Read Online Holly Blues by Susan Wittig Albert - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan Wittig Albert
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hound. It upsets him when we argue.
“Well, she won’t have that problem now,” I replied in a reasonable tone. I lined up the filled bowls and dropped a healthy dollop of sour cream into each. “She doesn’t have any money, so she won’t be bothering with checkbooks.”
“So she says.” McQuaid made a disgusted noise. “She got to you, huh? You felt sorry for her. Poor Sally. Poor, mistreated Sal.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “I thought you were too smart to fall for that woman’s sob story, China.”
Now it was my turn to be angry. I spun around to face him. “You bet I felt sorry for her, McQuaid. She lost her house and everything in it, and then she lost her job. She lost her car, too—a little yellow convertible she really loved.” I could feel my temper flaring. “And she’s not just ‘that woman,’ damn it. She’s Brian’s mother, she’s homeless, and it’s the holiday. The least we can do is give her a place to stay and extend some friendly—”
Howard Cosell clambered out of his bed and lumbered in our direction. He tries to get between us when we argue and generally ends up standing on both our feet. This usually serves to distract us, as it did now.
“Hey.” McQuaid put his hands on my shoulders, then bent and kissed me. He is six feet tall and still has the slim hips and well-muscled shoulders of a football quarterback, which he was, once upon a time. When he kisses me, I know I’ve been kissed.
“I apologize,” he muttered, stepping back and shoving the dark hair out of his eyes. “I admit it—I don’t want Sally staying with us. I don’t trust her. I have too much history with her, and I’m suspicious of whatever she says. Remember when she was in jail for forging that check, and she told us she was in the hospital?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “but—”
“And the time she borrowed money for a medical bill and used it to go on a cruise?”
I sighed. “You’re right about that, too, but—”
He silenced me with a quick kiss. “But you’re doing what you believe in, China. I’m registering a protest, but that’s as far as it’ll go.” Dodging Howard, he headed to the fridge to get the mayonnaise. “So okay,” he said over his shoulder. “So she’s here. Is that going to change anything about the holiday?”
“I don’t see why it should. I thought we could lend her Brian’s car, so she’ll at least have something to drive.” Brian doesn’t have his learner’s permit yet, but Blackie Blackwell, the Adams County sheriff and a friend of McQuaid’s, gave us a deal on his used Ford that was too good to pass up. Brian sometimes goes outside and sits in the car and (when he thinks nobody is looking) pretends to be driving it. He’s already saving his allowance for gas and insurance. I hoped he wouldn’t mind if his mother borrowed it.
With a scowl, McQuaid added mayo, pecans, and vinegar to his coleslaw. Basil vinegar, which gives it a totally different zip. “Make sure her license is current. And that she’s covered under our insurance.”
“I will.” I fished a chunk of sausage out of the chowder and gave it to Howard, who gulped it down. “About the holiday, nothing is going to change. She can go with us to take the kids out to get the Christmas tree tomorrow evening and—”
A stricken look crossed his face, and I stopped. “What? You forgot? You scheduled something else?”
“Yeah, I forgot,” he replied glumly. “I’m sorry, China. I promised Charlie Lipman I’d fly up to Omaha to interview a guy. I’m going tomorrow. I’ll be back on Friday night.”
“Omaha!” I squawked. “But we agreed! The kids are looking forward to getting the tree, and Donna is planning a hayride and a bonfire, and caroling, too. It’ll be something new for Caitie. She’ll love it. I don’t want her to miss it.”
“I know,” McQuaid said unhappily. “I screwed up, China, big-time, and I’m sorry. Look. Why don’t we put the tree off a couple
“Well, she won’t have that problem now,” I replied in a reasonable tone. I lined up the filled bowls and dropped a healthy dollop of sour cream into each. “She doesn’t have any money, so she won’t be bothering with checkbooks.”
“So she says.” McQuaid made a disgusted noise. “She got to you, huh? You felt sorry for her. Poor Sally. Poor, mistreated Sal.” His voice dripped sarcasm. “I thought you were too smart to fall for that woman’s sob story, China.”
Now it was my turn to be angry. I spun around to face him. “You bet I felt sorry for her, McQuaid. She lost her house and everything in it, and then she lost her job. She lost her car, too—a little yellow convertible she really loved.” I could feel my temper flaring. “And she’s not just ‘that woman,’ damn it. She’s Brian’s mother, she’s homeless, and it’s the holiday. The least we can do is give her a place to stay and extend some friendly—”
Howard Cosell clambered out of his bed and lumbered in our direction. He tries to get between us when we argue and generally ends up standing on both our feet. This usually serves to distract us, as it did now.
“Hey.” McQuaid put his hands on my shoulders, then bent and kissed me. He is six feet tall and still has the slim hips and well-muscled shoulders of a football quarterback, which he was, once upon a time. When he kisses me, I know I’ve been kissed.
“I apologize,” he muttered, stepping back and shoving the dark hair out of his eyes. “I admit it—I don’t want Sally staying with us. I don’t trust her. I have too much history with her, and I’m suspicious of whatever she says. Remember when she was in jail for forging that check, and she told us she was in the hospital?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “but—”
“And the time she borrowed money for a medical bill and used it to go on a cruise?”
I sighed. “You’re right about that, too, but—”
He silenced me with a quick kiss. “But you’re doing what you believe in, China. I’m registering a protest, but that’s as far as it’ll go.” Dodging Howard, he headed to the fridge to get the mayonnaise. “So okay,” he said over his shoulder. “So she’s here. Is that going to change anything about the holiday?”
“I don’t see why it should. I thought we could lend her Brian’s car, so she’ll at least have something to drive.” Brian doesn’t have his learner’s permit yet, but Blackie Blackwell, the Adams County sheriff and a friend of McQuaid’s, gave us a deal on his used Ford that was too good to pass up. Brian sometimes goes outside and sits in the car and (when he thinks nobody is looking) pretends to be driving it. He’s already saving his allowance for gas and insurance. I hoped he wouldn’t mind if his mother borrowed it.
With a scowl, McQuaid added mayo, pecans, and vinegar to his coleslaw. Basil vinegar, which gives it a totally different zip. “Make sure her license is current. And that she’s covered under our insurance.”
“I will.” I fished a chunk of sausage out of the chowder and gave it to Howard, who gulped it down. “About the holiday, nothing is going to change. She can go with us to take the kids out to get the Christmas tree tomorrow evening and—”
A stricken look crossed his face, and I stopped. “What? You forgot? You scheduled something else?”
“Yeah, I forgot,” he replied glumly. “I’m sorry, China. I promised Charlie Lipman I’d fly up to Omaha to interview a guy. I’m going tomorrow. I’ll be back on Friday night.”
“Omaha!” I squawked. “But we agreed! The kids are looking forward to getting the tree, and Donna is planning a hayride and a bonfire, and caroling, too. It’ll be something new for Caitie. She’ll love it. I don’t want her to miss it.”
“I know,” McQuaid said unhappily. “I screwed up, China, big-time, and I’m sorry. Look. Why don’t we put the tree off a couple
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