Page 8 of A Ranger for Christmas
She shrugged. “People are a mystery to me. Must be why I like my dead languages. They may take years to figure out, but there’s always a pattern, clues to lead you to the message. That’s not so true when it comes to people.”
“Meaning you didn’t read Bradley well?”
She straightened. “That doesn’t really matter.”
“Then there’s no harm answering the question.”
She nibbled an edge of pepperoni. “I thought he was the one. When I received a grant to travel and study, he asked me not to take the trip though I’d been dreaming of going for years. I refused to give it up. He was angry and annoyed. A week before I left, Kyle told me Bradley was dating Jennifer.”
“Ouch.”
“Long story made short, I broke it off.”
A slight wavering in her voice and wrinkling in her forehead betrayed her feelings. Bradley had hurt her badly. Lucas did not fully understand why this mattered to him, but it did. “He’s a chickenshit.”
A flicker of amusement fired in her eyes. “Not an exact translation of what I said but the connotation is a match.”
“Why’s he hanging around?”
“He wants access to my research material. I think he’s realized that I might soon eclipse him in reputation.”
“He’ll live.”
She plucked a pepperoni from the pizza. “My thoughts exactly.”
Curiosity nudged him to ask, “Big plans for the holidays?”
“My mother passed away seven years ago, so other than an appearance at my father and stepmother’s house tomorrow, where I deliver my presents to my brothers, no.” She plucked off another pepperoni.
“You don’t like Christmas.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Ninety-three percent of communication is nonverbal. Your nonverbal cues scream humbug.”
She laughed. “I’m not quite a Scrooge. I just don’t love all the fuss and the work for one day. Far too much work for so little return.”
“Little return?”
“It’s not super fun for me.” She lifted her pizza. “So what about you? I’m sensing you like Christmas.”
He nodded, no hint of hesitation in his voice. “My folks always made a big deal of the day. They’re gone now, so my sister carries on the tradition. We always do up a big dinner, and she makes a point to work around my crazy schedule. One year we didn’t eat the turkey and trimmings until January 1. But it didn’t matter. Felt like Christmas.”
“That’s nice.”
“So why do you hate Christmas, Dr. Scrooge?”
She laid down her pizza, suddenly not hungry. “My father left my mother on Christmas Eve.” She sighed. “He didn’t mean for it to happen that way. But they’d fought and he blurted out he was leaving. He moved out that night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is. He’s done his best to make it up to me over the years. He and his wife go all-out for the holidays.”
She’d been left twice, and now she did the leaving. “Sorry to hear that.”
He realized she’d not eaten much. He’d expected talk of Christmas would have been positive neutral territory, but instead it robbed her of her appetite.
“Don’t be. We all have to deal. That’s life.” She sighed. “Could I take copies of this code home? I’ve got a few days off, and I’ll have better luck with all my books to reference.”
