The Millionaire's Christmas Wish
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Marcie leafed through the Sunday newspaper while enjoying her morning coffee. It seemed that all the ads featured Christmas items even though the holiday was still almost six weeks away. It was difficult to think in terms of Christmas when the normal San Diego weather was so pleasantly warm and sunny that time of year.
She knew she needed to get busy setting up her displays for the limited number of Christmas items she carried at the nursery—a special line of handmade ornaments, indoor and outdoor wreaths, holly plants and cuttings, evergreen garland, poinsettia plants and Christmas trees. She found the holidays to be a lonely time and so far the spirit of the season had eluded her.
That was the way it had been for the past few years, since the death of her grandmother. In all her thirty-one years, it was her grandmother who had provided the only stable home life she had ever known. She continued to keep in touch with her father, who lived in Illinois, but they had never been very close. She expelled a sigh as she turned the page, knowing that if she did not get those Christmas displays set up pretty soon it would be too late to bother.
She took another sip of her coffee, but before she could swallow it, a photograph leaped off the page and grabbed her. The mug nearly slipped from her hand, spilling most of its contents on her newspaper. A hard gulp sent her swallow of hot coffee down the wrong way. She fought the choking cough that spasmed in her throat as she tried to get her breath.
She could not believe her eyes. Right there in the newspaper, staring at her with that same devilish smile, was the man who had grabbed her on the street. He was with another man and the two of them were holding up a trophy. There was also a woman in the photograph, her arm linked through his, wearing a very skimpy bathing suit.
Marcie stared at the photograph again. There was no doubt about it. He was definitely the man whose kiss had gone right through her and even curled her toes. She had been trying to erase the incident from her mind, but to no avail. She closed her eyes for a moment as she recalled for perhaps the hundredth time every nuance of the heated instant when his lips had touched hers.
She scanned the caption beneath the photograph, then went back and carefully read it a second time. “Chance Fowler and Dave Stevens display their first place trophy from Saturday’s regatta. This is the third win for Fowler and his racing sloop, Celeste, seen in the background.”
“Chance Fowler.” The words came out in a hushed gasp, as if she were too stunned to even say the name. Chance Fowler? The man in the photograph was the one and only Chance Fowler? The man who had appeared from out of nowhere and totally swept her off her feet was the heir to the Fowler family fortune, the infamous playboy whose picture graced the pages of the tabloids as often as it did the society pages and sporting news?
Her brow wrinkled into a frown. She knew his type all too well—someone who refused to accept any responsibility and who could not make a commitment. She had once been engaged to a man who suddenly decided commitment was not for him. He had been convinced that marriage would tie him down to a dull daily routine. He wanted to be free to come and go as he wished. She had given him back his ring and told him to go follow his desires. When he said that he might be ready to settle down in a couple of years and in the meantime they could continue to date, she had told him to forget it.
When she married it would be to a man who wanted a stable home life, not someone who drifted from one adventure to another. She wanted somebody who would consider her to be an equal partner, an important part of his life. She did not want a relationship built around the idea that marriage and home was a burden to be endured because it was expected of you, something where you settled for less than what you wanted out of life.
Her father had been a dreamer who had always believed there was a greener pasture just over the next hill. He had pulled up stakes and moved the family so many times that she had not been able to spend more than a few months at a time in any one school. Her mother had finally sent her to live with her grandmother so she could have a secure home environment and attend all four years of high school at one place.
Her mother had died when Marcie was barely sixteen. She had never been very close to her father, his life-style leaving her with very definite opinions about responsibility, commitment, and what marriage should and should not be. And one thing it should not be was a union entered into with a man who could not commit to the responsibility of maintaining a stable and secure home life.
She glanced at the newspaper photograph again. The caption made no mention of the woman standing next to Chance Fowler, but from the way the woman was staring at him, it was obvious that they knew each other very well. She again noted the very skimpy bikini the woman was wearing. The woman looked exactly like the type she imagined he would be attracted to. “Take-A-Chance Fowler,” the tabloids had dubbed him. She touched her fingers to her lips. She could still feel the heat of his kiss even though she wished it was not so.
Marcie slowly sipped what little coffee remained in her mug, leaving the newspaper unread as she became totally absorbed in thought. Chance Fowler... never in a million years had she thought she would ever run into someone like him, but now that she had it was easy to understand why women vied for his attention. A ringing sound startled her out of her reverie.
She grabbed the cordless phone from the base station. “Hello?”
“Marcie...it’s Sandy. I’m afraid I won’t be at work today. I’ve been awake most of the night with the stomach flu.”
It was not what Marcie wanted to hear. Sandy had been a dedicated employee for five years and had proven herself invaluable. Marcie had come to depend more and more on her.
“Okay, Sandy. I’ll see you when you’re feeling better.”
“What about the wholesale flower mart in the morning?”
“Don’t give it another thought. I’ll take care of that. You just take care of yourself and get well.”
“Thanks, Marcie. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
What Marcie had thought would be a leisurely day had suddenly turned into a very busy one. Saturday and Sunday were the busiest days for the nursery regardless of the time of year. Even though the flower shop was Sandy’s primary domain, she usually helped out in the nursery on Sunday when the flower shop was closed. Marcie hurried through her shower and dressed for work. An hour later she was in the nursery preparing to open for the day’s business.
A young man in his mid-twenties walked in the back door. “That does it, Marcie,” he said as he removed his work gloves. “Everything’s watered, dead leaves cut away, walkways all hosed down. I have Don restocking the wild bird feed right now. He’s already straightened the bird feeder display and put out the two new birdhouse designs that came in a couple of days ago.”
“Thanks, Glen. As soon as Don’s finished I’d like the two of you to move the planters on the north side to make room for the Christmas trees.”