“And there you are.”
“Later than I thought, sorry.”
“I only got in a few minutes ago myself. Summerset and I are having a drink by the fire. Come, sit down.”
“Oh, well.” Summerset. They’d have to be civil to each other. It was like a holiday law. “I have to take care of something first.” She concealed a small bag behind her back. “Need a few minutes.”
“Secrets.” He wandered over to kiss her. And to peek over her shoulder. She shifted, poked a finger in his belly.
“Cut it out. I’ll be down in a minute.”
He watched her go up, then walked back into the parlor to sit by the fire with Summerset and enjoy his Irish coffee. “She’s smuggling in some last-minute gift.”
“Ah. I’ll garage the vehicle she no doubt left out in this weather, in a moment.”
“Of course. And as much as I believe the two of you enjoy your mutual sniping, we might try a moratorium on that until Boxing Day.”
Summerset lifted a shoulder. “You look relaxed.”
“And so I am.”
“There was a time, not that long ago, when you’d have been out hounding some deal right up until the last moment. At which time, you’d have been off with the woman of the moment. Christmas in Saint Moritz or Fiji. Wherever your whim took you. But not here.”
“No, not here.” Roarke picked up one of the little frosted cookies Summerset had arranged on a glossy red dish. “Because, I realize now, here would have made it impossible for me not to understand I was alone. Lonely. Despite all the women, the deals, the people, the parties, what have you. I was alone because there was no one who mattered enough to keep me here.”
He sipped his coffee, watched the flames. “You gave me my life. You did,” he insisted when Summerset made a protesting sound. “And I worked—in my fashion—to build this place. I asked you to tend it for me. You’ve never let me down. But I needed her. The one thing, the only thing that could make this place home.”
“She’s not what I’d have chosen for you.”
“Oh.” With a half-laugh, Roarke bit into the cookie. “That I know.”
“But she’s right for you. The one for you.” His smile was slow. “Despite, or maybe due to, her many flaws.”
“I imagine she thinks somewhat the same about you.”
When he heard her coming, Roarke glanced back. She’d taken off her weapon, changed her boots for skids. She took a package to the tree, placed it there with the others.
He saw the expression on her face as she scanned the piles he’d stacked. Consternation, bafflement, and a kind of resignation that amused him.
“Why do you do this?” She demanded with a wave at the gifts.
“It’s a sickness.”
“I’ll say. ”
“We’re having Irish in our coffee.”
“If that means whiskey, I’ll pass. I don’t know why you want to muck up perfectly good coffee that way.”
“Just another sickness. I’ll pour you some wine.”
“I’ll get it myself. Peabody tagged me on the way home. She’s not only safe and sound in Scotland, she was half-piss-faced and insane with delight. She loves you, by the way, and me, and McNab’s bony ass—and even his cousin Sheila.” She gave Summerset a small smile. “She didn’t mention you, but I’m sure it was an oversight.”
She sat down, stretched out her legs. “That’s one present that hit the mark, big time. You clear everything you needed to clear?”
“I did,” Roarke told her. “You?”
“No, but screw it. I tried to get the lab and got a recording of ‘Jingle Bell Rock.’ Why don’t songs like that ever die? Now it’s stuck in my head.”