A cowboy under my christ.., p.11
A Cowboy Under My Christmas Tree, page 11
She needed the help, but it still hurt. Maureen bit back a sigh. She rose and put the cookbooks away.
About an hour before midnight, a truck pulled up with Greg at the wheel and Sam in the passenger seat. Greg put on his flashers and double-parked. Outside of the occasional pedestrian heading home, the side street was deserted.
Greg rolled down the window to talk to his uncle, who was on his feet, roping the trees to the framework. “How’s business?”
“Picked up a bit tonight. Sold some nice trees.”
“Which ones?”
“The biggest,” Theo said proudly. “You know how it goes, the family comes looking for a medium and the kids get Mom and Pop to spring for a seven footer. They hail a taxi and bribe the guy to tie it on top. Ho-ho-ho.”
“How many?”
“Four out the door, and one on layaway.”
“What? We don’t do layaways.”
“Special customer—” Theo squinted into oncoming headlights, his wrinkled face suddenly white. “Hey, watch out!”
Greg looked into his rearview mirror and saw a large pickup that had just turned the corner. It raced toward them and swerved around the SUV, clipping the far corner of the A-frame. A tree fell forward with a thump, just missing Theo, who stumbled as he dodged it.
The old man swore loudly in Greek as his nephew and Sam scrambled out. Mohsan, the newsstand owner, looked through his window, concerned by the commotion.
“You all right?” Greg asked Theo.
“What does it look like? I’m on my feet, ain’t I? Somebody pick up that tree.”
Greg led his uncle to the folding chair. “In a minute. Who the hell were those guys?”
Sam saw the truck reach the other end of the block, zooming through the intersection several seconds after the light turned from yellow to red. A few cars honked. The streetlights gave him a glimpse of the truck’s cab, filled with what looked like Christmas trees, tightly wrapped and tied down.
“Tree sellers, maybe. The cab was piled high with ’em.” He turned to Greg and Theo.
The old man grunted. “Sellers, hah. More like thugs. Seen ’em before, but not for the last few years. No permit. Dried-up trees. They sucker people with low prices and muscle in on legit operations by parking around the corner and siphoning off customers.”
Sam listened as he walked around the frame, looking for damage. Except for one broken brace, it was intact and felt solid. He reappeared in the area where the sellers waited for buyers and lifted the fallen tree, settling it back into the frame.
The newsstand owner had come out. “They were driving like maniacs! You could sit there and get killed! Theo, you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You want cocoa? Free.”
“It’s always free,” Theo reminded him.
“Even so,” the newsstand owner said. “It’d do you good.”
“Thanks, Mohsan,” Greg said. “Not right now, I guess.”
He had a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, staying close to him. It was clear to Sam that Theo would never admit he was shaken up, but his nephew wasn’t taking any chances.
“Should we report it?” Sam asked.
Greg looked at him skeptically. “You see the plates?”
“No. The truck was moving too fast.”
“Then there’s nothing to report.”
Theo rose, brushing off Greg’s hand. “I’m tired. I oughta turn in.”
“Good idea,” his nephew said. “I’ll drive you home.”
The old man didn’t argue about staying in the trailer, for a wonder. He stomped over to the passenger side of the SUV and got in, staring straight ahead with fire in his eyes, as if he could still see the vanished truck.
“Sam, can you cover the lot for an hour?” Greg asked.
“Sure.”
Greg looked toward his vehicle. “I’ll drop Theo at his house in Astoria, have some soup with him and Aunt Effie, make sure he’s all right. Then I’ll be back. It’s time I took a shift.”
“Fine with me. I doubt that truck will be back.” Sam walked with Greg to the driver’s side. “Take it easy, Theo,” he said when the door was open.
The old man didn’t look his way. “Fifteen years in this location and no trouble,” he muttered. “I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.”
Greg gave Sam a what-can-you-do shrug and got in. They drove away.
A couple of people walked by after a while, but no one stopped to browse. Sam figured he might as well go inside the trailer and pack. He could leave the door open. It wouldn’t take him long. Outside of the Stetson, everything he’d brought to New York could be thrown right back into his dad’s old GI duffel and taken up the block.
Except for the Santa made of red and white carnations and the red-foil-wrapped miniature pine tree. He decided to leave those on the shelf over the trailer’s messy bed.
He made sure he had his phone, stopping for a minute to look at the photos he’d taken of Nicole while they were working on the Now window. There were only a few. He wondered why she hadn’t called him back.
Hard to believe she’d been asleep this long. She was probably out with friends, or someone from the ENJ crew. Still, she could have let him know. He was kind of ticked off about it.
He tossed the phone on the bed and started to fill the duffel. It took longer than he’d thought to fold the clean clothes and bag the dirty ones, and find all his socks.
Sam set the duffel by the trailer door and propped his Stetson on top of it. Then he looked out, catching a glimpse of a customer in a puffy down jacket. Male or female, he couldn’t tell. The hood was up and the person’s back was to him.
He stepped outside. “Can I help you?” Maybe the person hadn’t heard him, what with the hood. He waited another second.
“Oh, just looking,” said a muffled female voice.
“Nicole?”
She whirled around. “Sam? What are you doing here?”
“Ah, I live here. Or I did. I was just packing.” He pointed to the duffel bag.
“I like the Stetson,” she murmured. “Not too new. It has character. I may have to borrow that for a window.”
Sam shook his head. “Nope. Sorry. You can borrow anything but that.”
“Oh. Excuse me. I didn’t know it was that important.”
The faint huffiness in her tone surprised him. What was that all about? Hormones, maybe. Hard work, making her cranky. He didn’t really want to ask. “So how have you been? Greg’s keeping me busy. I was about to move this morning and then he called.”
“Into the sublet?”
He held up the key. “When he gets back, I’m going. It’s right up the street. Can’t wait.”
She took in the trailer in all its battered glory. “You were this close to where I live all this time?”
“Yup.” He smiled a little sheepishly. “Nothing to brag about.” Sam gestured toward it. “Not exactly a palace, is it? I would invite you in, but there’s nowhere to sit besides the bed.”
“No, thanks.” Nicole seemed to take the lack of space for granted. Or maybe she just didn’t want to get close yet. “So you must know Theo.”
“My friend Greg—I told you about him—is his nephew. I help out here sometimes.”
Sam didn’t want to explain about the truck that had just clipped the A-frame or what Theo had said about thugs muscling in on his business. He was just glad to see her. He’d been worried when she hadn’t returned his call. He and Greg had gone to Long Island and back since he’d last spoken to her.
“Oh.” She connected the dots. “Now I get it.” She gave him a guarded look.
“I guess I should have told you, huh?”
“Too late now.”
He just hadn’t found the right time, that was all. He did understand why she was being prickly about it. If his sister Annie had told him about some guy she just met with no fixed address, he’d tell her better safe than sorry.
But Sam got the feeling there was now an X beside his name in an invisible black book. He hadn’t done anything to deserve it.
He cleared his throat. “By the way, how come you didn’t call me back? I thought we were going to go to Chinatown.”
“I fell asleep again.” She gave him a look that said she didn’t think he was entitled to question her on the subject. “Off and on, anyway. Look, the ENJ gig was a bear and I still haven’t recovered from that. And I, um, hung out with my girlfriend Sharon and talked all night. Besides, mornings just aren’t the best time to call me.”
Sam got it. He wondered if his name had come up. No use speculating. Girls liked to talk. He glanced down, feeling a bit awkward.
Cute. Underneath the puffy jacket were owl-print pajamas stuffed into her winter boots.
He looked up. The jacket hood didn’t quite cover her dark hair. She pushed wayward locks away from her face with a mittened hand.
She wasn’t wearing makeup, but she didn’t need it. The frigid night air had put roses in her cheeks and reddened her lips. She looked even prettier than when they’d waited at the bus stop. But her dark eyes flashed with annoyance.
She wasn’t the only one who was tired. He worked long days that didn’t stop at sundown. Sam wasn’t feeling all that patient. Nicole was sauntering around, pretending to look at trees.
He counted to ten and back again. Then he proceeded to lose his temper. Quietly, but he lost it.
“Okay. I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was living. I’m sorry I kissed you. I’m sorry for what I haven’t done yet.”
She lifted an eyebrow. He couldn’t read her mind or her expression. Outrage? Indifference? She was good at looking haughty. Right now it was rubbing him the wrong way. But maybe he should take the third apology back. He suspected she wouldn’t let him. He’d blown it again.
“And I’m really sorry I can’t keep my mouth shut sometimes.”
She glared at him. “Work on that.”
Sam raked a hand through his hair. “Let’s start over. I like you a lot, but I think I crossed a line with the romance stuff. The flowers, the kiss—I shouldn’t have.”
Nicole bit her lip, as if she was holding back some scornful comment. “You’re right.”
“So can we be friends?” Not what he wanted, but he wasn’t giving up.
She had turned her back to him. “How much is this tree?”
Sam was glad she couldn’t see his exasperation. He went over and stood next to her. The price tag was deep inside, wrapped around the trunk, but he found it.
“Seventy dollars. Theo would probably give it to you for half that.”
“I don’t want him to.” She moved to the next one. “I’m not ready to buy. I really am just looking.”
Maybe that applied to him too. She still hadn’t answered his question. He changed the subject.
“I guess it’s too late to go to Chinatown and that great little dumpling restaurant.”
“It closes at eight. It’s too late for anything much except going clubbing, and I hate clubs. All that earsplitting music and crazy showing off.” She looked at him suspiciously. “I hope that’s not on your list of things to do.”
“You’re not exactly dressed for it. Neither am I.” Sam had to smile a little. She wasn’t too bad at reading his mind, although she was wrong about the clubs. “How did you know I had a list?”
“Every New York tourist does.”
He ignored her condescending tone. Sam reached into the pocket of his shirt and unfolded his. “Times Square. Rockefeller Center. Brooklyn Bridge. Empire State Building and/or Top of the Rock. Staten Island Ferry,” he read. “Unless any of those are clubs, you’re safe. I assume you’ve been to most of them.”
She shot him an annoyed look. “Some but not all. If you actually grow up in New York, it’s not a priority. Don’t ask me why.”
Sam held up both hands in mock surrender. “Okay. Whatever you say. Does anything on the list appeal to you?”
Nicole half wanted to get over her pique and half didn’t. “What were the choices again?”
He skipped the whole list and went to what he wanted. “We could go skating at Rockefeller Center tomorrow.”
“I don’t know how.”
“Does that mean yes?” Sam asked carefully.
Nicole stuck her hands in her pockets. The action made the hood fall away from her head. Released, her hair shone under the Christmas lights of the tree stand. She shook it back.
“It means I don’t want to make a fool of myself by wobbling around the most famous ice rink in the world in rented skates.”
“That will make two of us.”
She wavered, then relented. “All right. But let’s go in the afternoon. I’d better get some ideas down on paper for the second window at Now. Darci is coming back in another week. Meet me at four.”
“Where?”
“I’ll wait outside my building,” she said after a moment.
“Want to walk or take a taxi?”
“A taxi takes forever in crosstown traffic. Rockefeller Center isn’t all that far from here. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk.”
“Fine with me.”
“All right. You’re on.” Nicole gave one last look around at the row of trees and the single strand of lights. “This place could use some better decorations.”
“Yeah, maybe so. I understand business is down a bit this year.”
“Spoken like a tree man.”
The glare of headlights pulling up startled him. He got between her and the street, then realized that they belonged to Greg’s SUV.
His pal was at the wheel. Greg killed the engine and the lights slowly dimmed. He got out.
“Hey, Sam. Thanks for staying.” Greg looked curiously at Nicole. “You look really familiar, but I don’t know your name. Do you live around here?”
“Two and a half blocks away. I buy a tree from Theo every year. I’m Nicole.”
Greg was all smiles. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Greg. Theo’s my uncle. So, you looking for a tree?”
“Just browsing.”
“Oh, okay. We can set one aside for you if you want.”
“Thanks. Not just yet,” she said. “It’s getting awfully late. I should be going. But I’ll be back.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Sam offered.
Greg looked at Sam and then back at Nicole. “I feel like I came in during the second act. Do you two know each other?”
“We’re friends.” Nicole smiled. “Just friends.”
Chapter 7
The next day they headed east, under a sky already turning dark at half past four. The deep blue above set off the brilliance of the giant electronic signs covering the facades of Times Square. The ever-changing colors seemed heightened by the cold air. Sam could barely make out the buildings behind the shimmering displays.
Nicole walked briskly through the dazzling, ever-changing brilliance, too used to it to gawk. But she seemed to be enjoying it. Sam was glad to have a New York native with him. The street signs nearly vanished amidst the visual extravaganza in constant motion.
Part of Broadway, which cut diagonally through the area, had been turned into a pedestrian thoroughfare. Signs and traffic stanchions funneled cars away, sometimes to the loud complaints of drivers who weren’t aware of the change in the world-famous square.
The river of people in the intersecting streets freely overflowed the curbs. It seemed to Sam like thousands upon thousands jostled for space, taking photos and videos while they walked, or just gazing up in wonder.
Couples and family groups headed for the red staircase that formed the roof of the TKTS booth to snap pictures. A few show-offs danced up and down its illuminated steps, singing, what else, show tunes. Kids clung to the railing, turning around at the top for the best view of the narrow building at the southern side.
“That’s where they drop the ball on New Year’s Eve,” Nicole told him. “Can you see it? It’s not lit up.”
Sam stopped to stare. He didn’t care if he looked like a tourist. It was all here. Fashion, theater, movies, music, candy, you name it—everything was advertised at colossal size and scale.
He looked to where she pointed. “Yes, I do. Wow.”
Nicole laughed. “It’s fun to come here with someone who’s never seen Times Square before.”
“Thanks for bringing me this way. It’s something else. Almost overwhelming when you’re in it.”
“I know what you mean. Come on. Turn right. Eyes front.”
He followed her, amazed all over again by the sudden quietness of the side street. There were no more gigantic signs and only a handful of tourists. He looked over his shoulder. The vast crowd of people behind him almost looked trapped in all the craziness, surging back and forth as if they couldn’t find their way out. Made him think of cattle in a chute.
A little of Times Square went a long way.
The mind-numbing sensation ebbed as they walked at an easy pace crosstown. The people here seemed to be leaving work, wearing somber-colored coats and jackets over business clothes.
He hoped the rink wouldn’t be too crowded this late in the day. But Nicole hadn’t said anything about it one way or another.
“We’re almost there,” she said. “That’s Sixth Avenue.”
Sam looked down the street and made out the neon marquee of Radio City Music Hall. Atop it were a row of giant toy soldiers, which fell backward with mathematical precision when a large cannon boomed.
“That’s the March of the Toy Soldiers from the Christmas Spectacular,” she told him. “It’s an annual show. That’s the one thing that doesn’t change from year to year.”
“Starring the Rockettes, am I right?”
“Yes.”
Sam watched the toy soldiers on the marquee stand up again. “I wish my father was here. He loves the Rockettes. Those brown velvet reindeer costumes and the little antler hats knock him out. He always wants to know how they do it.”
“Do what?”
“The high kicks. What else?”
“Practice.”
