nonexistent; or future: chicken!