Книга - Maid Under The Mistletoe

Maid Under The Mistletoe
Maureen Child


An upstairs-downstairs affair for Christmas…only from USA TODAY bestselling author Maureen Child!Single mom Joy Curran needs this temporary holiday housekeeping job working for a reclusive billionaire. But her sexy, aloof boss pulls at Joy’s heartstrings—and her long denied desires—in unexpected ways….Sam Henry never got over the loss of his wife and son, and he’s shut himself off from happiness, love…and the holidays. But Joy and her sweet daughter bring laughter into his life. And living with his new maid ignites a passion he can’t ignore. After one glorious night in Joy’s arms, will this beauty be the Christmas miracle to change the beast forever?







An upstairs-downstairs affair for Christmas...only from USA TODAY bestselling author Maureen Child!

Single mom Joy Curran needs this temporary holiday housekeeping job working for a reclusive billionaire. But her sexy, aloof boss pulls at Joy’s heartstrings—and her long-denied desires—in unexpected ways...

Sam Henry never got over the loss of his wife and son, and he’s shut himself off from happiness, love...and the holidays. But Joy and her sweet daughter bring laughter into his life. And living with his new maid ignites a passion he can’t ignore. After one glorious night in Joy’s arms, will this beauty be the Christmas miracle that changes the beast forever?


She hardly noticed when Sam carried her through the main room and dropped her onto her bed.

In a few short seconds, they were both naked. The quilt felt cool beneath her, but he was there, sliding on top of her, to bring the heat.

“Been wanting to peel you out of those sweaters for days now,” he murmured, trailing kisses from her belly to her breasts.

“Been wanting you to do it,” Joy assured him, and ran the flat of her hands over his shoulders.

She hadn’t felt this way in… ever. He shifted, kissing her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers. She lifted her hips into his touch and held his head to hers as they kissed, as they took and gave and then did it all again. Their breath mingled, their hearts pounded in a wild tandem that raced faster and faster as they tasted, explored, discovered.

It was like being caught in a hurricane.

There was no safe place to hide, even if she wanted to. And she didn’t. She wanted the storm, more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.


Maid Under the Mistletoe

Maureen Child






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


MAUREEN CHILD writes for the Mills & Boon Desire line and can’t imagine a better job. A seven-time finalist for a prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, Maureen is an author of more than one hundred romance novels. Her books regularly appear on bestseller lists and have won several awards, including a Prism Award, a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence and a Golden Quill Award. She is a native Californian but has recently moved to the mountains of Utah.


To all the moms who are out there right now, making magic


Contents

Cover (#u23b6b15e-a0bc-58cb-9cda-e53d522d6fd1)

Back Cover Text (#uc0b4127e-5300-56f4-9aac-fa23357cb2ac)

Introduction (#u5f2ba1de-0f62-54a6-8045-966812649390)

Title Page (#ub3f97ded-846a-5544-9627-c03a56ff7ed5)

About the Author (#uccd1c7a2-f3cc-5efa-a4e2-e30dfa70a129)

Dedication (#ud0b8a720-211f-53eb-98c5-2f7e9bd7ad5e)

One (#ulink_46655784-1cf2-55c6-ab7f-70de1ee5524d)

Two (#ulink_2b1ff28d-3d4e-59a8-bd00-e2d25e473d1b)

Three (#ulink_8d0dae35-0e59-5b98-8e91-7cf598e49178)

Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


One (#ulink_6156ff60-5a36-5c90-87fe-7bd99207ce37)

Sam Henry hated December.

The days were too short, making the nights seem an eternity. It was cold and dark—and then there was the incessant Christmas badgering. Lights, trees, carols and an ever-increasing barrage of commercials urging you to shop, spend, buy. And every reminder of the holiday season ate at the edges of his soul and heart like drops of acid.

He scowled at the roaring fire in the hearth, slapped one hand on the mantel and rubbed his fingers over the polished edge of the wood. With his gaze locked on the flames, he told himself that if he could, he’d wipe the month of December from the calendar.

“You can’t stick your head in the snow and pretend Christmas isn’t happening.”

Sam flicked a glance at the woman in the open doorway. His housekeeper/cook/nag, Kaye Porter, stood there glaring at him through narrowed blue eyes. Hands at her wide hips, her gray-streaked black hair pulled back into a single thick braid that hung down over one shoulder, she shook her head. “There’s not enough snow to do it anyway, and whether you like it or not, Christmas is coming.”

“I don’t and it’s only coming if I acknowledge it,” Sam told her.

“Well, you’re going to have to pay attention because I’m out of here tomorrow.”

“I’ll give you a raise if you cancel your trip,” he said, willing to bargain to avoid the hassle of losing the woman who ran his house so he didn’t have to.

A short bark of laughter shot from her throat. “Not a chance. My friend Ruthie and I do this every year, as you well know. We’ve got our rooms booked and there’s no way we’re canceling.”

He’d known that—he just hadn’t wanted to think about it. Another reason to hate December. Every year, Kaye and Ruthie took a month-long vacation. A cruise to the Bahamas, then a stay at a splashy beachside hotel, followed by another cruise home. Kaye liked to say it was her therapy to get her through the rest of the year living with a crank like himself.

“If you love Christmas so much, why do you run to a beach every year?”

She sighed heavily. “Christmas is everywhere, you know. Even in hot, sandy places! We buy little trees, decorate them for our rooms. And the hotel lights up all the palm trees...” She sighed again, but this time, it was with delight. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Fine.” He pushed away from the hearth, tucked both hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared at her. Every year he tried to talk her out of leaving and every year he lost. Surrendering to the inevitable, he asked, “You need a ride to the airport?”

A small smile curved her mouth at the offer. “No, but thanks. Ruthie’s going to pick me up at the crack of dawn tomorrow. She’ll leave her car there so when we come back we don’t have to worry about taking one of those damn shuttles.”

“Okay then.” He took a breath and muttered, “Have a great time.”

“The enthusiasm in that suggestion is just one of the reasons I need this trip.” One dark eyebrow lifted. “You worry me, Sam. All locked away on this mountain hardly talking to anyone but me—”

She kept going, but Sam tuned out. He’d heard it all before. Kaye was determined to see him “start living” again. Didn’t seem to matter that he had no interest in that. While she talked, he glanced around the main room of what Kaye liked to call his personal prison.

It was a log home, the wood the color of warm honey, with lots of glass to spotlight the view that was breathtaking from every room. Pine forest surrounded the house, and a wide, private lake stretched out beyond a narrow slice of beach. He had a huge garage and several outbuildings, including a custom-designed workshop where Sam wished he was right at that moment.

This house, this sanctuary, was just what he’d been looking for when he’d come to Idaho five years ago. It was isolated, with a small town—Franklin—just fifteen minutes away when he needed supplies. A big city, with the airport and all manner of other distractions, was just an hour from there, not that he ever went. What he needed, he had Kaye pick up in Franklin and only rarely went to town himself.

The whole point of moving here had been to find quiet. Peace. Solitude. Hell, he could go weeks and never talk to anyone but Kaye. Thoughts of her brought him back to the conversation at hand.

“...Anyway,” she was saying, “my friend Joy will be here about ten tomorrow morning to fill in for me while I’m gone.”

He nodded. At least Kaye had done what she always did, arranged for one of her friends to come and stay for the month she’d be gone. Sam wouldn’t have to worry about cooking, cleaning or pretty much anything but keeping his distance from whatever busybody she’d found this year.

He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not going to catch this one rifling through my desk, right?”

Kaye winced. “I will admit that having Betty come last year was a bad idea...”

“Yeah,” he agreed. She’d seemed nice enough, but the woman had poked her head into everything she could find. Within a week, Sam had sent her home and had spent the following three weeks eating grilled cheese sandwiches, canned soup and frozen pizza. “I’d say so.”

“She’s the curious sort.”

“She’s nosy.”

“Yes, well.” Kaye cleared her throat. “That was my mistake, I know. But my friend Joy isn’t a snoop. I think you’ll like her.”

“Not necessary,” he assured her. He didn’t want to like Joy. Hell, he didn’t want to talk to her if he could avoid it.

“Of course not.” Kaye shook her head again and gave him the kind of look teachers used to reserve for the kid acting up in class. “Wouldn’t want to be human or anything. Might set a nasty precedent.”

“Kaye...”

The woman had worked for him since he’d moved to Idaho five years ago. And since then, she’d muscled her way much deeper into his life than he’d planned on allowing. Not only did she take care of the house, but she looked after him despite the fact that he didn’t want her to. But Kaye was a force of nature, and it seemed her friends were a lot like her.

“Never mind. Anyway, to what I was saying, Joy already knows that you’re cranky and want to be left alone—”

He frowned at her. “Thanks.”

“Am I wrong?” When he didn’t answer, she nodded. “She’s a good cook and runs her own business on the internet.”

“You told me all of this already,” he pointed out. Though she hadn’t said what kind of business the amazing Joy ran. Still, how many different things could a woman in her fifties or sixties do online? Give knitting lessons? Run a babysitting service? Dog sitting? Hell, his own mother sold handmade dresses online, so there was just no telling.

“I know, I know.” Kaye waved away his interruption. “She’ll stay out of your way because she needs this time here. The contractor says they won’t have the fire damage at her house repaired until January, so being able to stay and work here was a godsend.”

“You told me this, too,” he reminded her. In fact, he’d heard more than enough about Joy the Wonder Friend. According to Kaye, she was smart, clever, a hard worker, had a wonderful sense of humor and did apparently everything just short of walking on water. “But how did the fire in her house start again? Is she a closet arsonist? A terrible cook who set fire to the stove?”

“Of course not!” Kaye sniffed audibly and stiffened as if someone had shoved a pole down the back of her sweatshirt. “I told you, there was a short in the wiring. The house she’s renting is just ancient and something was bound to go at some point. The owner of the house is having all the wiring redone, though, so it should be safe now.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” he said. And relieved he didn’t have to worry that Kaye’s friend was so old she’d forgotten to turn off an oven or something.

“I’m only trying to tell you—” she broke off to give him a small smile of understanding “—like I do every year, that you’ll survive the month of December just like you do every year.”

He ground his teeth together at the flash of sympathy that stirred and then vanished from her eyes. This was the problem with people getting to know too much about him. They felt as if they had the right to offer comfort where none was wanted—or needed. Sam liked Kaye fine, but there were parts of his life that were closed off. For a reason.

He’d get through the holidays his way. Which meant ignoring the forced cheer and the never-ending lineup of “feel good” holiday-themed movies where the hard-hearted hero does a turnaround and opens himself to love and the spirit of Christmas.

Hearts should never be open. Left them too vulnerable to being shattered.

And he’d never set himself up for that kind of pain again.

* * *

Early the following day Kaye was off on her vacation, and a few hours later Sam was swamped by the empty silence. He reminded himself that it was how he liked his life best. No one bothering him. No one talking at him. One of the reasons he and Kaye got along so well was that she respected his need to be left the hell alone. So now that he was by himself in the big house, why did he feel an itch along his spine?

“It’s December,” he muttered aloud. That was enough to explain the sense of discomfort that clung to him.

Hell, every year, this one damn month made life damn near unlivable. He pushed a hand through his hair, then scraped that hand across the stubble on his jaw. He couldn’t settle. Hadn’t even spent any time out in his workshop, and usually being out there eased his mind and kept him too busy to think about—

He put the brakes on that thought fast because he couldn’t risk opening doors that were better off sealed shut.

Scowling, he stared out the front window at the cold, dark day. The steel-gray clouds hung low enough that it looked as though they were actually skimming across the tops of the pines. The lake, in summer a brilliant sapphire blue, stretched out in front of him like a sheet of frozen pewter. The whole damn world seemed bleak and bitter, which only fed into what he felt every damn minute.

Memories rose up in the back of his mind, but he squelched them flat, as he always did. He’d worked too hard for too damn long to get beyond his past, to live and breathe—and hell, survive—to lose it all now. He’d beaten back his demons, and damned if he’d release them long enough to take a bite out of him now.

Resolve set firmly, Sam frowned again when an old blue four-door sedan barreled along his drive, kicking up gravel as it came to a stop in front of the house. For a second, he thought it must be Kaye’s friend Joy arriving. Then the driver stepped out of the car and that thought went out the window.

The driver was too young, for one thing. Every other friend Kaye had enlisted to help out had been her age or older. This woman was in her late twenties, he figured, gaze locked on her as she turned her face to stare up at the house. One look at her and Sam felt a punch of lust that stole his breath. Everything in him fisted tightly as he continued to watch her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she stood on the drive studying his house. Hell, she was like a ray of sunlight in the gray.

Her short curly hair was bright blond and flew about her face in the sharp wind that slapped rosy color into her cheeks. Her blue eyes swept the exterior of the house even as she moved around the car to the rear passenger side. Her black jeans hugged long legs, and her hiking boots looked scarred and well-worn. The cardinal-red parka she wore over a cream-colored sweater was a burst of color in a black-and-white world.

She was beautiful and moved with a kind of easy grace that made a man’s gaze follow her every movement. And even while he admitted that silently, Sam resented it. He wasn’t interested in women. Didn’t want to feel what she was making him feel. What he had to do was find out why the hell she was there and get her gone as fast as possible.

She had to be lost. His drive wasn’t that easy to find—purposely. He rarely got visitors, and those were mainly his family when he couldn’t stave off his parents or sister any longer.

Well, if she’d lost her way, he’d go out and give her directions to town, and then she’d be gone and he could get back to—whatever.

“Damn.” The single word slipped from his throat as she opened the car’s back door and a little girl jumped out. The eager anticipation stamped on the child’s face was like a dagger to the heart for Sam. He took a breath that fought its way into his chest and forced himself to look away from the kid. He didn’t do kids. Not for a long time now. Their voices. Their laughter. They were too small. Too vulnerable.

Too breakable.

What felt like darkness opened up in the center of his chest. Turning his back on the window, he left the room and headed for the front door. The faster he got rid of the gorgeous woman and her child, the better.

* * *

“It’s a fairy castle, Mommy!”

Joy Curran glanced at the rearview mirror and smiled at the excitement shining on her daughter’s face. At five years old, Holly was crazy about princesses, fairies and everyday magic she seemed to find wherever she looked.

Still smiling, Joy shifted her gaze from her daughter to the big house in front of her. Through the windshield, she scanned the front of the place and had to agree with Holly on this one. It did look like a castle.

Two stories, it spread across the land, pine trees spearing up all around it like sentries prepared to stand in defense. The smooth, glassy logs were the color of warm honey, and the wide, tall windows gave glimpses of the interior. A wraparound porch held chairs and gliders that invited visitors to sit and get comfortable. The house faced a private lake where a long dock jutted out into the water that was frozen over for winter. There was a wide deck studded with furniture draped in tarps for winter and a brick fire pit.

It would probably take her a half hour to look at everything, and it was way too cold to simply sit in her car and take it all in. So instead, she turned the engine off, then walked around to get Holly out of her car seat. While the little girl jumped up and down in excitement, pigtails flying, Joy grabbed her purse and headed for the front door. The cold wrapped itself around them and Joy shivered. There hadn’t been much snow so far this winter, but the cold sliced right down to the bone. All around her, the pines were green but the grass was brown, dotted with shrinking patches of snow. Holly kept hoping to make snow angels and snowmen, but so far, Mother Nature wasn’t cooperating.

The palatial house looked as if it had grown right out of the woods surrounding it. The place was gorgeous, but a little intimidating. And from everything she’d heard, so was the man who lived here. Oh, Kaye was crazy about him, but then Kaye took in stray dogs, cats, wounded birds and any lonely soul she happened across. But there was plenty of speculation about Sam Henry in town.

Joy knew he used to be a painter, and she’d actually seen a few of his paintings online. Judging by the art he created, she would have guessed him to be warm, optimistic and, well, nice. According to Kaye, though, the man was quiet, reclusive to the point of being a hermit, and she thought he was lonely at the bottom of it. But to Joy’s way of thinking, if you didn’t want to be lonely, you got out and met people. Heck, it was so rare to see Sam Henry in town, spotting him was the equivalent of a Bigfoot sighting. She’d caught only the occasional rare glimpse of the man herself.

But none of that mattered at the moment, Joy told herself. She and Holly needed a place to stay for the month, and this housesitting/cooking/cleaning job had turned up at just the right time. Taking Holly’s hand, she headed for the front door, the little girl skipping alongside her, chattering about princesses and castles the whole way.

For just a second, Joy envied her little girl’s simpler outlook on life. For Holly, this was an adventure in a magical castle. For Joy, it was moving into a big, secluded house with a secretive and, according to Kaye, cranky man. Okay, now she was making it sound like she was living in a Gothic novel. Kaye lived here year-round, right? And had for years. Surely Joy could survive a month. Determined now to get off on the right foot, she plastered a smile on her face, climbed up to the wide front porch and knocked on the double doors.

She was still smiling a moment later when the door was thrown open and she looked up into a pair of suspicious brown eyes. An instant snap of attraction slapped at Joy, surprising her with its force. His black hair was long, hitting past the collar of his dark red shirt, and the thick mass lifted slightly as another cold wind trickled past. His jaws were shadowed by whiskers and his mouth was a grim straight line. He was tall, with broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs currently encased in worn, faded denim that stacked on the tops of a pair of weathered brown cowboy boots.

If it wasn’t for the narrowed eyes and the grim expression on his face, he would have been the star of any number of Joy’s personal fantasies. Then he spoke and the already tattered remnants of said fantasy drifted away.

“This is private property,” he said in a voice that was more of a growl. “If you’re looking for town, go back to the main road and turn left. Stay on the road and you’ll get there in about twenty minutes.”

Well, this was starting off well.

“Thanks,” she said, desperately trying to hang on to the smile curving her mouth as well as her optimistic attitude. “But I’m not lost. I’ve just come from town.”

If anything, his frown deepened. “Then why’re you here?”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Joy said, half tugging Holly behind her. Not that she was afraid of him—but why subject her little girl to a man who looked like he’d rather slam the door in their faces than let them in?

“I repeat,” he said, “who are you?”

“I’m Joy. Kaye’s friend?” It came out as a question though she hadn’t meant it as one.

“You’re kidding.” His eyes went wide as his gaze swept her up and down in a fast yet thorough examination.

She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. But when his features remained stiff and cold, she went for insulted.

“Is there a problem?” she asked. “Kaye told me you’d be expecting me and—”

“You’re not old.”

She blinked at him. “Thank you for noticing, though I’ve got to say, if Kaye ever hears you call her ‘old,’ it won’t be pretty.”

“That’s not—” He stopped and started again. “I was expecting a woman Kaye’s age,” he continued. “Not someone like you. Or,” he added with a brief glance at Holly, “a child.”

Why hadn’t Kaye told him about Holly? For a split second, Joy worried over that and wondered if he’d try to back out of their deal now. But an instant later she assured herself that no matter what happened, she was going to hold him to his word. She needed to be here and she wasn’t about to leave.

She took a breath and ignored the cool chill in his eyes. “Well, that’s a lovely welcome, thanks. Look, it’s cold out here. If you don’t mind, I’d like to come in and get settled.”

He shook his head, opened his mouth to speak, but Holly cut him off.

“Are you the prince?” She stepped out from behind her mother, tipped her head back and studied him.

“The what?”

Joy tensed. She didn’t want to stop Holly from talking—wasn’t entirely sure she could—but she was more than willing to intervene if the quietly hostile man said something she didn’t like.

“The prince,” Holly repeated, the tiny lisp that defined her voice tugging at Joy’s heart. “Princes live in castles.”

Joy caught the barest glimmer of a smile brush across his face before it was gone again. Somehow, though, that ghost of real emotion made her feel better.

“No,” he said and his voice was softer than it had been. “I’m not a prince.”

Joy could have said something to that, and judging by the glance he shot her, he half expected her to. But irritating him further wasn’t going to get her and Holly into the house and out of the cold.

“But he looks like a prince, doesn’t he, Mommy?”

A prince with a lousy attitude. A dark prince, maybe.

“Sure, honey,” she said with a smile for the little girl shifting from foot to foot in her eagerness to get inside the “castle.”

Turning back to the man who still stood like an immovable object in the doorway, Joy said reasonably, “Look, I’m sorry we aren’t what you were expecting. But here we are. Kaye told you about the fire at our house, right?”

“The firemen came and let me sit in the big truck with the lights going and it was really bright and blinking.”

“Is that right?” That vanishing smile of his came and went again in a blink.

“And it smelled really bad,” Holly put in, tugging her hand free so she could pinch her own nose.

“It did,” Joy agreed, running one hand over the back of Holly’s head. “And,” she continued, “it did enough damage that we can’t stay there while they’re fixing it—” She broke off and said, “Can we finish this inside? It’s cold out here.”

For a second, she wasn’t sure he’d agree, but then he nodded, moved back and opened the wide, heavy door. Heat rushed forward to greet them, and Joy nearly sighed in pleasure. She gave a quick look around at the entry hall. The gleaming, honey-colored logs shone in the overhead light. The entry floor was made up of huge square tiles in mottled earth tones. Probably way easier to clean up melting snow from tile floors instead of wood, she told herself and let her gaze quickly move over what she could see of the rest of the house.

It seemed even bigger on the inside, which was hard to believe, and with the lights on against the dark of winter, the whole place practically glowed. A long hallway led off to the back of the house, and on the right was a stairway leading to the second floor. Near the front door, there was a handmade coat tree boasting a half-dozen brass hooks and a padded bench attached.

Shrugging out of her parka, Joy hung it on one of the hooks, then turned and pulled Holly’s jacket off as well, hanging it alongside hers. The warmth of the house surrounded her and all Joy could think was, she really wanted to stay. She and Holly needed a place and this house with its soft glow was...welcoming, in spite of its owner.

She glanced at the man watching her, and one look told her that he really wanted her gone. But she wasn’t going to allow that.

The house was gigantic, plenty of room for her and Holly to live and still stay out of Sam Henry’s way. There was enough land around the house so that her little girl could play. One man to cook and clean for, which would leave her plenty of time to work on her laptop. And oh, if he made them leave, she and her daughter would end up staying in a hotel in town for a month. Just the thought of trying to keep a five-year-old happy when she was trapped in a small, single room for weeks made Joy tired.

“Okay, we’re inside,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

“Right. It’s a beautiful house.” She walked past him, forcing the man to follow her as she walked to the first doorway and peeked in. A great room—that really lived up to the name.

Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a sweeping view of the frozen lake, a wide lawn and a battalion of pines that looked to be scraping the underside of the low-hanging gray clouds. There was a massive hearth on one wall, where a wood fire burned merrily. A big-screen TV took up most of another wall, and there were brown leather couches and chairs sprinkled around the room, sitting on brightly colored area rugs. Handcrafted wood tables held lamps and books, with more books tucked onto shelves lining yet another wall.

“I love reading, too, and what a terrific spot for it,” Joy said, watching Holly as the girl wandered the room, then headed straight to the windows where she peered out, both hands flat against the glass.

“Yeah, it works for me.” He came up beside her, crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Anyway...”

“You won’t even know we’re here,” Joy spoke up quickly. “And it’ll be a pleasure to take care of this place. Kaye loves working here, so I’m sure Holly and I will be just as happy.”

“Yeah, but—”

She ignored his frown and the interruption. On a roll, she had no intention of stopping. “I’m going to take a look around. You don’t have to worry about giving me a tour. I’ll find my own way—”

“About that—”

Irritation flashed across his features and Joy almost felt sorry for him. Not sorry enough to stop, though. “What time do you want dinner tonight?”

Before he could answer, she said, “How about six? If that works for you, we’ll keep it that way for the month. Otherwise, we can change it.”

“I didn’t agree—”

“Kaye said Holly and I should use her suite of rooms off the kitchen, so we’ll just go get settled in and you can get back to what you were doing when we got here.” A bright smile on her face, she called, “Holly, come with me now.” She looked at him. “Once I’ve got our things put away, I’ll look through your supplies and get dinner started, if it’s all right with you.” And even if it isn’t, she added silently.

“Talking too fast to be interrupted doesn’t mean this is settled,” he told her flatly.

The grim slash of his mouth matched the iciness in his tone. But Joy wasn’t going to give up easily. “There’s nothing to settle. We agreed to be here for the month and that’s what we’re going to do.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”

“You can’t know that, and I think you’re wrong,” she said, stiffening her spine as she faced him down. She needed this job. This place. For one month. And she wouldn’t let him take it from her. Keeping her voice low so Holly wouldn’t overhear, she said, “I’m holding you to the deal we made.”

“We didn’t make a deal.”

“You did with Kaye.”

“Kaye’s not here.”

“Which is why we are.” One point to me. Joy grinned and met his gaze, deliberately glaring right into those shuttered brown eyes of his.

“Are there fairies in the woods?” Holly wondered aloud.

“I don’t know, honey,” Joy said.

“No,” Sam told her.

Holly’s face fell and Joy gave him a stony glare. He could be as nasty and unfriendly with her as he wanted to be. But he wouldn’t be mean to her daughter. “He means he’s never seen any fairies, sweetie.”

“Oh.” The little girl’s smile lit up her face. “Me either. But maybe I can sometime, Mommy says.”

With a single look, Joy silently dared the man to pop her daughter’s balloon again. But he didn’t.

“Then you’ll have to look harder, won’t you?” he said instead, then lifted his gaze to Joy’s. With what looked like regret glittering in his eyes, he added, “You’ll have a whole month to look for them.”


Two (#ulink_fef5e2d2-24d4-51f8-ba0e-3050db2a8168)

A few hours in the workshop didn’t improve Sam’s mood. Not a big surprise. How the hell could he clear his mind when it was full of images of Joy Curran and her daughter?

As her name floated through his mind again, Sam deliberately pushed it away, though he knew damn well she’d be sliding back in. Slowly, methodically, he ran the hand sander across the top of the table he was currently building. The satin feel of the wood beneath his hands fed the artist inside him as nothing else could.

It had been six years since he’d picked up a paintbrush, faced a blank canvas and brought the images in his mind to life. And even now, that loss tore at him and his fingers wanted to curl around a slim wand of walnut and surround himself with the familiar scents of turpentine and linseed oil. He wouldn’t—but the desire was always there, humming through his blood, through his dreams.

But though he couldn’t paint, he also couldn’t simply sit in the big house staring out windows, either.

So he’d turned his need for creativity, for creation, toward the woodworking that had always been a hobby. In this workshop, he built tables, chairs, small whimsical backyard lawn ornaments, and lost himself in the doing. He didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to remember.

Yet, today, his mind continuously drifted from the project at hand to the main house, where the woman was. It had been a long time since he’d had an attractive woman around for longer than an evening. And the prospect of Joy being in his house for the next month didn’t make Sam happy. But damned if he could think of a way out of it. Sure, he could toss her and the girl out, but then what?

Memories of last December when he’d been on his own and damn near starved to death rushed into his brain. He didn’t want to repeat that, but could he stand having a kid around all the time?

That thought brought him up short. He dropped the block sander onto the table, turned and looked out the nearest window to the house. The lights in the kitchen were on and he caught a quick glimpse of Joy moving through the room. Joy. Even her name went against everything he’d become. She was too much, he thought. Too beautiful. Too cheerful. Too tempting.

Well, hell. Recognizing the temptation she represented was only half the issue. Resisting her and what she made him want was the other half. She’d be right there, in his house, for a month. And he was still feeling that buzz of desire that had pumped into him from the moment he first saw her getting out of her car. He didn’t want that buzz but couldn’t ignore it, either.

When his cell phone rang, he dug it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. His mother. “Perfect. This day just keeps getting better.”

Sam thought about not answering it, but he knew that Catherine Henry wouldn’t be put off for long. She’d simply keep calling until he answered. Might as well get it over with.

“Hi, Mom.”

“There’s my favorite son,” she said.

“Your only son,” he pointed out.

“Hence the favorite,” his mother countered. “You didn’t want to answer, did you?”

He smiled to himself. The woman was practically psychic. Leaning one hip against the workbench, he said, “I did, though, didn’t I?”

“Only because you knew I’d harangue you.”

He rolled his eyes and started sanding again, slowly, carefully moving along the grain. “What’s up, Mom?”

“Kaye texted me to say she was off on her trip,” his mother said. “And I wanted to see if Joy and Holly arrived all right.”

He stopped, dropped the sander and stared out at the house where the woman and her daughter were busily taking over. “You knew?”

“Well, of course I knew,” Catherine said with a laugh. “Kaye keeps me up to date on what’s happening there since my favorite son tends to be a hermit and uncommunicative.”

He took a deep breath and told himself that temper would be wasted on his mother. It would roll right on by, so there was no point in it. “You should have warned me.”

“About what? Joy? Kaye tells me she’s wonderful.”

“About her daughter,” he ground out, reminding himself to keep it calm and cool. He felt a sting of betrayal because his mother should have understood how having a child around would affect him.

There was a long pause before his mother said, “Honey, you can’t avoid all children for the rest of your life.”

He flinched at the direct hit. “I didn’t say I was.”

“Sweetie, you didn’t have to. I know it’s hard, but Holly isn’t Eli.”

He winced at the sound of the name he never allowed himself to so much as think. His hand tightened around the phone as if it were a lifeline. “I know that.”

“Good.” Her voice was brisk again, with that clipped tone that told him she was arranging everything in her mind. “Now that that’s settled, you be nice. Kaye and I think you and Joy will get along very well.”

He went completely still. “Is that right?”

“Joy’s very independent and according to Kaye, she’s friendly, outgoing—just what you need, sweetie. Someone to wake you up again.”

Sam smelled a setup. Every instinct he possessed jumped up and shouted a warning even though it was too late to avoid what was already happening. Scraping one hand down his face, he shook his head and told himself he should have been expecting this. For years now, his mother had been nagging at him to move on. To accept the pain and to pick up the threads of his life.

She wanted him happy, and he understood that. What she didn’t understand was that he’d already lost his shot at happiness. “I’m not interested, Mom.”

“Sure you are, you just don’t know it,” his mother said in her crisp, no-nonsense tone. “And it’s not like I’ve booked a church or expect you to sweep Joy off her feet, for heaven’s sake. But would it kill you to be nice? Honestly, sweetie, you’ve become a hermit, and that’s just not healthy.”

Sam sighed heavily as his anger drained away. He didn’t like knowing that his family was worried about him. The last few years had been hard. On everyone. And he knew they’d all feel better about him if he could just pick up the threads of his life and get back to some sort of “normal.” But a magical wave of his hands wasn’t going to accomplish that.

The best he could do was try to convince his mother to leave him be. To let him deal with his own past in his own way. The chances of that, though, were slim. That was the burden of family. When you tried to keep them at bay for their own sake, they simply refused to go. Evidence: she and Kaye trying to play matchmaker.

But just because they thought they were setting him up with Joy didn’t mean he had to go along. Which he wouldn’t. Sure, he remembered that instant attraction he’d felt for Joy. That slam of heat, lust, that let him know he was alive even when he hated to acknowledge it. But it didn’t change anything. He didn’t want another woman in his life. Not even one with hair like sunlight and eyes the color of a summer sky.

And he for damn sure didn’t want another child in his life.

What he had to do, then, was to make it through December, then let his world settle back into place. When nothing happened between him and Joy, his mother and Kaye would have to give up on the whole Cupid thing. A relief for all of them.

“Sam?” His mother’s voice prompted a reaction from him. “Have you slipped into a coma? Do I need to call someone?”

He laughed in spite of everything then told himself to focus. When dealing with Catherine Henry, a smart man paid attention. “No. I’m here.”

“Well, good. I wondered.” Another long pause before she said, “Just do me a favor, honey, and don’t scare Joy off. If she’s willing to put up with you for a month, she must really need the job.”

Insulting, but true. Wryly, he said, “Thanks, Mom.”

“You know what I mean.” Laughing a little, she added, “That didn’t come out right, but still. Hermits are not attractive, Sam. They grow their beards and stop taking showers and mutter under their breath all the time.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, then caught himself and sighed.

“It’s already started,” his mother said. “But seriously. People in those mountains are going to start telling their kids scary stories about the weird man who never leaves his house.”

“I’m not weird,” he argued. And he didn’t have a beard. Just whiskers he hadn’t felt like shaving in a few days. As far as muttering went, that usually happened only when his mother called.

“Not yet, but if things don’t change, it’s coming.”

Scowling now, he turned away from the view of the house and stared unseeing at the wall opposite him. “Mom, you mean well. I know that.”

“I do, sweetie, and you’ve got to—”

He cut her off, because really, it was the only way. “I’m already doing what I have to do, Mom. I’ve had enough change in my life already, thanks.”

Then she was quiet for a few seconds as if she was remembering the pain of that major change. “I know. Sweetie, I know. I just don’t want you to lose the rest of your life, okay?”

Sam wondered if it was all mothers or just his who refused to see the truth when it was right in front of them. He had nothing left to lose. How the hell could he have a life when he’d already lost everything that mattered? Was he supposed to forget? To pretend none of it had happened? How could he when every empty day reminded him of what was missing?

But saying any of that to his mother was a waste of time. She wouldn’t get it. Couldn’t possibly understand what it cost him every morning just to open his eyes and move through the day. They tried, he told himself. His whole family tried to be there for him, but the bottom line was, he was alone in this. Always would be.

And that thought told Sam he’d reached the end of his patience. “Okay, look, Mom, good talking to you, but I’ve got a project to finish.”

“All right then. Just, think about what I said, okay?”

Hard not to when she said it every time she talked to him.

“Sure.” A moment later he hung up and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. He shouldn’t have answered it. Should have turned the damn thing off and forced her to leave a message. Then he wouldn’t feel twisted up inside over things that could never be put right. It was better his way. Better to bury those memories, that pain, so deeply that they couldn’t nibble away at him every waking moment.

A glance at the clock on the wall told him it was six and time for the dinner Joy had promised. Well, he was in no mood for company. He came and went when he liked and just because his temporary housekeeper made dinner didn’t mean he had to show up. He scowled, then deliberately, he picked up the sander again and turned his focus to the wood. Sanding over the last coat of stain and varnish was meticulous work. He could laser in on the task at hand and hope it would be enough to ease the tension rippling through him.

It was late by the time he finally forced himself to stop working for the day. Darkness was absolute as he closed up the shop and headed for the house. He paused in the cold to glance up at the cloud-covered sky and wondered when the snow would start. Then he shifted his gaze to the house where a single light burned softly against the dark. He’d avoided the house until he was sure the woman and her daughter would be locked away in Kaye’s rooms. For a second, he felt a sting of guilt for blowing off whatever dinner it was she’d made. Then again, he hadn’t asked her to cook, had he? Hell, he hadn’t even wanted her to stay. Yet somehow, she was.

Tomorrow, he told himself, he’d deal with her and lay out a few rules. If she was going to stay then she had to understand that it was the house she was supposed to take care of. Not him. Except for cooking—which he would eat whenever he damn well pleased—he didn’t want to see her. For now, he wanted a shower and a sandwich. He was prepared for a can of soup and some grilled cheese.

Later, Sam told himself he should have known better. He opened the kitchen door and stopped in the doorway. Joy was sitting at the table with a glass of wine in front of her and turned her head to look at him when he walked in. “You’re late.”

That niggle of guilt popped up again and was just as quickly squashed. He closed and locked the door behind him. “I don’t punch a clock.”

“I don’t expect you to. But when we say dinner’s at six, it’d be nice if you showed up.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s just me, but most people would call that ‘polite.’”

The light over the stove was the only illumination and in the dimness, he saw her eyes, locked on him, the soft blond curls falling about her face. Most women he knew would have been furious with him for missing a dinner after he’d agreed to be there. But she wasn’t angry, and that made him feel the twinge of guilt even deeper than he might have otherwise. But at the bottom of it, he didn’t answer to her and it was just as well she learned that early on.

“Yeah,” he said, “I got involved with a project and forgot the time.” A polite lie that would go down better than admitting I was avoiding you. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix myself something.”

“No you won’t.” She got up and walked to the oven. “I’ve kept it on warm. Why don’t you wash up and have dinner?”

He wanted to say no. But damned if whatever she’d made didn’t smell amazing. His stomach overruled his head and Sam surrendered. He washed his hands at the sink then sat down opposite her spot at the table.

“Did you want a glass of your wine?” she asked. “It’s really good.”

One eyebrow lifted. Wryly, he said, “Glad you approve.”

“Oh, I like wine,” she said, disregarding his tone. “Nothing better than ending your day with a glass and just relaxing before bed.”

Bed. Not a word he should be thinking about when she was so close and looking so...edible. “Yeah. I’ll get a beer.”

“I’ll get it,” she said, as she set a plate of pasta in a thick red meat sauce in front of him.

The scent of it wafted to him and Sam nearly groaned. “What is that?”

“Baked mostaccioli with mozzarella and parmesan in my grandmother’s meat sauce.” She opened the fridge, grabbed a beer then walked back to the table. Handing it to him, she sat down, picked up her wineglass and had a sip.

“It smells great,” he said grudgingly.

“Tastes even better,” she assured him. Drawing one knee up, she propped her foot on her chair and looked at him. “Just so you know, I won’t be waiting on you every night. I mean getting you a beer and stuff.”

He snorted. “I’ll make a note.”

Then Sam took a bite and sighed. Whatever else Joy Curran was, the woman could cook. Whatever they had to talk about could wait, he thought, while he concentrated on the unexpected prize of a really great meal. So he said nothing else for a few bites, but finally sat back, took a drink of his beer and looked at her.

“Good?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Great.”

She smiled and her face just—lit up. Sam’s breath caught in his chest as he looked at her. That flash of something hot, something staggering, hit him again and he desperately tried to fight it off. Even while that strong buzz swept through him, remnants of the phone call with his mother rose up in his mind and he wondered if Joy had been in on whatever his mother and Kaye had cooking between them.

Made sense, didn’t it? Young, pretty woman. Single mother. Why not try to find a rich husband?

Speculatively, he looked at her and saw sharp blue eyes without the slightest hint of guile. So maybe she wasn’t in on it. He’d reserve judgment. For now. But whether she was or not, he had to set down some rules. If they were going to be living together for the next month, better that they both knew where they stood.

And, as he took another bite of her spectacular pasta, he admitted that he was going to let her stay—if only for the sake of his stomach.

“Okay,” he said in between bites, “you can stay for the month.”

She grinned at him and took another sip of her wine to celebrate. “That’s great, thanks. Although, I wasn’t really going to leave.”

Amused, he picked up his beer. “Is that right?”

“It is.” She nodded sharply. “You should know that I’m pretty stubborn when I want something, and I really wanted to stay here for the month.”

He leaned back in his chair. The pale wash of the stove light reached across the room to spill across her, making that blond hair shine and her eyes gleam with amusement and determination. The house was quiet, and the darkness crouched just outside the window made the light and warmth inside seem almost intimate. Not a word he wanted to think about at the moment.

“Can you imagine trying to keep a five-year-old entertained in a tiny hotel room for a month?” She shivered and shook her head. “Besides being a living nightmare for me, it wouldn’t be fair to Holly. Kids need room to run. Play.”

He remembered. A succession of images flashed across his mind before he could stop them. As if the memories had been crouched in a corner, just waiting for the chance to escape, he saw pictures of another child. Running. Laughing. Brown eyes shining as he looked over his shoulder and—

Sam’s grip on the beer bottle tightened until a part of him wondered why it didn’t simply shatter in his hand. The images in his mind blurred, as if fingers of fog were reaching for them, dragging them back into the past where they belonged. Taking a slow, deep breath, he lifted the beer for a sip and swallowed the pain with it.

“Besides,” she continued while he was still being dogged by memories, “this kitchen is amazing.” Shaking her head, she looked around the massive room, and he knew what she was seeing. Pale oak cabinets, dark blue granite counters with flecks of what looked like abalone shells in them. Stainless steel appliances and sink and an island big enough to float to Ireland on. And the only things Sam ever really used on his own were the double-wide fridge and the microwave.

“Cooking in here was a treat. There’s so much space.” Joy took another sip of wine. “Our house is so tiny, the kitchen just a smudge on the floor plan. Holly and I can’t be in there together without knocking each other down. Plus there’s the ancient plumbing and the cabinet doors that don’t close all the way...but it’s just a rental. One of these days, we’ll get our own house. Nothing like this one of course, but a little bigger with a terrific kitchen and a table like this one where Holly can sit and do her homework while I make dinner—”

Briskly, he got back to business. It was either that or let her go far enough to sketch out her dream kitchen. “Okay, I get it. You need to be here, and for food like this, I’m willing to go along.”

She laughed shortly.

He paid zero attention to the musical sound of that laugh or how it made her eyes sparkle in the low light. “So here’s the deal. You can stay the month like we agreed.”

“But?” she asked. “I hear a but in there.”

“But.” He nodded at her. “We steer clear of each other and you keep your daughter out of my way.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Not a fan of kids, are you?”

“Not for a long time.”

“Holly won’t bother you,” she said, lifting her wineglass for another sip.

“All right. Good. Then we’ll get along fine.” He finished off the pasta, savoring that last bite before taking one more pull on his beer. “You cook and clean. I spend most of my days out in the workshop, so we probably won’t see much of each other anyway.”

She studied him for several long seconds before a small smile curved her mouth and a tiny dimple appeared in her right cheek. “You’re sort of mysterious, aren’t you?”

Once again, she’d caught him off guard. And why did she look so pleased when he’d basically told her he didn’t want her kid around and didn’t particularly want to spend any time with her, either?

“No mystery. I just like my privacy is all.”

“Privacy’s one thing,” she mused, tipping her head to one side to study him. “Hiding out’s another.”

“Who says I’m hiding?”

“Kaye.”

He rolled his eyes. Kaye talked to his mother. To Joy. Who the hell wasn’t she talking to? “Kaye doesn’t know everything.”

“She comes close, though,” Joy said. “She worries about you. For the record, she says you’re lonely, but private. Nice, but shut down.”

He shifted in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable with the way she was watching him. As if she could look inside him and dig out all of his secrets.

“She wouldn’t tell me why you’ve locked yourself away up here on the mountain—”

“That’s something,” he muttered, then remembered his mother’s warning about hermits and muttering. Scowling, he took another drink of his beer.

“People do wonder, though,” she mused. “Why you keep to yourself so much. Why you almost never go into town. I mean, it’s beautiful here, but don’t you miss talking to people?”

“Not a bit,” he told her, hoping that statement would get her to back off.

“I really would.”

“Big surprise,” he muttered and then inwardly winced. Hell, he’d talked more in the last ten minutes than he had in the last year. Still, for some reason, he felt the need to defend himself and the way he lived. “I have Kaye to talk to if I desperately need conversation—which I don’t. And I do get into town now and then.” Practically never, though, he thought.

Hell, why should he go into Franklin and put up with being stared at and whispered over when he could order whatever he wanted online and have it shipped overnight? If nothing else, the twenty-first century was perfect for a man who wanted to be left the hell alone.

“Yeah, that doesn’t happen often,” she was saying. “There was actually a pool in town last summer—people were taking bets on if you’d come in at all before fall.”

Stunned, he stared at her. “They were betting on me?”

“You’re surprised?” Joy laughed and the sound of it filled the kitchen. “It’s a tiny mountain town with not a lot going on, except for the flood of tourists. Of course they’re going to place bets on the local hermit.”

“I’m starting to resent that word.” Sam hadn’t really considered that he might be the subject of so much speculation, and he didn’t much care for it. What was he supposed to do now? Go into town more often? Or less?

“Oh,” she said, waving one hand at him, “don’t look so grumpy about it. If it makes you feel better, when you came into Franklin and picked up those new tools at the hardware store, at the end of August, Jim Bowers won nearly two hundred dollars.”

“Good for him,” Sam muttered, not sure how he felt about all of this. He’d moved to this small mountain town for the solitude. For the fact that no one would give a damn about him. And after five years here, he found out the town was paying close enough attention to him to actually lay money on his comings and goings. Shaking his head, he asked only, “Who’s Jim Bowers?”

“He and his wife own the bakery.”

“There’s a bakery in Franklin?”

She sighed, shaking her head slowly. “It’s so sad that you didn’t know that.”

A short laugh shot from his throat, surprising them both.

“You should do that more often,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“Smile. Laugh. Lose the etched-in-stone-grumble expression.”

“Do you have an opinion on everything?” he asked.

“Don’t you?” she countered.

Yeah, he did. And his considered opinion on this particular situation was that he might have made a mistake in letting Joy and her daughter stay here for the next month.

But damned if he could regret it at the moment.


Three (#ulink_689839d3-9541-537d-a17d-515eb2c29fc7)

By the following morning, Joy had decided the man needed to be pushed into getting outside himself. Sitting in the kitchen with him the night before had been interesting and more revealing than he would have liked, she was sure. Though he had a gruff, cold exterior, Joy had seen enough in his eyes to convince her that the real man was hidden somewhere beneath that hard shell he carried around with him.

She had known he’d been trying to avoid seeing her again by staying late in his workshop. Which was why she’d been waiting for him in the kitchen. Joy had always believed that it was better to face a problem head-on rather than dance around it and hope it would get better. So she’d been prepared to argue and bargain with him to make sure she and Holly could stay for the month.

And she’d known the moment he tasted her baked mostaccioli that arguments would not be necessary. He might not want her there, but her cooking had won him over. Clearly, he didn’t like it, but he’d put up with her for a month if it meant he wouldn’t starve. Joy could live with that.

What she might not be able to live with was her body’s response to being near him. She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t felt anything remotely like awareness since splitting with Holly’s father before the little girl was born. And she wasn’t looking for it now. She had a good life, a growing business and a daughter who made her heart sing. Who could ask for more than that?

But the man...intrigued her. She could admit, at least to herself, that sitting with him in the shadow-filled night had made her feel things she’d be better off forgetting. It wasn’t her fault, of course. Just look at the man. Tall, dark and crabby. What woman wouldn’t have a few fantasies about a man who looked like he did? Okay, normally she wouldn’t enjoy the surly attitude—God knew she’d had enough “bad boys” in her life. But the shadows of old pain in his eyes told Joy that Sam hadn’t always been so closed off.

So there was interest even when she knew there shouldn’t be. His cold detachment was annoying, but the haunted look in his eyes drew her in. Made her want to comfort. Care. Dangerous feelings to have.

“Mommy, is it gonna snow today?”

Grateful for that sweet voice pulling her out of her circling thoughts, Joy walked to the kitchen table, bent down and kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

“I don’t think so, baby. Eat your pancakes now. And then we’ll take a walk down to the lake.”

“And skate?” Holly’s eyes went bright with excitement at the idea. She forked up a bite of pancake and chewed quickly, eager now to get outside.

“We’ll see if the lake’s frozen enough, all right?” She’d brought their ice skates along since she’d known about the lake. And though she was no future competitor, Holly loved skating almost as much as she loved fairy princesses.

Humming, Holly nodded to herself and kept eating, pausing now and then for a sip of her milk. Her heels thumped against the chair rungs and sounded like a steady heartbeat in the quiet morning. Her little girl couldn’t have been contained in a hotel room for a month. She had enough energy for three healthy kids and needed the room to run and play.

This house, this place, with its wide yard and homey warmth, was just what she needed. Simple as that. As for what Sam Henry made Joy feel? That would remain her own little secret.

“Hi, Sam!” Holly called out. “Mommy made pancakes. We’re cellbrating.”

“Celebrating,” Joy corrected automatically, before she turned to look at the man standing in the open doorway. And darn it, she felt that buzz of awareness again the minute her gaze hit his. So tall, she thought with approval. He wore faded jeans and the scarred boots again, but today he wore a long-sleeved green thermal shirt with a gray flannel shirt over it. His too-long hair framed his face, and his eyes still carried the secrets that she’d seen in them the night before. They stared at each other as the seconds ticked past, and Joy wondered what he was thinking.

Probably trying to figure out the best way to get her and Holly to leave, she thought.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. She turned to the coffeemaker and poured him a cup. “Black?”

He accepted it. “How’d you guess?”

She smiled. “You look like the no-frills kind of man to me. Just can’t imagine you ordering a half-caf, vanilla bean cappuccino.”

He snorted, but took a long drink and sighed at the rush of caffeine in his system. Joy could appreciate that, since she usually got up a half hour before Holly just so she could have the time to enjoy that first, blissful cup of coffee.

“What’re you celebrating?” he asked.

Joy flushed a little. “Staying here in the ‘castle.’”

Holly’s heels continued to thump as she hummed her way through breakfast. “We’re having pancakes and then we’re going skating on the lake and—”

“I said we’ll see,” Joy reminded her.

“Stay away from the lake.”

Joy looked at him. His voice was low, brusque, and his tone brooked no argument. All trace of amusement was gone from eyes that looked as deep and dark as the night itself. “What?”

“The lake,” he said, making an obvious effort to soften the hard note in his voice. “It’s not solid enough. Too dangerous for either of you to be on it.”

“Are you sure?” Joy asked, glancing out the kitchen window at the frigid world beyond the glass. Sure, it hadn’t snowed much so far, but it had been below freezing every night for the last couple of weeks, so the lake should be frozen over completely by now.

“No point in taking the chance, is there? If it stays this cold, maybe you could try it in a week or two...”

Well, she thought, at least he’d accepted that she and Holly would still be there in two weeks. That was a step in the right direction, anyway. His gaze fixed on hers, deliberately avoiding looking at Holly, though the little girl was practically vibrating with barely concealed excitement. In his eyes, Joy saw real worry and a shadow of something darker, something older.

“Okay,” she said, going with her instinct to ease whatever it was that was driving him. Reaching out, she laid one hand on his forearm and felt the tension gripping him before he slowly, deliberately pulled away. “Okay. No skating today.”

“Moooommmmmyyyyy...”

How her daughter managed to put ten or more syllables into a single word was beyond her.

“We’ll skate another day, okay, sweetie? How about today we take a walk in the forest and look for pinecones?” She kept her gaze locked on Sam’s, so she actually saw relief flash across his eyes. What was it in his past that had him still tied into knots?

“Can we paint ’em for Christmas?”

“Sure we can, baby. We’ll go after we clean the kitchen, so eat up.” Then to Sam, she said, “How about some pancakes?”

“No, thanks.” He turned to go.

“One cup of coffee and that’s it?”

He looked back at her. “You’re here to take care of the house. Not me.”

“Not true. I’m also here to cook. For you.” She smiled a little. “You should try the pancakes. They’re really good, even if I do say so myself.”

“Mommy makes the best pancakes,” Holly tossed in.

“I’m sure she does,” he said, still not looking at the girl.

Joy frowned and wondered why he disliked kids so much, but she didn’t ask.

“Look, while you’re here, don’t worry about breakfast for me. I don’t usually bother and if I change my mind I can take care of it myself.”

“You’re a very stubborn man, aren’t you?”

He took another sip of coffee. “I’ve got a project to finish and I’m going out to get started on it.”

“Well, you can at least take a muffin.” Joy walked to the counter and picked a muffin—one of the batch she’d made just an hour ago—out of a ceramic blue bowl.

He sighed. “If I do, will you let me go?”

“If I do, will you come back?”

“I live here.”

Joy smiled again and handed it over to him. “Then you are released. Go. Fly free.”

His mouth twitched and he shook his head. “People think I’m weird.”

“I don’t.” She said it quickly and wasn’t sure why she had until she saw a quick gleam of pleasure in his eyes.

“Be sure to tell Kaye,” he said, and left, still shaking his head.

“’Bye, Sam!” Holly’s voice followed him and Joy was pretty sure he quickened his steps as if trying to outrun it.

* * *

Three hours later, Sam was still wishing he’d eaten those damn pancakes. He remembered the scent of them in the air, and his stomach rumbled in complaint. Pouring another cup of coffee from his workshop pot, he stared down at the small pile of blueberry muffin crumbs and wished he had another one. Damn it.

Wasn’t it enough that Joy’s face kept surfacing in his mind? Did she have to be such a good cook, too? And who asked her to make him breakfast? Kaye never did. Usually he made do with coffee and a power bar of some kind, and that was fine. Always had been anyway. But now he still had the lingering taste of that muffin in his mouth, and his stomach was still whining over missing out on pancakes.

But to eat them, he’d have had to take a seat at the table beside a chattering little girl. And all that sunshine and sweet innocence was just too much for Sam to take. He took a gulp of hot coffee and let the blistering liquid burn its way to the pit of his sadly empty stomach. And as hungry as he was, at least he’d completed his project. He leaned back against the workbench, crossed his feet at the ankles, stared at the finished table and gave himself a silent pat on the back.

In the overhead shop light, the wood gleamed and shone like a mirror in the sun. Every slender grain of the wood was displayed beautifully under the fresh coat of varnish, and the finish was smooth as glass. The thick pedestal was gnarled and twisted, yet it, too, had been methodically sanded until all the rough edges were gone as if they’d never been.

Taking a deadfall tree limb and turning it into the graceful pedestal of a table had taken some time, but it had been worth it. The piece was truly one of a kind, and he knew the people he’d made it for would approve. It was satisfying, seeing something in your head and creating it in the physical world. He used to do that with paint and canvas, bringing imaginary places to life, making them real.

Sam frowned at the memories, because remembering the passion he’d had for painting, the rush of starting something new and pushing himself to make it all perfect, was something he couldn’t know now. Maybe he never would again. And that thought opened up a black pit at the bottom of his soul. But there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing that could ease that need, that bone-deep craving.

At least he had this, he told himself. Woodworking had given him, if not completion, then satisfaction. It filled his days and helped to ease the pain of missing the passion that had once driven his life. But then, he thought, once upon a time, his entire world had been different. The shame was, he hadn’t really appreciated what he’d had while he had it. At least, he told himself, not enough to keep it.

He was still leaning against the workbench, studying the table, when a soft voice with a slight lisp asked, “Is it a fairy table?”

He swiveled his head to the child in the doorway. Her blond hair was in pigtails, she wore blue jeans, tiny pink-and-white sneakers with princesses stamped all over them and a pink parka that made her look impossibly small.

He went completely still even while his heart raced, and his mind searched for a way out of there. Her appearance, on top of old memories that continued to dog him, hit him so hard he could barely take a breath. Sam looked into blue eyes the exact shade of her mother’s and told himself that it was damned cowardly to be spooked by a kid. He had his reasons, but it was lowering to admit, even to himself, that his first instinct when faced with a child was to bolt.

Since she was still watching him, waiting for an answer, Sam took another sip of coffee in the hopes of steadying himself. “No. It’s just a table.”

“It looks like a tree.” Moving warily, she edged a little farther into the workshop and let the door close behind her, shutting out the cold.

“It used to be,” he said shortly.

“Did you make it?”

“Yes.” She was looking up at him with those big blue eyes, and Sam was still trying to breathe. But his “issues” weren’t her fault. He was being an ass, and even he could tell. He had no reason to be so short with the girl. How was she supposed to know that he didn’t do kids anymore?

“Can I touch it?” she asked, giving him a winsome smile that made Sam wonder if females were born knowing how to do it.

“No,” he said again and once more, he heard the sharp brusqueness in his tone and winced.

“Are you crabby?” She tilted her head to one side and looked up at him in all seriousness.

“What?”

Gloomy sunlight spilled through the windows that allowed views of the pines, the lake and the leaden sky that loomed threateningly over it all. The little girl, much like her mother, looked like a ray of sunlight in the gray, and he suddenly wished that she were anywhere but there. Her innocence, her easy smile and curiosity were too hard to take. Yet, her fearlessness at facing down an irritable man made her, to Sam’s mind, braver than him.

“Mommy says when I’m crabby I need a nap.” She nodded solemnly. “Maybe you need a nap, too.”

Sam sighed. Also, like her mother, a bad mood wasn’t going to chase her off. Accepting the inevitable, that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of her by giving her one-word, bit-off answers, he said, “I don’t need a nap, I’m just busy.”

She walked into the workshop, less tentative now. Clearly oblivious to the fact that he didn’t want her there, she wandered the shop, looking over the benches with tools, the stacks of reclaimed wood and the three tree trunks he had lined up along a wall. He should tell her to go back to the house. Wasn’t it part of their bargain that the girl wouldn’t bother him?

Hell.

“You don’t look busy.”

“Well, I am.”

“Doing what?”

Sam sighed. Irritating, but that was a good question. Now that he’d finished the table, he needed to start something else. It wasn’t only his hands he needed to keep busy. It was his mind. If he wasn’t focusing on something, his thoughts would invariably track over to memories. Of another child who’d also had unending questions and bright, curious eyes. Sam cut that thought off and turned his attention to the tiny girl still exploring his workshop. Why hadn’t he told her to leave? Why hadn’t he taken her back to the house and told Joy to keep her away from him? Hell, why was he just standing there like a glowering statue?

“What’s this do?”

The slight lisp brought a reluctant smile even as he moved toward her. She’d stopped in front of a vise that probably looked both interesting and scary to a kid.

“It’s a wood vise,” he said. “It holds a piece of wood steady so I can work on it.”

She chewed her bottom lip and thought about it for a minute. “Like if I put my doll between my knees so I can brush her hair.”

“Yeah,” he said grudgingly. Smart kid. “It’s sort of like that. Shouldn’t you be with your mom?”

“She’s cleaning and she said I could play in the yard if I stayed in the yard so I am but I wish it would snow and we could make angels and snowballs and a big snowman and—”

Amazed, Sam could only stare in awe as the little girl talked without seeming to breathe. Thoughts and words tumbled out of her in a rush that tangled together and yet somehow made sense.

Desperate now to stop the flood of high-pitched sounds, he asked, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

She laughed and shook her head so hard her pigtails flew back and forth across her eyes. “I go to pre-K cuz I’m too little for Big-K cuz my birthday comes too late cuz it’s the day after Christmas and I can probably get a puppy if I ask Santa and Mommy’s gonna get me a fairy doll for my birthday cuz Christmas is for the puppy and he’ll be all white like a snowball and he’ll play with me and lick me like Lizzie’s puppy does when I get to play there and—”

So...instead of halting the rush of words and noise, he’d simply given her more to talk about. Sam took another long gulp of his coffee and hoped the caffeine would give him enough clarity to follow the kid’s twisty thought patterns.

She picked up a scrap piece of wood and turned it over in her tiny hands.

“What can we make out of this?” she asked, holding it up to him, an interested gleam in her eye and an eager smile on her face.

Well, hell. He had nothing else to work on. It wasn’t as though he was being drawn to the kid or anything. All he was doing was killing time. Keeping busy. Frowning to himself, Sam took the piece of wood from her and said, “If you’re staying, take your jacket off and put it over there.”

Her smile widened, her eyes sparkled and she hurried to do just what he told her. Shaking his head, Sam asked himself what he was doing. He should be dragging her back to the house. Telling her mother to keep the kid away from him. Instead, he was getting deeper.

“I wanna make a fairy house!”

He winced a little at the high pitch of that tiny voice and told himself that this didn’t matter. He could back off again later.

* * *

Joy looked through the window of Sam’s workshop and watched her daughter work alongside the man who had insisted he wanted nothing to do with her. Her heart filled when Holly turned a wide, delighted smile on the man. Then a twinge of guilt pinged inside her. Her little girl was happy and well-adjusted, but she was lacking a male role model in her life. God knew her father hadn’t been interested in the job.

She’d told herself at the time that Holly would be better off without him than with a man who clearly didn’t want to be a father. Yet here was another man who had claimed to want nothing to do with kids—her daughter in particular—and instead of complaining about her presence, he was working with her. Showing the little girl how to build...something. And Holly was loving it.

The little girl knelt on a stool at the workbench, following Sam’s orders, and though she couldn’t see what they were working on from her vantage point, Joy didn’t think it mattered. Her daughter’s happiness was evident, and whether he knew it or not, after only one day around Holly, Sam was opening up. She wondered what kind of man that opening would release.





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