A/N: Merry Christmas Eve, one and all. The Steele Who Stole Christmas is a three part story, which also happens to be the second of your three Christmas treats this year. I hope you enjoy!
Eighteen month after their faux wedding upon the fishing trawler in Bonds of Steele, those three words have been said, and Laura and Remington have been cohabitating for eighteen months. After Abigail wins and all expense trip for eight to New York City for the holidays, Laura and Remington's plans for the holiday are hijacked.
1987
"Abigail!" Remington greeted jovially when he picked up the phone and heard the voice of his mother-in-law on the other side of the line. From the other end of the couch, Laura was already gesticulating that she was not there, that she was anywhere but there until this particular phone call ended. The wink he sent her was met by a glare. Damn him. It was a crap shoot, when her Mother called, whether Remington would play her guardian angel and honor her wishes or if he'd have a bit of the devil him – like today, apparently – and he'd sell her out with a smile on his handsome face. "Laura? Sitting right next to me, as a matter of fact." Laura rendered her opinion on his betrayal by sticking out her tongue at him. "It concerns both of us, you say?" he asked with a lift of his brows in Laura's direction. "Yes, of course. I'll stay right here… Okay. Bye-bye. Here's Laura." Steeling herself, Laura took the phone from his hand.
"Hello, Mother," she greeted, staunchly.
"Laura," Abigail returned. "How have you been?"
"Fine, Mother. And yourself?" she replied with forced politeness.
"Much better, thank you for asking." Laura frowned.
"Better?" she wondered.
"Yes," Abigail confirmed. "That nasty little bout of pneumonia I had over Thanksgiving is just about gone now.." She coughed a ladylike cough for effect. Laura rolled her eyes heavenwards "Of course, had you called me over the holiday you'd have known." The eye roll became a grimace. She'd walked blindly into that trap and hadn't recognized she'd done so before she was snared.
"I'm sorry, Mother," she apologized, as expected. "I meant to call, time just got away from me." It was an outright lie: She'd avoided calling her mother like most people avoided the Hare Krishna selling flowers in the airport. Oh, no. Her eyes flickered to Remington, then away, when she found a pair of narrowed, piercing blue eyes peering back at her. Damn, damn, damn, damn. Even from the limited amount he'd heard, he'd caught on that she'd lied to him as well: She hadn't called her mother on Thanksgiving as she'd inferred that she had. She peeked at him again, noted the amused purse of his lips and cocky lift of his brow. Damn. Her deception hadn't been revealed by the phone call - how long had he known? - and tossing her to the wolves a minute ago – wolves in the form of her mother – was his perverted way of making her pay for that bit of dishonesty. Damn. She hated when he had one up on her—and knew it.
"….Now I know in the odd years I normally come to Los Angeles for Christmas," Abigail rattled on. Laura blinked. What exactly had she missed?" "But Frances and I agreed this was just too good of an opportunity to miss, so—"
"I'm sorry," Laura interrupted, "We must have had a bad connection for a second…." What's one more fib, she justified "….What opportunity?"
"Why the trip that I won at the church raffle, dear," Abigail answered. Laura searched her memory. No, she hadn't registered anything about a trip. How long hadn't she been paying attention? A glance at Remington revealed the laughter in his eyes. Alright, so she'd checked out of the conversation, as she often did, and he'd noticed. "An all inclusive trip to spend Christmas through New Years in New York City!" Laura resisted the urge to get up and dance, although she couldn't stop the wide smile that split her face. A Christmas without her mother's needling, her criticisms, her pointed remarks… Her constant queries about whether she and Remington were considering a more permanent arrangement because….
"You aren't getting any younger, Laura…"
"I agree with Frances, Mother. It's too good of an opportunity to pass up…." She could have sworn she heard a chorus of Angels sing out 'Hallelujah' "And we'll always have Christmas next year. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time."
"Not just me, Laura, all of us," Abigail corrected as Laura nudged Remington's leg with her foot and mouthed 'Mother's not coming for Christmas.' "It couldn't have been more perfect: A trip for eight. Four rooms at The Plaza from December twenty-second until January second. You just have to see the itinerary, Laura. A Christmas Eve performance of The Nutcracker, a Broadway show, dinners at—" Caught up in her thoughts of a Mother-less Christmas, Laura only now caught on to the pronoun her mother had used when she'd begun speaking.
"Wait…. Wait. All of us? All of us as in who?" she asked.
"It's a trip for eight, Laura," Abigail reminded in a tone suggesting Laura was suddenly dull-witted. Her daughter's lips thinned and shoulder's straightened in response. "Why Frances, Donald and the children, you and Remington and myself of—"
"Remington and I can't go to New York for ten days, Mother," Laura cut in again, aghast. Across from her on the couch, Remington's ears perked up. Oh no, no, no, no. Not happening. She gave him a look that clearly said he shouldn't bother getting his hopes up. "In case you've forgotten, we have a business to run."
"I know Remington's a man in great demand, dear. We're all so very proud of what he's done with that Agency of his," Laura reached for her temple as that all too familiar headache that arrived with her mother began creeping up on her. "But when Frances said Remington had decided to close the Agency for three weeks to give everyone some much needed time to relax, the timing couldn't have been more perfect!" Laura nearly groaned aloud at the last. When she saw her sister next, she was going to wring her neck.
"Well, yes, we did decide to close the Agency," she enunciated the 'we', "But Remington and I have reservations in Aspen—"
"We can always cancel," Remington offered, not so helpfully.
"I don't want to cancel the reservations," she told him in the cross yet sullen tone used solely in her mother's presence. "I want to go skiing."
"But New York City, Laura," he replied with a dreamy tone to his voice. "Just think about it. We could do all the things we didn't find time for while we were there for Bernice's wedding. Ice Skating at Rockefeller Center—"
"You don't skate," she pointed out.
"No, but I would certainly enjoy watching you," he quickly rebutted. "A trip to Tiffany's, The Empire State Building, fifty-second and Lexington—" The last had her sitting at full attention.
"There's an itinerary, Mr. Steele," she informed him, bursting his bubble, then purely for petulance's sake added, "It's a Christmas trip, not a trip to the movies."
"Macy's on Fifth Avenue, then," he countered, enthusiastically. "Miracle on 34th Street. Maureen O'Hara, John Payne, Edmund Gwenn, Natalie Wood, Twentieth Century Fox, 1947. Wonderful cast, inspirational movie. An elderly man is hired to fulfill the role of Santa Claus at Ma—"
"I'm familiar with the movie, Mr. Steele," Laura interrupted, drily.
"Well, then you should know one can't get more… uh… 'Christmasy' than that," he defended.
"A private cabin, a large tree set to the side of the fireplace, snow falling beyond frosted window panes, and classic Christmas songs playing softly in the background," she countered, then upped the ante for his creative imagination, "Us on Christmas morning, stretched out before a roaring fire, mugs of hot cider in hand, as we…" she ran a hungry look over him from head to toe, "…open our…" she looked him in the eyes "…gifts." He swallowed hard as he envisioned them making love in front of that roaring fire with the Christmas tree twinkling nearby. She was prepared to do a triumphant jig in the middle of the living room, when he spoke.
"It's family, Laura." Three words. Three… damning… words… from the man who'd never had the family he'd wanted and was therefore unable to deny hers anything. She scrunched her face, remorsefully, as she didn't have it in her to deny him something that meant so much to him. She closed her eyes and forced the dreaded words past her lips.
"Alright, Mother, it looks like it'll be Christmas in New York…"