A Very Merry Christmas: WITH "Do You Hear What I Hear" AND "Bah Humbug, Ba by Lori Foster, Janice Maynard, Gemma Bruce Page A

asked over the phone,” the man yelled back.
    “Oh.” Marci thought about it, and then nodded. “I always turn down that stuff, and then I change my phone number again.”
    Osbourne rubbed his face. “Look, she doesn’t want to be interviewed, so leave her alone.”
    “But…” the man sputtered, “I can’t do that. I’ve already promised the story to a magazine and I’m behind on my deadline as it is.”
    Once again, Osbourne leaned down close, and though Marci couldn’t hear what he said, she saw the driver’s face, and knew that Osbourne wasn’t being polite.
    The man cowered back as far as he could, nodded agreement several times, but still, he looked far from resigned to failure.
    Maybe Osbourne realized it, too, because he took the time to write down Vaughn Wayland’s name and license plate number.
    When he returned to the truck, he still looked very put out.
    Marci rolled up the window, unlocked the door, and slid back to her own seat. Without a word, Osbourne got behind the wheel, turned the truck, and headed for the highway.
    For several minutes, they rode in utter silence. Then Osbourne asked, “Does that happen often?”
    “What?”
    “Jerks following you around, pressing you for answers?”
    She shrugged. “Usually it’s people who don’t believe me, who want to expose me as a fake. They think that I extort money from people, or that I prey on their emotions.”
    He shook his head. “You’d never do that.”
    Marci blinked at him. Aha. Maybe he didn’t consider her an Ainsley after all. “No, I wouldn’t. I try to keep people from finding out who I am, and what I know. But it’s not always possible, not if I want to help—and I do.”
    “If you didn’t, Magnus would still be at the funeral home instead of where he belongs.”
    Was that an admission of her ability? A warm glow spread inside her. “True. When an animal has a problem, I can’t ignore it. It hurts me too much. But whenever possible, I help anonymously.”
    “How does that work?”
    “I’ll contact the owners—maybe by a note, or phone if I can figure out their number. Most take my advice or at least listen enough to check into what I tell them. I don’t have to expose myself or leave myself open to more ridicule.”
    “More ridicule?”
    She flattened her mouth and looked out the window. “Trust me, it’s never been easy. From the time I was a little girl, I could sense things. And any time a kid is different…”
    Very quietly, he said, “I’m sorry.”
    Marci turned toward him again, wanting to explain. “It hasn’t been a picnic for Bethany, either. All through school, she got teased about having a loony sister.”
    He winced, probably remembering the times he’d thought similar things. The difference was that Osbourne had never been deliberately cruel. Quite a distinction.
    He’d dodged her, but he hadn’t ridiculed her.
    As if offering another apology, he reached for her knee, settled his big hand there, and stroked her with his thumb. It was a casual touch, yet at the same time intimate enough to feel special.
    And to raise her temperature a few degrees.
    While deciding how much to tell him, Marci finished her hot chocolate. She didn’t open herself to too many people, but right now, in the quiet and cold, with Osbourne, it felt right.
    She laid her hand over his. Despite the weather, his fingers were warm. She loved touching him, and even a simple touch on the hand let her feel his strength. “For as long as I can remember, guys have tried to use Bethany to get close to me.”
    She waited for his disbelief, or his humor. After all, they were identical twins. Most people would wonder why one twin would be preferable to another.
    Osbourne considered her statement. “It’s because you come across softer, less independent.”
    Startled that he’d hit the nail on the head, Marci barely noticed when he turned his hand to clasp hers, then tugged her closer to him on the bench seat, as close as the