Page 3 of Everything Christmas

Chapter Two

Late August...

Merry frowned, eyeing the crocus bulb with mounting skepticism. When she’d read the planting instructions at the store, they seemed simple enough. But as she prepared to put them in the ground, she wasn’t so sure.

She reached for the package and read them aloud. “Loosen the soil until it is workable. Ok, did that. Plant bulbs pointy end up.”

Merry looked at the bulbs in her hand. They were round. What pointy end? She perused the printed cardboard that came stapled to the yellow mesh bags for a picture and scowled. “How stupid is that? I guess they think everyone knows how to plant these dumb bulbs.”

A car zooming down the street behind her had her twisting around. It skidded to a halt, parking crookedly in Reese’s driveway. Another leggy woman got out, this one a brunette wearing tight jeans and a snug tee and flip-flops. She stormed up the sidewalk. Having lived there for several weeks, the parade of beautiful women visiting the condo across from her was hardly an uncommon occurrence.

Today’s visit was starting out much differently. Merry went back to digging with her hand trowel, watching from beneath the wide brim of her straw sun hat although trying hard not to look like it, as the brunette banged on the door. While she waited for an answer, she crossed her arms over a rather impressive chest and tapped her high-heel-clad toes. When the door swung open, Merry’s gaze shifted to the hole in front of her. Although she was dying to see what was happening, she wasn’t about to be caught gaping at him yet again.

When the woman raised her voice in anger, she got up to get the garden hose, even though she didn’t need it yet. Maybe she could get a peek while she was unraveling and connecting it to the outdoor faucet.

As she bent to brush off her knees and then reached behind her to do the same to the seat of her shorts, she froze when the woman shrieked, “You are a lying, cheating motherfucker. I hope the next woman you screw over chops your three-timing dick off. Thank God we used a condom, you...you...man whore!”

Merry couldn’t keep from staring at the language the furious woman used. So she saw when the brunette stomped to her car, pausing to flip him off before getting in then in a squeal of tires, gunned the car in reverse. Then, in the same fashion she arrived in, she raced down the street, running the stop sign at the end for good measure.

She told herself not to but couldn’t keep her head from swiveling back to look at Reese. He stood with his arms crossed, a black scowl on his face, staring at the end of their short street. Seriously, there were only seven houses and his speed-demon girlfriends were putting everyone at risk, especially the three kids under five. Before walking back into his house, he turned and skewered her with a brief, angry look.

She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve it, but she was glad when his door echoed with a loud thud behind him.

“That’s the fourth woman in a month,” Merry murmured, shaking her head. The man needed a revolving door.

“Actually, I think it’s the fifth.”

Merry twisted to see Mrs. Pittinger standing on her porch about fifteen feet away. She’d caught the latest episode of Reese Morgan’s Floozy of the Week show, too.

“By my count, there were three blondes and a brunette. There was also the one with long black hair. She was exotic looking.”

“I must have missed her.”

Must not be a fan of gingers. Too bad. He was missing out.

With the back of her hand, Merry pushed back several strands that had come loose from her ponytail. She refused to call it red, preferring strawberry blonde or titian. Thank goodness she didn’t have the ubiquitous freckles and had learned to tame the spring curls that had plagued her as a child. The bright ringlets had earned her plenty of nicknames. Carrot Top, Li’l Orphan Annie, and Strawberry Shortcake were some of the nicer ones. The name-calling and jokes had gotten progressively worse and more obscene when she’d hit high school.

“Poor boy,” Mrs. Pittinger said, snapping her out of her less than pleasant musings.

“What do you mean, poor boy? Are you worried he’ll get a back injury from changing his sheets?”

The older woman’s lips didn’t so much as twitch at her joke. Instead, she frowned. “No, dear, because he’s searching for something and not finding it.”

Merry rolled her eyes; the man was nothing but a horn dog! It seemed to her he was finding exactly what he was searching for—his next piece of ass.

---