Free Trading Christmas by Debbie Macomber Page A

now.”
    Charles slumped onto the arm of the sofa and pressed his hand against his forehead.
    â€œWhere do you expect us to go?” Faith asked. Her voice was just short of hysterical. “I’ve only had a few hours’ sleep and my friends changed their plans to drive me to Leavenworth and the van broke down and now—this.”
    â€œAll right, all right.” Charles decided he could bear it for one night as long as everyone left by morning.
    The small group looked expectantly at him. “You can spend the night—but just tonight. Tomorrow morning, all of you are out of here. Is that understood?”
    â€œPerfectly,” Faith answered on their behalf.
    Not a one of them looked grateful enough. “Count your blessings,” Charles snapped.
    Really, he had no other choice—besides kicking them out into the cold.
    â€œThank you,” Faith whispered, looking pale and shaken.
    Charles glared at the mixed ensemble of characters. Santa, elves, kids and a surprisingly attractive woman stared back at him. “Remember, tomorrow morning you’re gone. All of you.”
    Faith nodded and led Santa and his elves up the stairs.
    â€œGood.” First thing in the morning, all these people would be out of this house and out of his life.
    Or so Charles hoped. He didn’t have the energy to wonder why the tall guy and the six short ones were all in Christmas costume.

T EN
    E arly in the evening, Emily and Ray left the condominium. Although it was dark, Ray insisted on showing her the waterfront area. They walked for what seemed like miles, talking and laughing. Ray was a wonderful tour guide, showing her Paul Revere’s house and the site of the Boston Tea Party. Both were favorites of his brother’s, he pointed out, telling her proudly of Charles’s accomplishments as a historian. From the harbor they strolled through St. Stephen’s Church and Copp’s Hill Burying Ground, which began in 1659 and was the city’s second-oldest graveyard. They strolled from one site to the next. Time flew, and when Emily glanced at her watch, she was astonished to discover it was almost eight-thirty.
    On Hanover Street, they stopped for dinner at one of Ray’s favorite Italian restaurants. The waiter seated them at a corner table and even before handing them menus, he delivered a large piece of cheese and a crusty loaf of warm bread with olive oil for dipping.
    â€œHave I completely worn you out?” Ray asked, smilingover at Emily. He started to peruse the wine list, which had been set in front of him.
    Yes, she was tired, but it was a nice kind of tired. “No, quite the contrary. Oh, Ray, thank you so much.”
    He looked up, obviously surprised.
    â€œA few hours ago, I was feeling utterly sorry for myself. I was staying in one of the most historic cities in our country and all I could think about was how miserable I felt. And right outside my door was all this.” She made a wide sweeping gesture with her arm. “I can’t thank you enough for opening my eyes to Boston.”
    He smiled again—and again she was struck by what a fine-looking man he was.
    â€œThe pleasure was all mine,” he told her softly.
    The waiter came with their water glasses and menus. By now, Emily was hungry, and after slicing off pieces of cheese for herself and for Ray, she studied the menu. Ray closed the wine list. After consulting with her, he ordered a bottle of Chianti and an antipasto dish.
    As soon as the waiter took their dinner order, Ray leaned back in his seat and reached inside his suit jacket for his cell phone.
    â€œI’d better give my mother a call. I was planning to do it tomorrow, but knowing her, she’s waiting anxiously to hear about the strange woman who’s corrupted her son.”
    â€œYou or Charles?” Emily teased.
    Ray grinned and punched out a single digit. He raised the small phone to his ear. “Hello,