Page 107 of The Blessings of Christmas
Mary Lou shook her head. “She's something, isn't she?”
“That’s an understatement. The Pomeroy family. I suppose she can’t help it.”
“I kind of get a kick out of her.”
“You treat all the young women like a daughter. Her father’s insurance company is coughing up money for a visit that probably wasn’t warranted.”
“No concussion?” Mary Lou raised her penciled brows.
“Sometimes it’s hard to tell. I like to give my patients the benefit of the doubt.”
“Your patient, huh? Maybe she’s sweet on you, Dr. Darling.”
The staff teased him about every young woman who came in.
“She’d be, what the seventh young woman this week?”
“Well, you can count this one twice.” When he thought of the people at the clinic who really were ill and waited patiently to see him, it turned his stomach.
Leaving the front desk, he went back to his office. The night was quiet. Victoria Pomeroy. Some of the women at the clinic would probably kill for those shoes.
Oh wait, they were boots. She’d set him straight about that. “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” played in the background while he stood there, remembering those boots.
“What’s with that smile?” Mary Lou interrupted his thoughts.
“Nothing. Got to get to work.” And he walked off toward the back. But as the day progressed, there was just no shaking off those boots.
CHAPTER 4
Christmas had overtaken the Pomeroy mansion with a vengeance. Standing in the center of her parents’ impressive foyer that Saturday morning, Victoria did a complete turn. Franz, her mother’s decorator, had done himself proud. But he’d never been known for restraint, which suited Mama just fine. Victoria took a quick tour through the living room.
This year the tree next to the fireplace reached the high ceiling, with a resplendent angel soaring at the top. The color scheme seemed to be gold and merry-old-England red. Ornaments and garland weighed heavy on the limbs of a fresh tree. Coming closer, Victoria brushed the soft pine needles with her fingers and smiled. Every Christmas morning had been magical. Gifts had carpeted the tree skirt, heaped artistically, of course. Franz saw to that.
Inhaling the sharp but soothing pine scent, Victoria felt her shoulders loosen. She could almost forget what an idiot she’d made of herself with Dr. Darling. The room smelled as if a truck loaded with pine trees had just driven through. The arched doorway was wide enough. Right now the house was quiet, withonly the sound of the grandfather clock ticking in the hallway. Saturday mornings always started slow.
Poking around in the fragrant branches for a loose ornament or two, she couldn't find anything to take back to the shop for her tree. Everything was too glitzy and the ornaments were as wide as her hand. They might dwarf the slim artificial tree at her pantry. Going back out into the marble hallway, she continued past the priceless antiques that had been given a holiday tune-up. Greenery and glitter were strewn here and there. Ornaments of all sizes were hung, heaped or tucked. Even the Santas were girded with gold sashes––the kind never found at the North Pole. She kept exploring.
“Bitsy!” Her father looked up from his paper when she wandered into the dining room.
Cringing at his pet name for her, she kissed his forehead. “Daddy, you know I hate that awful name, right?”
“Aw, sweetie.” He didn’t look at all repentant. “Where have you been hiding? Haven’t seen you in a while.” Glasses perched on his nose, Daddy was still having coffee. TheWall Street Journalwas spread out next to his plate. Her mother absolutely hated that because the type left smudges on the white linen tablecloth. Morning sunlight fell through the high windows swathed in gauzy white sheers. Heavy gray brocade draperies swept to each side, held by large silken tassels. While the tree in the living room was all red and gold, the tone for this tree was clearly fa-la-la silver and blue.
As usual, Maribelle had loaded the antique buffet with way too many goodies. Steam rose from silver serving pieces. Victoria walked over. “What’s this, Daddy? Eggs Benedict, hash browns, grits and sugar-baked bacon. What did Dr. Montague say? No bacon.”
“Humor me, Bit––Victoria.” Daddy gazed at her over the tops of the reading glasses he’d taken to wearing lately. “A man needs his strength.”
“You’re not going out to slay dragons, Daddy. Can’t you get that from oatmeal? Emily swears by it.” Sometimes it helped to throw Emily’s name around. Her background as a nutritionist gave her credibility.
“We hardly see you anymore.” Daddy’s lower lip pushed out. He looked like a little boy when he did that––certainly not the expression he used for business.
“I’ve been busy getting the shop ready for the holidays. In fact, I’m a bit behind.” Victoria’s eyes traveled to the tree in the corner. “I've come to poke around a bit.”
“Did you do something to your eye?” Her father never missed a trick.
Daddy would be horrified if he knew she’d picked up a saw. “Nothing much. Just a sliver I caught working around the shop.”
“Let me know if you need help. I’ll send Doug over.” Daddy’s bushy eyebrows drew together. His handyman had been with Pomeroy Enterprises forever. “You have to be more careful. Let me see it.”
