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Jim Anderson drummed three fingertips on the steering wheel and glared at the clogged freeway exit ahead. Every surrogate Santa bound for the adjacent mall should be stripped of all credit cards and lashed with mistletoe!
A continual stream of ads warning "Only sixteen shopping days left!" had begun at dawn. Why some people insisted on waiting until dusk to panic was beyond him.
Couldn't they at least stay off the interstate? They had no business using I-10 while Houston's downtown workforce headed for the suburbs. His normal commute home took long enough without deadwood compounding the logjam. He'd be lucky to be only an hour late. Darkness had snuffed out the last streak of gold on the horizon ten minutes ago.
He glanced at the cell phone mounted in front of the console. To call, or not to call: that was the question.
Whether 'twas nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune now, or later? Either way, he was probably screwed. Sharon would tell him he should've left the office earlier, that the kids were starving, that just once it would be nice if he'd be on time to eat with the rest of the family.
Easy for her to say. She worked in a home office above their attached garage. Dinner was a mere trip down the staircase away.
Still, she was cooking the meal herself, not picking it up in a bucket. The least he could do was give her an estimated time of arrival.
Then again ... miracles did happen. The traffic could feasibly clear. Or his car could sprout wings so he could actually get home before Sharon called him for a location report. Postponing her long-suffering sigh sounded like a pretty good plan to him.
A worm of guilt squirmed through his conscience. Excuses trailed close behind.
Anderson Architects was busier than ever. He needed to work noticeably harder than his hardworking employees. He needed to go that extra mile for his demanding clients. He needed to maintain company strength, attract new business and survive in a competitive environment. He needed to do all that, and more, or risk losing the momentum he'd struggled to build.
Then there was that little detail called money. He needed to earn it. A lot of it, preferably. The faster the better.
Sharon's fledgling interior design business hadn't taken off as quickly as they'd both hoped. Maybe it never would, and raising three kids today wasn't cheap - never mind the cost of giving them an educational edge in the cold cruel world of adulthood.
Incredible as it seemed, their son would start high school next year. College bills loomed right around the corner. So uh-uh. He wasn't going to beat himself up for working long hours in order to provide financial security for the future.
Besides, like he'd told his dad at Thanksgiving, it wasn't the quantity, but the quality of time spent with children that was important. All the experts said so.
He pat-patted his shirt pocket, reassured by the crackle of paper inside.
Pete Anderson's recent lecture might've been the catalyst for planning a surprise gift, but Jim took full credit for brilliant execution. Sharon couldn't stay mad at him for being late once he sprang his news. Hell, she hated the chaos and commercialism of the holiday season as much as he did. And the kids always complained there was nothing to do during school break.
As for him, the Westlake development project required constant supervision, yet in about a week, he would delegate full responsibility to his staff. If that didn't show his commitment to family bonding, he didn't know what would.
All that remained was to tell Sharon and the kids, phone "Grandpa Pete" in New Mexico and bask in their excitement and gratitude.
Assuming, of course, that he ever got home. Jim lifted his right foot and stretched his cramped leg, letting the car roll forward without gas to the next bumper. Funny, how the silence he craved in daylight became an actual noise after darkness fell. The interior of his Lexus seemed more intimate, the surrounding vehicles more impersonal when driven by shadowy forms behind reflective glass.
He reached out and tuned in several radio stations, settling on Bing's rendition of "White Christmas" simply to fill the quiet. As far ahead on the freeway as he could see, a sluggish flow of red brake lights winked on and off ... oh, damn .
He'd promised that morning to string twinkle lights on the friggin' tree tonight, no ifs, ands or buts.
Which meant dragging down dusty boxes from the attic and untangling strands he'd stored like spaghetti dumped from a colander. Probably a trip to Home Depot for replacement bulbs before all was said and done.
Then there was Sharon's compulsive need to relocate every ornament anyone else tried to hang, sure to be even worse this year than last, since she'd bought all new stuff for the tree. Mustn't forget Rick's almost guaranteed sullenness, which would set off Jim's temper, which would send the fourteen-year-old sulking off to play his god-awful electric guitar. Then twelve-year-old Caitlin would escape to talk on her precious phone. Which would leave Bethany more anxious to please than any seven-year-old should be, and Sharon deflated and hurt, and Jim wondering how in hell the situation had gotten so out of control when his intentions had been so good.
Bah, humbug didn't begin to express his feelings about the annual chore.
Just then a Ford Explorer rumbled up on his left and tried to muscle in front of the Lexus. No waiting for a gap to open. No warning turn signal.
"No way," Jim muttered, honking his horn and forcing the Explorer to veer back into the left lane.
He grunted in satisfaction. That'd teach the jerk - The blast of a horn yanked his attention to the left. An overhead light switched on inside the Explorer, revealing the driver. White male. Early thirties. Nice business suit. Middle finger raised. For long, creepy minutes he maintained his crude hand signal and exact parallel speed.
One look into malevolent dark eyes made Jim grateful the guy's finger wasn't attached to a trigger.
From then on Jim studiously ignored the insult, and was rewarded when his peripheral vision noted the Explorer's interior cab light switching off. After several more tense seconds, the SUV swerved into the far lane and out of sight.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Gift Of Christmas Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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