Page 182 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

“You got her back,” Roger says in wonder, his eyes filling with tears. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who cries often, and answering tears well in my eyes. He tries to get up and stumbles a little, and Jace places a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place. The cat is cuddled in Jace’s other arm, as if she has very wisely decided she’d like to stay there.

“Mary got her back,” he says. His voice is firm, like he won’t hear of anyone else taking credit. Crouching, he places Cleo at Roger’s feet. “She was remarkable.” There’s a throb of longing in his voice, of admiration, and I consume it like a feast.

Cleo, being a cat, merely weaves herself around Roger’s legs and then pitter-patters off to another room without a care, as if she both runs away and is kidnapped several days a week.

Mrs. Rosa enters after us, her eyes dancing as she follows us into the apartment, closing the door behind her. “The boy who took her was a big brute covered in tattoos.” Her mouth ticks up into a wider smile. “He looked about as tough as our Jace, but this fine woman marched right up to him, bold as you please, and demanded he give Cleo back. Told him that Cleo was worthtwenty-five hundred dollars, and he’d get arrested for felony theft if he tried to keep her.”

“She what?” Roger asks, just as I say, “Oh, no. That man had nothing on Jace. I was never in the slightest bit of danger.”

The words came tumbling out, and I feel myself blush slightly. I can sense Jace watching me—along with everyone else in the room.

Mrs. Rosa pats my arm. “You’re right, Idohave a tendency to exaggerate.”

“So she didn’t say that darn cat was worth as much as my medical bills?”

“I shouldn’t have lied,” I admit, “but the gentleman did need some convincing. And I didn’t want…” I let myself sneak a peek at Jace. His ocean eyes are on me, just like I thought, and the warmth in them makes my breath catch.

“You didn’t want me to get myself into any trouble,” he finishes. He’s right, and I don’t deny it. Although getting caught in a lie could get me disbarred, the thought of Jace getting arrested for assault…

I couldn’t let that happen. He already has a felony conviction, and although I doubt anyone would take the word of a man like Hugo Sylvan, I wasn’t willing to take that risk.

Mrs. Rosa pats my arm again. “Don’t you think of leaving, honey. I’m bringing over a cake to celebrate. Apple spice or gingerbread?”

I’m a bit thrown by the revelation that this woman has multiple flavors of cake at her disposal, but I don’t want to imply I’m ungrateful or suspicious, so I gesture toward Roger.

“Let’s let Roger decide. He’s had a very stressful afternoon.”

“Gingerbread,” he answers at once, smiling. Jace looks a little taken aback, although whether it’s because of the speed of his answer or the smile, I don’t know. “Been a while since I had any. My wife used to make it every Christmas.”

“Can’t argue with that reasoning,” Mrs. Rosa says. “Gingerbreadisa good celebration cake.”

“I took you as more of thebah humbugtype,” Jace interjects. “Actually, I think you said those very words to me last Christmas. And then there’s your place.” He waves his hand, indicating the décor of the apartment, which is as lacking in holiday merriment as his own home.

Maybe I’ll buy them a couple of little trees like the one at the office.

The thought is there and gone before I can question why the heck I’m thinking about buying people trees, when I’ve only decorated a tenth of one of mine. But something about Jace and the recovered cat and his two friends, both of whom are decades older than him, is so charming that I feel a wave of something suspiciously like Christmas spirit.

Hilde would be proud of me.

“Sure,” Roger says. “If you ask me, the whole thing’s a lot of wasted effort. But I would have hung the moon for that woman.”

Mrs. Rosa beams at him, as if he just revealed he’s been a secret romantic all along. Actually, I guess he has. “I’ll be right back,” she says. “Save your appetites.”

She closes the door behind her, and my stomach responds by rumbling, reminding me that Jace and I never had those pancakes, or anything else.

He swears under his breath and takes a step toward me. “I’m sorry, Mary. I don’t know what I was thinking. You must be starving.”

“What about you? You must have worked up—”

Oh, God. I almost told him he must’ve worked up an appetite last night, and Roger is right there, leaning forward as if hanging on to our every word. He doesn’t look upset, though. If anything, he looks like he has half a mind to pull his chair closer lest he miss anything.

“I mean, you must be hungry too, is all,” I say.

Jace guides me to the chair next to Roger, and I sit, noticing it feels rickety beneath me.

“I’m used to going without,” he says offhandedly, as if it’s no big deal, but I’m hit again with the fact thathe went to prison.That still scares me, to be honest. Back when he told me, it made me scared of him—and the pull I felt to him—but now it’s like I’m scaredforhim. Which is stupid, of course. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself, and that time in his life is over.

He’s still living with the consequences, though.

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