Spencer Nation's Christmas Miracle Read online

  Because her bra was laying on the ground.

  She was going to have to apologize to whichever of Mack's daughters this man belonged to.

  "Sorry." She dipped down and scooped up the offending garment. When she stood back up, she tossed it in the drawer and slammed the door shut in case it tried to escape. "Sorry," she said. Again.

  "No need to apologize," the man said, obviously trying very hard not to laugh at her.

  Why hadn't she stayed in Nashville where she belonged?

  "I'm sorry," she said, then winced, realizing she'd apologized yet again. "I don't know which one you are. Are you Mike or Beth's husband? And if it's the latter, I'm really sorry for forgetting your name."

  "Actually, Mike is Beth's husband. Amanda's husband is Eddie. And I'm Kit." He stuck out a hand, presumably so she could shake it, but she could only stare at it as if she'd never seen a hand before.

  "You're not a girl."

  He laughed. It was good laugh too. A soft chuckle that came from somewhere deep in his chest. A Sean Connery kind of laugh.

  "No, I'm not."

  "But I thought Mack had daughters."

  A duffle bag, the kind soldiers carried, slid off his shoulder and onto the bright yellow pleather couch that served as the only seating in the basement other than the futon where he would be sleeping and the bed she'd been given.

  Why had her mother never mentioned a son? Or that she was going to be bunking down with a man who very well could have just stepped out of a cologne ad? She didn't know men really came built with broad shoulders and muscles you knew existed despite being hidden beneath some relaxed fit jeans and a fleece jacket.

  "My mom was married to Mack back when I was high school. It was just three years, but Mack said it was long enough for him to get attached. He cons me into coming back here every year for Christmas."

  Christmas, which was eight days away.

  She was going to have to share a room with this man for eight days.

  I am going to kill my mother.

  "I'm Spencer." Wait. He already knew that. "My mom is Rita, Mack's new wife." Damn, he probably knew that too.

  She normally wasn't such an idiot. Something was short-circuiting her brain. Probably his impossibly thick eyelashes and dark eyes. Or maybe it was the movie-star bone structure.

  Jesus Christ, what was wrong with her? This guy was practically her step-brother and she was ogling him as if they'd met in a bar after a few too many drinks.

  "Good to meet you, Spencer." He smiled, and the flash of white teeth did not help her get her mind back on track. "Hope you don't mind if I claim the futon. I used to fall asleep on this thing back in the day when I would stay up late watching movies. It feels like home."

  He was lying. There was no way a man his height -- which was somewhere between tall and giant -- wanted to sleep on an ancient futon. But then again, it wasn't as if he was going to exactly fit on the twin bed either. If he was going to be gentleman enough to offer her the real mattress, then she would be gracious enough to accept.

  "Not a problem. I'm looking forward to lying beneath Robert Downey, Jr.," she said, nodding to the Iron Man poster hanging a over the bed.

  Now that she thought about it, the room did have a very "dude" vibe. Superhero posters on the wall. Zombie figures decorating the shelves. A PS3 plugged into the TV. This time it wasn't so much her lack of observation skills as much as she liked comic books, zombies, and video games herself.

  "Do you like Lord of the Rings?"

  Aaaand she was back to sounding like an idiot.

  "It's alright, I guess," he said, shrugging out of his jacket. Beneath he wore a grey long-sleeved t-shirt which allowed her to see that her assumption about his muscles was very much on point. "I like Harry Potter better."

  "Oh, well, who doesn't?" Her, but that was beside the point. And it wasn't as if she didn't like Harry Potter. A set of official Slytherin robes sat in her apartment back home, and she had a replica of both the Elder Wand and Snape's wand. "I just asked because you're obviously into fantasy-type stuff, and I studied Lord of the Rings."

  Awkward Spencer was awkward.

  "Like in college?" Kit asked, and bless him, he even managed to sound interested. Her mom was right. He was a sweetheart.

  "I wrote my thesis on it."

  "Your thesis?"

  "Yeah, for my doctorate."

  "Your doctorate? I thought you were a teacher."

  "I am. I'm a professor of English literature at Vanderbilt University."

  Kit's eyebrows arched up and hid themselves beneath a fringe of dark hair. "That's impressive."

  Spencer felt a surge of pride. She'd worked her ass off to finish her doctorate. Both of her parents were smart, but neither of them had gone to college. There was a time when going to a school of Vanderbilt's caliber seemed like an impossible dream, and now she was teaching there.

  "Tell that to the chemistry and physics professors who sneered at me every time I tried to introduce myself to one of them last night," she said. "I will never forgive my department head for forcing everyone to attend the faculty Christmas party." She and several of her colleagues spent half the night planning a coup to overthrow Dr. Albritton if she ever tried anything like that again. "What do you do?"

  Kit shrugged. "Just odds and ends jobs," he said, turning away from her to unzip his duffle bag. "Once I got out of the army I couldn't stomach the idea of following someone else's orders, so I started taking on whatever work I could get. I had meant to settle down in a real job eventually, but by then I was too used to doing my own thing."

  "That sounds nice." And by "nice" she meant "terrifying." Spencer adored structure and security. The idea of not knowing where her next paycheck was coming from or when she would get it made her break out in hives. "What types of odd jobs do you do?"

  "Small construction-type jobs, mostly." He picked up a wad of t-shirts out of his bag, considered them as though he wasn't quite certain what he was holding, and then stuffed them right back where they had been. "I should go say hello to your mom," he said, running a hand through his hair. "It was nice to meet you, Spencer." Before she could think of a response, he was climbing the stairs and disappearing through the door at the top.

  She wasn't quite sure what she'd done to offend him, but she didn't have time to figure it out. From the sound of the front door swinging open and the pounding of a million feet above her head, it appeared her time for solitude was over.

  Chapter 4

  Kit had hardly had a chance to hug Rita hello when Maddie threw open the front door and came barreling through the house.

  "Uncle Kitten!" She squealed, jumping up into his arms. The oldest of his honorary nieces at six, Maddie was a tiny dictator. One could try to reason with her, but the discussion would all too often lead to tears, and not always from Maddie. So when she decided his name was short for Kitten, there had been no deterring her. Now all the children called him Uncle Kitten. It was a bit emasculating, but not as much as having to admit he was a worthless bum to a freaking professor.

  When Rita and Mack talked about Spencer, he'd pictured a kindergarten teacher. A woman with Rita's maternal air and chubbiness who wore the paint of children's art projects on her clearance-rack cardigans. Instead, he found a woman with legs fashion designers had in mind when they invented yoga pants and a face like Angelina Jolie. And there wasn't a cardigan in sight. Sure, the Vanderbilt sweatshirt she wore wasn't much to write home about, but that bra...

  Fuck. He was going to embarrass himself in front of his family if he didn't stop thinking of that bit of red satin covered in black lace.

  "Mad Girl," he said, squeezing the child until she shrieked. "What did you do with your parents and sisters? Leave them to the wolves?"

  "We don't have wolves here, silly," Maddie said, slipping from his arms as her mom and two sisters came through the door. "There are coyotes though. I heard them once. They sound scary."

  "I will have you know, I saw a w
olf out by the lake one night. It was solid white." At least, he thought he'd seen a white wolf by the lake one night. When he mentioned it to his friends they had cut him off from their illegally obtained beer.

  "You're not telling that white wolf story again, are you?" Beth asked, stopping long enough for him to lean over and give the baby, Avery, a peck on the cheek. "You realize it makes you sound like a crazy person, right?"

  "Hey, I'm not the only one to see it. James Craven said he saw it too."

  "And James Craven is universally acknowledged as completely bonkers."

  Beth had been in college and Amanda a high school senior when their parents married, yet they still treated him like a brother. It could be annoying, but he wouldn't trade their teasing for anything. With Beth living in Indianapolis and Amanda's family in St. Louis he didn't see them but a few times a year, but they texted each other on a regular basis. If one of them didn't hear from him after a few days his phone would start blowing up with "Are you okay?" messages.

  "Pick me up, Kitty Cat," Emma, age three, demanded, tugging on his pants leg. Beth's middle child was a daredevil, so he picked her up high over his head, flipped her upside down, and then lowered her until her tummy was directly in front of his face. He blew a giant raspberry right over her belly button, causing her to scream and laugh at the top of her substantial little lungs.

  "You're not attempting to murder that poor child, are you?"

  He hadn't heard her come up the stairs, not with Emma trying to permanently damage his eardrums. For her to suddenly be standing in front of him felt a bit like his niece had rammed a knee into his solar plexus.

  "Who is you?” Emma asked, trying to crane her head around so she could see Spencer right-side-up. Kit lowered her to the ground before she broke her neck.

  "I'm Spencer," she said, kneeling down so she would be on the child's level. "What's your name?"

  "That's Emma," her older sister answered for her. "The baby is Avery, and I'm Maddie. Are you our new aunt?"

  Spencer wasn't comfortable with that title. He could tell the way her shoulders tensed up and the her lips pressed tightly together before she answered. "That's right. My mom is your Nana Rita."

  "You didn't come to Thanksgiving," Maddie said, eyebrows raised in challenge.

  Spencer tried for a smile, but failed a bit short. "No, I didn't. Something came up, and I couldn't make it."

  "Mom said it's because you think you're better than us."

  "Maddie!" All the color drained from Beth's face. Poor Maddie. She had no idea how close she was to being murdered on the spot. "I'm so sorry. She's a bit--"

  “I don’t like you. You look funny."

  The world went eerily silent after Emma's overly loud declaration. Spencer's face flamed red, while Beth's grew so pale she looked in danger of passing out.

  "Oh my God. I'm so sorry. I don't--"

  Spencer waved off whatever Beth was trying to say and smiled down at Emma. "You know what, I am funny. Do you want to hear a joke?"

  Emma nodded her head eagerly while Maddie declared, "I love jokes."

  "Where did the ghost go to get its hair done?"

  "The hair shop?" Maddie guessed.

  "Nope. The boo-tician."

  Emma's eyebrows crinkled together while she tried to figure it out, but Maddie just rolled her eyes. "That wasn't funny," she said.

  "It wasn't?" Spencer asked.

  "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Madeline Grace, you are being rude," Beth warned.

  Maddie's chin jutted out. "I'm being honest. You told me to never lie."

  "Well, I thought it was funny," Kit said. "Boo-tician." He made a big show of chuckling, which caused Emma to giggle as well. "The ghost went to the boo-tician," he said to her, which caused her giggles to turn into peals of laughter. Maddie glared at the two of them mutinously as he reached down to lend Spencer a hand. Unlike downstairs, this time she accepted it. The moment her palm slid against his he felt a response somewhere much lower.

  What the hell was wrong with him? She was practically his sister. He shouldn't be thinking about how her full lips would look stretched across his cock. It was inappropriate.

  Completely inappropriate, and yet he couldn't stop imagining it. Or how her lithe body would look stretched out naked beneath his.

  He was beginning to suspect this was going to be a long week.

  Chapter 5

  It was late when Kit finally made his way to bed for the night. Eddie's Range Rover got a flat tire in Southern Illinois, and Eddie, being Eddie, didn't have a clue as to how to fix it. When Mack and Kit got there, they discovered Amanda had taken the spare tire out to make room for Allie's and Daniel's toys. They then had to hunt for the nearest WalMart, which was back in Kentucky, buy a new tire from the slowest service people on earth, and then change out the tire while answering a million questions from the world's most inquisitive five-year-old. And then there was the requisite hugging and how-are-you-doing with the rest of the family once they all made it back to Mack's house.

  Having a family was exhausting.

  "Everyone make it in okay?" Spencer asked from the corner of the twin bed he’d slept in as a teen. She hadn't been part of the greeting party when they returned, and he didn't blame her. Things had gone from bad to worse with Beth's family. When the children weren't doing their best impersonations of actual living demons, Beth was falling all over herself trying to make up for her children's bad behavior by being so over-the-top peppy it would make a cheerleader cringe. Spencer was obviously uncomfortable with all the attention, but no one bothered noticing.

  "Finally," Kit said, toeing off his shoes. "Eddie is a great guy, but I'm pretty sure he traded all his common sense for his artistic abilities."

  Spencer was sitting cross-legged, her back against the wall. She'd pulled her hair into a low ponytail and had traded the sweatshirt for an old, faded NASA t-shirt. Dark framed glasses sat on the edge of her nose and a book lay across her lap. It shouldn't have been sexy -- she shouldn't have been sexy -- but damn if his body didn't disagree.

  It was those leggings. There should be a law against women with legs like that being able to wear form-fitting black Lycra and call them pants. She would cause wrecks if she were to walk down the street in those things.

  "Eddie is the glass guy, right? My mom thinks he's the next Chihuly."

  "I don't know who Chihuly is," Kit admitted, "but Eddie makes some amazing stuff. The chandelier over the dining room table is one of his. Doesn't seem to be a ton of money in it, at least not for him right now, but he's starting to pull in some commissions. There is a chance he's going to get to exhibit in some big art museum up in Chicago next year."

  "And his wife, Amanda? What is she like?" Spencer fiddled with the corner of her book cover when she asked. Part of him really wanted to go upstairs, drag Beth out of her bed, and give her a good talking-to for saying asshole things about Rita's daughter in front of her own kids. Now Spencer was going to be prepared to think the worst about all of them just because Beth didn't know how to keep her stupid opinions to herself.

  "Amanda is the quiet one. She works in the nursery of a daycare, most likely so she won't have to talk to anyone all day long. She's nice. You'll like her." And with any luck, she wouldn't prove him a liar.

  "I look forward to meeting her." She didn't, and he didn't blame her one bit.

  Kit wasn't used to this. He talked to women all the time, but it was usually over drinks in a bar where everyone had their script worked out ahead of time. Something told him his standard lines about how he mistook her for Carrie Underwood or Miranda Lambert weren’t going to work here. Yet, he'd promised Mack he would try to cheer her up, and after the disaster of meeting the rest of his family earlier, he owed it to her to at least attempt to be kind.

  The problem was, he didn't know how to talk to someone so smart. He wasn't exactly genius material himself. High school had been a challenge, e
nough so that joining the army was really the only option beyond working at McDonald's the rest of his life. What did literature professors talk about? Emily Dickinson? Mark Twain?

  "What are you reading?" He asked, figuring that was a safe enough question. Hopefully it wouldn't be The Red Badge of Courage. She probably wouldn't understand if he curled up in a ball and started crying.

  High school English PTSD was a thing. He was almost certain of it.

  Spencer held up her book, a paperback featuring a woman in a fancy purple dress from ye olden days on the cover. He couldn't see the full title from where he was standing, but the word "Rogue" jumped out at him.

  "Is that a romance novel?"

  "It's comfort food reading," she said, her cheeks turning pink. "And I'll have you know the romance book industry is one of the strongest in publishing. It brings in over a billion dollars a year."

  "And you like it?" It was like discovering Beethoven liked listening to Kanye West.

  "The writing is solid, and I like knowing that everything is going to turn out okay in the end." She traced the cover with one long, elegant finger. "It's escapism. Real life rarely works out to anyone's advantage, but in a romance novel you know the characters are going to walk away with their happily ever after, no matter what the plot throws at them."

  "That's why I was into superheroes growing up," he confessed. "The good guys always won. It didn't matter how much smarter or more prepared the villain was, in the end, the heroes always came out on top."

  Spencer blinked up at him with her cat-like eyes. He'd thought their shape was due to a makeup trick, but it wasn't. She was scrubbed clean and they were still the most mesmerizing eyes he'd ever seen.

  "Are you not into superheroes anymore?"

  Kit abruptly turned and unzipped his bag. He still hadn't unpacked. Maybe if he concentrated on that he wouldn't be tempted to stand there and stare at his ex-step-father's new wife's daughter like an idiot all night long.

  "I still watch the movies," he said, tucking his boxer shorts under his t-shirts before picking up the entire stack. "I haven't read a comic in ages though." He walked over to the chest of drawers and stopped with his hand hovering over the handle of the top drawer. Her things were in there. Her bra. The one with red stain and black lace.