O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,125

You can’t play,” Brock repeated without a trace of a smile.

“I know, silly,” Samantha’s sister replied.

“Manners, Grace,” their red-faced mother admonished. “Let’s just carry on, shall we? Ho.”

Samantha was hard pressed not to laugh when her father stuck out his tongue in response to his wife’s self-conscious attempt, but she held firm.

Apparently realizing his attempts to play the wag weren’t having the desired effect, her papa took his turn. “Heeeeee,” he exclaimed, baring his teeth in a ghoulish grimace.

It took only a minute for rolling laughter to bubble up in his throat. When a great guffaw emerged, he reached for his tumbler of mulled wine and took a hefty swig as a coughing fit ensued.

Grace thumped her father on the back until he stopped coughing and blew his nose. The honking was enough to make a corpse laugh.

“You’re out, Mr. Hindley,” Brock declared.

“Really?” her father rasped, his face beet red and merry eyes wide.

Clearly unaware of the sarcasm, Brock muttered, “I’ll go next, shall I? Ha.”

“I must see to dinner,” her mother murmured as she rose and hurried off.

A mischievous determination to best Brock rose suddenly in Samantha’s breast. She respected that the man of the family should make the decisions, but her fiancé was sometimes too domineering, too sure he was always right. This was a laughing game, after all. She’d make him smile at least, if it was the last thing she did. “Ho,” she said, jaw clenched as she narrowed her gaze.

“Hee,” Brock replied sternly, his dark eyes flashing a warning.

Samantha took a deep breath and decided to play on, despite the sudden tightness in her throat. “Ha.”

“Ho,” Brock intoned, his long fingers curling around the lions’ heads carved on the end of his chair’s arms.

“Hee.” Samantha resented the sound of defeat in her voice, and was she actually sweating?

“Ha,” Brock sneered, his upper lip curling in triumph.

Out of the corner of her eye, Samantha saw Grace’s head swiveling back and forth as if she were watching a tennis match. She gritted her teeth, but the struggle became futile when her father tried to make Brock laugh by crossing his eyes, sticking his thumbs in his ears and wiggling his fingers. His future son-in-law looked down his nose at him as if he’d lost his wits. Samantha couldn’t hold on. She laughed in an effort to rid herself of the uneasy feeling she really didn’t like her betrothed much when he was in a domineering mood. Irritation niggled when Brock smugly declared himself the winner.

“Well, you could at least smile about it,” Grace muttered, earning a glowering frown from her future brother-in-law.

Samantha was afraid he was about to take her sister to task for a lack of respect. Grace tended to speak without forethought, but she didn’t have a mean bone in her body. Samantha breathed a sigh of relief when her mother reappeared and announced that dinner was about to be served.

Chapter Two

Meager Fare

When the metallic rumble of the dinner gong resounded from the foyer, Parker Cullen rose from his uncomfortable armchair in front of the empty grate and dutifully took his place at his uncle’s dining room table. He knew from previous experience that the housekeeper-cum-cook didn’t like to be kept waiting, especially on Christmas Day. She had a family of her own to take care of, as she’d waspishly reminded them every Christmas for the past three years.

“So, here we are again,” Parker said jovially as Mrs. Finch snapped his folded napkin and dropped it on his lap. “Seems like only yesterday we were celebrating last Christmas.”

Judson eyed him. “But it has been a full year since.”

Parker inhaled, reminding himself he should, by now, be used to the fact his uncle took everything literally. Par for the course for an engineer, he supposed. Guilt niggled. It was Christmas, after all, and Judson had earned a reputation as one of England’s foremost bridge builders.

Mrs. Finch doled out a slice of roasted turkey, two Brussels sprouts, a carrot, and two over-roasted potatoes on each plate. Parker had come to recognize the dollop of gray matter as stuffing. As in past years, there was barely enough food to feed a child, never mind a man with a healthy appetite like Parker. His reed-thin uncle apparently thought everyone ate as little as he did. He considered gluttony a great sin.

Aware the parsimonious Judson eschewed such frivolities as Christmas crackers, Parker assumed the housekeeper was responsible for the brightly decorated one sitting by his plate. He pulled both ends,