Page 37 of Christmas with Holly

Sam had finished his wine and was pouring another. “Maggie,” he said fondly, as if they had known each other for years. “My wingman.”

She laughed. “Can a woman be a wingman?”

“Women are thebestwingmen,” Sam assured her. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I have to get back home. My dog needs to be let out.”

“You have a dog?” Mark asked.

“I’m fostering him, actually. I have a friend who runs an animal rescue program on the island, and she talked me into taking care of him until she can find him a forever home.”

“What breed is he?”

“A bulldog. He’s got everything that can go wrong with a bulldog—bad joints, an underbite, skin allergies, wheezing…and to top it all off, Renfield has no tail. It was an inverted corkscrew and had to be amputated.”

“Renfield? After Dracula’s bug-eating henchman?” Mark asked.

“Yes, I’m trying to make a virtue of his ugliness. In fact, I think there’s something sort of noble about it. Renfield has no idea how hideous he is…he expects to be loved anyway. But some people can’t even bring themselves to pet him.” Her eyes sparkled, and a rueful grin crossed her face. “I’m getting desperate. I may end up being stuck with him.”

Mark stared at her in fascination. She had a quality of uncalculated niceness that was as seductive as it was endearing. She wore the look of a woman who was meant to be happy, who loved generously, who would care for a dog that no one else wanted.

He remembered Maggie telling him that after what she’d gone through with her husband’s death, she had nothing left to give. But the truth was, she had too much to give.

Sam had gone forward to drape an arm around her shoulders. “You saved a life tonight,” he told her.

“Holly’s life was never in danger,” Maggie said.

“I meant mine.” Sam grinned at Mark. “You realize, of course, that one of us is going to have to marry her.”

“Neither of you is my type,” Maggie said, and a startled giggle escaped her as Sam dipped her, Valentino-style.

“You fill the empty void in my soul,” Sam told her ardently.

“If you drop me,” she said, “you’re toast.”

As Mark watched their clowning, he was suffused with jealousy. They were so at ease with each other, so comfortable—instant friends. And Sam’s playful faux-wooing seemed a mockery of Mark’s feelings toward Maggie.

“She needs to get home,” he told his brother curtly.

Hearing the edge in his tone, Sam shot him an astute glance, and his smile widened. He brought Maggie upright, gave her a quick hug, and retrieved his wine-glass. “My brother will walk you out to your car,” he informed her. “I would offer, but I don’t want to lose my drinking momentum.”

“I can find my own way out,” Maggie said.

Mark accompanied her anyway.

They went out into the November night, the black-violet sky smudged by clouds, the air crisp and cold-bitten. Gravel gnawed at the soles of their shoes as they walked to Maggie’s car.

“I have something to ask you,” Mark said as they reached the vehicle.

“Yes?” she asked warily.

“What do you think about dropping the dog off with us tomorrow morning? He could spend the day with Holly. Maybe run a few errands with me. We’d take good care of him.”

It was too dark to see Maggie’s expression, but surprise laced through her voice. “Really? I’m sure Renfield would love it. But you wouldn’t want to be seen with him.” They stood beside the car, facing each other in the ghostly smudge of light that came from the kitchen windows. Mark’s vision adjusted to the shadows. “Honestly, it’s embarrassing taking Renfield anywhere,” Maggie continued. “People stare. They ask if he had a run-in with a weed whacker.”

Did she think he was intolerant? Narrow-minded? That his standards were so high that he couldn’t handle, even for a day, the company of a creature who was less than perfectly attractive? Hell, had she gotten a good look at the house he lived in?

“Bring him,” Mark said simply.

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