His Last-Chance Christmas Family
Page 21
They’d stolen her mitten, and her hand was cold—and all of a sudden, she was fighting back tears. She shouldn’t feel like crying over something as trivial as a stolen mitten, but it was the only pair she owned.
Since those guys could afford luxury extras like fraternity fees, they probably had parents supporting them. They were athletes, so they probably had sports scholarships covering the cost of their dormitory and dining hall. But Mallory? Familial caregiving paid nothing. She was poor enough to qualify for a work-study job that helped pay her tuition and gave her a dorm room at a reduced rate, but it hadn’t covered her textbooks or the mandatory meal plan for those who lived in dorms. This one year of room and board had eaten up her meager savings—her minimal assets, in business lingo—and her hand-me-down car as well. Those rich boys couldn’t imagine how valuable that mitten was to her.
Did life have to always be so unfair?
Never expect life to be fair. You must continue to play when the game isn’t fair, or you’ll never win.
E.L. Taylor was right, but Mallory was losing the game tonight, sinking into despair as surely as she’d sunk into the quicksand—and all over a mitten.
With her cold hand, she wiped hot tears from the corner of her eye before they had a chance to fall. In the future, when she wore a sharp suit and high heels and sat behind an executive desk that would be polished to a shine, that mitten would be insignificant. Therefore, it was insignificant now.
Dry-eyed, she left the crowd behind her, determined to find a quiet spot to watch the Yule log’s flames in peace. That had been her plan, and she was sticking to it. Never abandon a solid plan.
She squinted at the hay bales. There was someone out there. A man? He was standing so still, she wasn’t certain she was really seeing a person in the shadows.
She didn’t take her eyes off him as she got close enough to see that he was real—and definitely a man, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders filling out his leather jacket. Alone in the night, he made a compelling figure. Had this been a movie, she would’ve assumed he was the brooding hero, reluctant to get involved but capable of saving the day if he must, Bruce Wayne on a dark sidewalk, a soldier off duty in a civilian dive bar.
The golden light of the Yule log’s flames touched his profile. His features were strong, his expression fierce. He hadn’t shaved for a day or two. His hair was thick and a little too long, only a shade less dark than the night. He might make a better villain than a hero, a young Rickman in a bank vault, Tommy Lee Jones on a battleship, the kind of anti-heroes that had made her father’s favorite action movies pleasurable to watch with him.
But this wasn’t the movies. This was real life, so Mallory didn’t know if this man was a good guy or bad guy. Only one thing was certain: this was no college boy.
From behind her, three specific college boys sounded too close. “Don’t be like that. Wait up.”
Leave me alone.
The angry man ahead of her looked like he felt the same way toward the whole world. He glared at the fire, looking a little feral. Unapproachable.
The trio behind her started to sound more irritated than amused. “We know you can hear us.”
Never look back. Everything that mattered was ahead of her.
“What’s the problem? Boyfriend didn’t show up, huh?”
“Boyfriend,” the mitten-stealer said in a voice meant to carry. “As if someone would want a bitch like her.”
So much for Smile, beautiful.
Mallory kept pretending she didn’t hear them, but her bare hand was clenched into a fist of frustration. It was always the same, wasn’t it? If a woman didn’t act flattered by a random man’s attention, then he assumed she had a problem, not him. Mallory had turned twenty-nine today, twenty-frigging-nine. Was there an age where she wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of crap? She lengthened her strides as best she could in loose rain boots on poorly lit, uneven ground.
Behind her, they laughed. “Is she trying to run away? From what? A party?”
Mallory kept her eyes on the man ahead of her. There was arrogance in his stance. If Mallory’s anger made her look as forbidding as he looked, no college boy would mess with her.
They wouldn’t mess with him, that was for certain, which would make him an excellent pretend boyfriend for the next ten minutes or so. She just had to stand next to him and make a little small talk, get him to smile politely in response.
Actually, he didn’t look like he knew how to smile. A nod, then. A few polite words from her, a nod from him—that would be enough to convince those three jerks she wasn’t alone. They’d turn away, she’d tell the angry man to have a good night, and that would be that. She could return to the pecan tree and ruminate on her future in peace. It was an excellent plan.
Her future boyfriend was winning his staring contest with the Yule log. Mallory wasn’t even two steps away from him now, so close she could see the flames dancing in his eyes, so close she could see—
Her boots dragged to a stop as if she’d stepped into quicksand again. The fine lines in his face, the grim set of his mouth, those eyes—
Nothing anyone said or did would faze this man. He wasn’t arrogant. He was...hardened.
She chickened out.
But as she took her first step past him, the book’s maxim roared inside her head: Never abandon a solid plan.
She spun to face the flames, standing shoulder to shoulder with the man she’d chosen.
Copyright © 2020 by Caroline Phipps
millsandboon.com.au/survey2020
IMPRINT: Heart
ISBN: 9781867222064
TITLE: HIS LAST-CHANCE CHRISTMAS FAMILY
First Australian Publication 2020
Copyright © 2020 Michelle Major
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher,
Harlequin Mills & Boon ®
An imprint of Harlequin Enterprises (Australia) Pty Limited (ABN 47 001 180 918), a subsidiary of HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty Limited (ABN 36 009 913 517)
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth St
SYDNEY NSW 2000
AUSTRALIA
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks owned by Harlequin Enterprises Limited or its corporate affiliates and used by others under licence. Trademarks marked with an ® are registered in Australia and in other countries. Contact admin_legal@Harlequin.ca for details.
www.millsandboon.com.au