Page 3 of The Trouble With Christmas

“She’s been collecting that pattern since she got married sixty years ago, and her collection is almost complete—except for a few pieces Spencer found at an estate sale in Newport.” Daisy takes the vase and carefully wraps it in white tissue before sliding it into a white bag and tying the handles together with a piece of red and green ribbon. “She’s going to be so thrilled to see this vase. It’s the perfect Christmas gift for her.”

“Your cousin’s pregnancy hormones are surging,” I quip.

“Well, aren’t you something?” My wife tilts her head, wrinkling her cute nose up at me. “Is it valuable?”

“Only sentimentally.” I take the bag from Daisy. “And your cousin assured me I’d be getting the entire collection once the old woman dies. I have a vested interest.”

Daisy waves her hand at me. “Don’t listen to a word he says. This purple Fenton art glass is very valuable. You could probably get upper hundreds for it, maybe even a thousand, since it’s rare, don’t you think?”

“A thousand dollars?” Joselyn’s eyes go wide.

I shake my head. “Only a serious collector would pay that much.”

“Wow, that’s really cool, Spence.” Scout smiles at me, and I’m growing uncomfortable with all this attention. “I always knew you were soft in the middle.”

“I am nothing of the sort.” I growl, but Joselyn rises onto her tiptoes to kiss my cheek.

“I love it when you’re sweet.” Her tone is sultry, and she gives me a naughty wink that makes me ready to postpone everything and take her back to our rented house.

“I’m not sweet.” My voice is low.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she whispers. “You do your good deed, I’ll help Scout and the kids set the trap for our nativity bandit, and we can discuss your reward tonight.”

“Don’t expect much discussion.” I lean closer to her ear and whisper. “Unless it concerns which position I take you in first.”

“I think such a sweet man should come first tonight.”

My dick stiffens at the image of her on her knees in front of me, but Ollie throws cold water on our dirty discussion.

“It could be more than one bandit, Aunt Sly!” He grabs my hand again. “Then what do we do?”

Clearing my throat, I step back, holding the white bag at my waist. “We’ll contact the sheriff either way. Don’t do anything dangerous.”

“Mr. Tom is in Fireside with Mom. We should call him!” Ollie’s voice is loud, and I can tell he’s excited.

Even though I’m sure Tom would prefer the weekend off from his security-guard duties, I nod. “Good idea. Text your mom and see if he’d like to join the expedition.”

Ollie and Jesse, Scout’s brother’s son, take off for the front of the store, and I pause for one last glance at my gorgeous wife. “Be careful.”

She skips to me and kisses my lips one more time, surrounding me in her warm ginger scent. “We will.”

I’m not so sure. Joselyn has a knack for getting into scrapes. At least I’m somewhat reassured with Scout and possibly Tom on hand, she should be fine until I return.

“Why,Spencer! What a nice surprise. I’ve got my famous eggnog on the stove. Would you like it straight or Irish?” Ms. Nelly gives me a wink as she holds the door open for me.

Her gray hair is gathered in a loose bun at the back of her neck, and her skin is nearly translucent. She’s wrapped in a cranberry-colored crocheted shawl, and her head barely makes it to the center of my chest. Still, her brown eyes are bright, and she moves confidently, if a little slowly.

I don’t have the heart to tell her I detest eggnog as I follow her through her small house that’s stuffed to the gills with antiques. “Would it be possible to have the Irish, hold the nog?”

She shakes her head and waves a hand at me. “Everyone thinks they hate eggnog. I’ll pour you a whiskey and include a sidecar of the nog for you to try. I bet you’ll like it!”

“It’s a deal.” I follow her around a stack of old newspapers as tall as a dresser.

A magazine on top readsLifeand has an image of John F. Kennedy on the cover. I don’t deal in vintage publications, but I’m sure it’s worth something. I continue past an ivory pedal organ with a book of Christmas standards on the music desk.

Christmas falls on a Sunday this year, and I know from Joselyn the church is planning an elaborate program. Ms. Nelly’s the organist, which makes her a big part of the show.

She calls me from the kitchen. “What’s that you’re carrying?”

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