'You sure about that?'
She nodded emphatically. 'Kris said so. Anyway, when it snows, Kris is going to have a huge sleigh pulled by two horses and deliver presents to everyone in town. The horses' names are Blitzen and Rudolph.'
'They would be,' Slade muttered. 'Where do the presents come from? You're not going to tell me Kris-'
Christy shook her head again, this time impatiently. 'The older people know Kris isn't Santa Claus. They're bringing the presents. But the little kids don't,' she warned, 'so don't tell them.'
Slade raised his right hand. 'I promise.'
'Okay.' She slid off the chair and grabbed her crutches. Slade tucked his feet safely beneath the table. When she reached the door, she turned back to look at him. 'So are you?'
'Going to help him?'
She nodded, waiting. Her worried blue eyes never left his face.
'I-'
'Don't bug Slade,' Carroll said briskly, appearing in the doorway. With gentle fingers, she absently smoothed her daughter's hair away from her face. 'He'll do whatever he thinks is best.'
'But, Mom-'
'Christy.' The single word was a definite warning.
'Okay.' The girl sighed and slid a gloomy look at Slade, her expression brightening only when he lowered one eyelid in a slow wink. Planting a hasty kiss on her mother's chin, she said, 'I gotta go now. I told Nana I'd come up to see her.'
As her daughter thumped down the hallway, Carroll said, 'A word of warning. Don't encourage her. She's every bit as persistent as Kris.'
Slade grinned. 'Too late. She already knows she's got me wrapped around her little finger.' He lifted the plate. 'Cookie?'
'I'd rather have information.' But she came over and took one, nibbling on it absently. 'You were down there a long time.'
'Yep. I was.'
'Well?'
He leaned back, enjoying her impatience. 'We struck a compromise.'
'This ought to be good,' she muttered skeptically.
'Hey, with a man like Kris, I take what I can get. He's promised to let me know when he's going to test, so I'll have time to shut down before he does any more damage. What could be fairer?'
'And in return, what does he get?'
Slade sighed in wry exasperation. 'Me.'
Chapter Three
The next afternoon Slade leaned back and gazed complacently at the colorful graphics on the monitor. For the first time in two weeks he looked at the image on the screen and knew that it would remain exactly where it was. Serenity, he reflected with a wry grin, was a rare and precious commodity, vastly underrated until it was gone. As if agreeing, the automatic save clicked softly and filed away the work he had done for the past fifteen minutes.
Shrugging his tight shoulders, Slade looked at his watch and realized he'd been working for five hours without a break. He didn't have to do that anymore, he reminded himself, settling deeper in the chair. Marathon sessions to cram in what he could before the aging menace next door zapped the computer were a thing of the past. Kris had promised: no more hijinks with the power. At least, not without a warning. That would do; all he needed was a running start. Even thirty seconds would give him enough time to save what he had done and turn off the machine.
With Pinetree's personal Santa finally under control, Slade reflected, maybe now he had a chance of convincing Carroll that he had more than one mood: rotten. He needed to change his image-at least as far as she was concerned. It probably wouldn't be easy.
But it would be worthwhile. Definitely. Fortunately, her daughter thought he was fine just as he was.
But when courting was a prime concern, a man needed every advantage he could get. Courting? Slade blinked thoughtfully as he mulled over the outdated word. Yes, he decided. Courting. An old-fashioned word for what he suspected was an old-fashioned woman. Home and hearth, family and loved ones, were a priority with her. It was obvious in everything she did. And after one look at her, he'd discovered that he had some very traditional values of his own.
He wanted a wife.
Not just any wife. Carroll. He wanted to be one of her priorities. Carroll. Or to be precise, Christmas Carroll Stilwell. Christy had shared that little known fact on one of her visits, adding that the name had been her grandfather's idea. He hadn't been surprised. He had also assumed that any man who would name his only child after a holiday song would flex a little muscle to carry on the seasonal tradition when his grandchild arrived. But Carroll had presumably decided that enough was enough and dug in her heels when her turn rolled around. As far as he knew, Christy was simply Christy.
Carroll. Carroll Ryan. It had a nice ring, he reflected complacently. He would get to work on it. Use some charm. That was the key. He would charm her right out of her socks. And maybe a few other things. Right. He would definitely work on it. But first… His gaze sharpened, and he leaned closer to the screen, frowning. Nope, the configuration wasn't right. He moved the cursor, his fingers speeding over the keys, modifying, realigning. A few minutes later he leaned back and reached for his calculator.
Slade was vaguely aware that outside a new din had been added to the racket of foraging birds. It began uncertainly, a brass instrument wobbling its way through the first few measures of 'Taps,' ending in a dissonant squawk somewhere around the ninth note. A kid with a trumpet, he decided. Practicing. He checked the calculator's digital display and groped for a pencil. Go ahead and play, kid. Hang in there. Satchmo didn't make it to the top by quitting when he hit a few sour notes.
Slade double-checked his figures. He had learned to live with noise the same way he lived with other distractions: he ignored them. Actually, he could live with anything as long as- He glanced up from the calculator and swore in a soft, savage monotone. His words were terse and distinctly Anglo-Saxon as he glared at the blank monitor. Damn it, this time the old man had gone too far!
He stalked out of the room, gathering speed as he went. By the time he reached Carroll's front's steps he had forgotten about charm and courting; his thoughts were more homicidal than romantic.
Carroll opened the door. She had something white smeared on her chin. 'You thumped?' she inquired, eyeing him in resignation.
'Where is he?'
'Didn't we do this yesterday? I thought you two had agreed to a cease-fire.'
'We did. He just violated the conditions,' Slade told her grimly. 'Where is he? '
Sighing, Carroll stepped back and waved him in. 'Where else would he be?' She led the way back to the kitchen and down the basement stairs, pointing to the far end of the room where Kris was absorbed in a mass of wires that reminded her of a hoard of skinny brown snakes at feeding time. 'I'm the referee and timekeeper. No hitting below the belt, and stop when someone starts bleeding.' She sat on the bottom stair and watched Slade weave his way around the center platform to the end of the workbench.
'Damn it, Kris, you promised!'
Kris separated one wire from the rest and handed it to Slade. 'Here, hold this.' He placed the others on the workbench and studied them with a puzzled frown. 'Promised what?' he finally asked.
Slade dropped the wire on the bench. 'To let me know when you were going to test again!'
Preoccupied as he was, Slade's undisguised anger got through to Kris. He looked up, placid blue eyes meeting stormy gray ones. 'I did. You must not have been listening.'
'I have a telephone right on my desk. It didn't ring. Not once.'
'Of course not,' the older man agreed equably. 'I didn't use the telephone.'
Slade sighed sharply and shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from curling around Kris's neck. 'All
