A Fairytale Christmas by Susan Wiggs Page B

of satisfaction. So, she had read his piece, at least.
    “After that, I don’t know,” Maria said glumly. “Guess I need a miracle.”
    Madeleine laughed softly. “Miracles happen. Here.” She handed the girl a business card. “That’s the number of my cellular phone. You can call me anytime, day or night. Okay?”
    “Thanks,” Maria said, tucking the card into her book.
    Madeleine grew serious as Jack held her coat for her later and helped her put it on. “I can’t believe you’d let this place close,” she said. They were out in the dim hallway.
    His acid laugh echoed off the tile walls. “Lady, it’s not up to me.
You’re
the one who cut off the funding.” He stalked down the narrow stairs in front of her and yanked open the door to the street. A blast of winter air and snow flurries slapped him in the face.
    Madeleine stood unmoving. She seemed heedless of the cold air and blowing snow. “
What
did you say?” she demanded.
    “The funding,” he repeated, speaking slowly. “Hey, call me small-minded, but I just had a little-bitty problem with the decision of your board of trustees.”
    Madeleine Langston did a most unexpected thing. She plopped down on the second-to-last step. “Wait a minute, Riley,” she said. “You’re losing me, here. What does
my
board of trustees have to do with
your
youth center?”
    He thought for a long time. Was it possible she didn’tknow? “They yanked the funding. I figured you were in on the decision. Didn’t you read the article?”
    “Harry interrupted me before I finished. I’d already decided to run it, though.” She looked more confused—and more beautiful—than ever. “Riley, let’s go,” she said, rising and stepping outside.
    He followed her to the most amazing car he had ever seen. Low-slung, bright red and aggressively Italian, it had already attracted a small flock of neighborhood kids.
    “Where are we going?” he asked.
    She hit a remote button on her key chain, unlocking the doors, and tossed him the set of keys. “Your place,” she said. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
    “Just my luck,” he muttered, feeling the engine purr to life. His pleasure was almost sexual. “My one chance to drive a Maserati and we only get to go twelve blocks.”
    “Well, you’ll cover it in record time,” she said simply.
    And he did, falling in love with the car like a teenager, worshiping the way the Maserati handled, reluctantly angling it into a parking space in front of his walk-up.
    “It’ll be safe here,” he said. In just the few minutes it had taken them to drive here, the snow had come down thicker. “Mr. Costello doesn’t miss a thing.”
    He waved at a portly older man who sat in the window of the ground-floor apartment. Mr. Costello pointed his TV remote control at the car and nodded approvingly.
    “And now, Miz Langston,” Jack said, holding open the door, “I guess we’ll get down to business.”

Chapter Eight
    M adeleine had been trying all evening to cling to her anger at Jack Riley, but the more time she spent with him, the harder it was.
    Oh, he was the same exasperating smart-aleck she had always known him to be. But tonight she’d learned something important about him.
    Jack Riley had a heart as big as Manhattan.
    She would never forget her first glimpse of him at the youth center. He’d been working with two boys on their math, gently encouraging, keeping them on task when too many adults would have given up in despair.
    “Here we are,” he said, pushing open the door to a second-story apartment. “Home, sweet home. Come see how the other half lives.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, annoyed.
    He flipped on a light. “Oh, I don’t know. Something just tells me you live in nicer digs than I do.”
    She shrugged out of her coat and looked around. The place was small and old, cluttered and unaccountably homey feeling. One wall had floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with books. A workspace, even