A Will and a Way

him, she wouldn’t refuse. Even questions could come later. Maybe tonight was a night without questions.
    She drew back, but only to smile at him. “You know, I don’t think of you as a cousin when I’m kissing you.”
    “Really?” He nipped at her lips. She had an incredibly alluring mouth—full and pouty. “What do you think of me as?”
    She cocked a brow. His arms surrounded her, but didn’t imprison. Pandora knew she’d have to analyze the difference later. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
    “Then maybe we should keep working it out.” He started to pull her back, but she resisted.
    “Since you’ve broken tradition to give me my Christmas present a few hours early, I’ll do the same.” Going to the tree, Pandora reached down and found the square, flat box. “Happy Christmas, Michael.”
    He sat down on the arm of a chair to open it while Pandora picked up her glass of champagne. She sipped, watching a bit nervously for his reaction. It was only a token after all, she told herself, as she played with the stem of her glass. When he ripped off the paper then said nothing, she shrugged. “It’s not as inventive as a guard dog.”
    Michael stared down at the pencil sketch of their uncle without any idea what to say. The frame she’d made herself, he knew. It was silver and busily ornate in a style Jolley would have appreciated. But it was the sketch that held him silent. She’d drawn Jolley as Michael remembered him best, standing, a bit bent forward from the waist as though he were ready to pop off on a new tangent. What thin hair he’d had left was mussed. His cheeks were stretched out in a big, wide-open grin. It had been drawn with love, talent and humor, three qualities Jolley had possessed and admired. When Michael looked up, Pandora was still twisting the stem of the glass in her hands.
    Why she’s nervous, he realized. He’d never expected her to be anything but arrogantly confident about her work. About herself. The secrets he was uncovering were just as unnerving to him as they were to her. A man tended to get pulled into a woman who had soft spots in unexpected places. If he was pulled in, how would he work his way out again? But she was waiting, twisting the stem of her glass in her hand.
    “Pandora. No one’s ever given me anything that’s meant more.”
    The line between her brows smoothed out as her smile bloomed. The ridiculous sense of pleasure was difficult to mask. “Really?”
    He held a hand out to her. “Really.” He glanced down at the sketch again and smiled. “It looks just like him.”
    “It looks like I remember him.” She let her fingers link with Michael’s. Pandora could tell herself it was Jolley who drew them together, and nothing else. She could nearly believe it. “I thought you might remember him that way, too. The frame’s a bit gaudy.”
    “And suitable.” He studied it with more care. The silver shone dully, set off with the deep curls and lines she’d etched. It could, he realized, be put in an antique shop and pass for an heirloom. “I didn’t know you did this sort of thing.”
    “Now and again. The boutique carries a few of them.”
    “Doesn’t fit in the same category as bangles and beads,” he mused.
    “Doesn’t it?” Her chin tilted. “I thought about making you a big gold collar with rhinestones just to annoy you.”
    “It would have.”
    “Maybe next year then. Or perhaps I’ll make one for Bruno.” She glanced around. “Where’d he go?”
    “He’s probably behind the tree gnawing on presents. During his brief stay in the garage, he ate a pair of golf shoes.”
    “We’ll put a stop to that,” Pandora declared, and went to find him.
    “You know, Pandora, I’d no idea you could draw like this.” Michael settled against the back of the chair to study the sketch again. “Why aren’t you painting?”
    “Why aren’t you writing the Great American Novel?”
    “Because I enjoy what I’m doing.”
    “Exactly.” Finding no sign of the puppy around the tree, Pandora began to search under the furniture. “Though certainly a number of painters have toyed with jewelry design successfully enough—Dali for one—I feel…Michael!”
    He set his untouched champagne back down and hurried over to where she knelt by a divan. “What is it?” he demanded, then saw for himself. Eyes closed, breathing fast and heavy, the puppy lay half under the divan. Even as Pandora reached for him, Bruno whimpered and struggled