Not Your Average Vixen: A Christmas Romance

by Krista Sandor

  Bridget uncovered the child’s face. “What is it, honey? Does something hurt?”

  The boy shook his head as tears streamed down his cheeks. “My glasses! I lost my glasses, looking for the Christmas fairy. I was running and running because I thought this would be the perfect place to see a fairy. It’s far away from anyone, and it’s got a fairy name,” the boy whimpered.

  He patted Cole’s leg. “Lucky for you, Uncle Scooter and Aunt Birdie found them,” he said, pulling the frames from his pocket and handing them over.

  “It’s not Aunt Birdie. It’s just Birdie, Uncle Scooter,” Cole corrected, slipping on the red frames.

  “Right, just Birdie.” He glanced at Bridget, who looked at him with such tenderness that the breath caught in his throat. “Sorry, you know what I meant,” he finished, sounding nothing like a sharp-witted corporate raider and everything like a tongue-tied enamored teenager.

  They stared at each other. The flickering glow of the fire sent shadows across her face. She was so hauntingly beautiful it was almost too much. He’d seen plenty of attractive women. Models and socialites dolled themselves up for a chance to spend the evening on his arm. But those women couldn’t hold a candle to Bridget Dasher. Completely disheveled, with wild dark tendrils framing her face, he’d never seen anything quite as exquisite as this radiant woman. And again, like each time before, he couldn’t ignore the pull between them.

  “You’re staring,” she said softly with the trace of a sweet smile.

  He pretended to check the fire. “I wanted to make sure you were all right, that’s all.”

  “Do you want to kiss Birdie, Uncle Scooter?” Cole asked, perking up.

  His mouth opened and closed like a confused goldfish. “No, why would you even think that?”

  “Because you’re looking at her real, real hard. Like she’s a cookie, and you want to eat her. But you can’t eat a person. So, I thought you really, really, really wanted to taste Birdie, and the only way to do that is to kiss her.”

  Holy hell! This kid was way more observant than any kindergartner should be.

  “Well,” he began when a sharp ping cut through the crackle of the fire.

  “Is that your phone?” he asked, directing the question to the pink-cheeked Bridget.

  “No, it’s Cole,” she replied, peeling back the blanket.

  “It’s my tracker,” the boy answered with a nonchalant wave of his little hand.

  “Your what?” he asked.

  “My tracker for skiing. Mommy put it on my coat and one on Carly’s coat, too. We have them so she can find us if we got separated on the mountain,” Cole answered, showing them the circular fob attached to the zipper of his jacket.

  “Delores must have gotten word to everyone,” Bridget said when a grinding, mechanical rumble thundered over the crackle of the fire.

  “What could that be?” he asked as the fob continued to beep.

  “It sounds like a snowcat,” Bridget answered, coming to her feet.

  The grind of an engine ceased, and within seconds, Cole’s tracker stopped beeping, and voices cried out.

  “Cole! Scooter!”

  He caught Bridget’s eye. “It’s Denise.”

  “Your moms are here, Cole,” Bridget said, smoothing the boy’s hair across his forehead.

  Nancy was the first inside the cabin. “Honey, what happened?” she asked, falling to her knees and gathering the boy into her arms.

  At the sight of his mother, tears trailed down his cheeks. “I wanted to see a Christmas fairy. I wanted to make a Christmas wish. Am I in trouble?”

  “Oh, Cole,” she replied, her voice a cascade of nerves and relief.

  Denise stood in the doorway with her hand pressed to her heart, then turned and called out toward two beams of light tinged with red. “He’s here! Scooter and Birdie are with him.”

  Nancy glanced up. “Thank you for finding my little boy. I’m so sorry you had to venture out into this awful weather!”

  Bridget shook her head. “No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I told Cole all about the fairies. If it wasn’t for me…” she trailed off, anguish written all over her face.

  “If it wasn’t for you, this evening could have ended far worse,” Denise answered as she entered the cabin, then sank to her knees to embrace her son.

  “The tracker was a good call,” he said, working to smooth out the shake in his voice as the true magnitude of the evening sank in.

  Denise sighed and wiped her cheek. “Kids. They make you crazy, but I couldn’t imagine a life without this pint-sized knucklehead,” she finished with a teary chuckle as she ruffled her son’s hair.

  “I didn’t lose my glasses, right, Uncle Scooter? See, they’re still on my face. So, I probably shouldn’t be in big, big trouble,” Cole added, tossing him an uneasy glance.

  Soren bit back a grin. He wasn’t about to fill in the details of how the kid got his frames back. In fact, he was impressed. Cole’s negotiation skills were on par with all the legal eagles in his family.

  “Yep, your glasses are safe and sound, just like you, buddy.”

  Denise released a slow breath, and the woman he admired, who’d nicknamed him Scooter all those years ago, held her son’s gaze, going into social worker mode.

  “While we’re so relieved that you’re all right, you could have gotten hurt, son. It’s never okay to go out alone without telling anyone, especially into the wilderness.”

  “But the Christmas fairies, Mommy! They would have protected me,” Cole answered with the trusting innocence of a child.

  “Fairies didn’t rescue you tonight, Cole. Guardian angels did,” Nancy said, glancing between himself and Bridget.

  He looked over at his guardian angel counterpart. She smiled and nodded, but he’d caught the flash of guilt in her eyes.

  She didn’t see herself as an angel. No, she blamed herself.

  Nancy lifted Cole into her arms. “It’s been quite a night, kiddo. Everyone’s back at the mountain house, and we should get going. Dan’s friend from Kringle Acres took us up in a snowcat, and we don’t want to keep him out late either.”

  “You got to ride in a snowcat?” Cole exclaimed, clearly catching his second wind.

  “Yep, there’s too much snow to get here in a car, so we came up along one of the ski runs,” Nancy answered.

  Cole gasped excitedly. “Do I get to ride in the snowcat, too?”

  “You do. The nice man even let us take the snowcat they call Rudolph. It’s got a red light on top just like—”

  “Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer! Let’s go!” Cole cried, pumping his little fist—another sign that the child was no worse for wear.

  With Cole in her arms, Nancy headed for the door.

  “Come on, Birdie and Uncle Scooter!” Cole chimed.

  “Honey, they’ll have to wait,” Nancy replied.

  Cole frowned through a yawn. “Why?”

  Denise turned to them. “It’s a tight fit in the snowcat. Rudolph’s operator said he could come back for the two of you.”

  Bridget shook her head, then resurrected a plastic expression, but he could see right through it.

  “No, you don’t have to do that. I know the way back. I’ll stay behind and put out the fire,” she replied as she twisted the cuff of her coat.

  “Are you sure?” Denise asked, eyeing them warily.

  “Yes, I’ll stay with Birdie to help with the fire and secure the door. We made it here just fine, and there looks to be a break in the snow,” he added, glancing out the window. The brutal pellets that had battered the cabin had tapered off since they’d arrived.

  And he wouldn’t let her stay behind on her own. But there was something else lurking beneath the surface of her placating expression. They walked to the porch with Denise, and the sharp scent of diesel from the snowcat idling hung in the air as two golden beams sandwiched a red flashing light, painting the darkness in a holiday glow.

  “I’m riding in Rudolph,” Cole ca
lled, waving from the snowcat as Nancy helped the boy inside the cab.

  Denise descended the porch steps but stilled before heading to the waiting vehicle. “Nancy’s right. Tonight, you two truly were Cole’s guardian angels.”

  He waved her off. “We’re just glad he’s okay. We’ll see you back at the mountain house.”

  The wind had died down, and he and Bridget stood side by side as the beams of light from the purring snowcat faded into the darkness. He glanced over his shoulder at the hearth. The three logs crackled as the fire burned through the wood.

  “You know, we don’t have to stay. The fire will burn itself out in a half-hour or so,” he said, following her back into the cabin.

  Bridget stared into the waning firelight. “I know.”

  He stood a step behind her, wanting more than anything to touch her—to reach out and take her into his arms but stifled the impulse.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said instead.

  “And what’s that?” she asked.

  “That you’re to blame.”

  She took the poker that rested against the side of the fireplace, then prodded the logs, separating them to allow the remaining flames to peter out.

  “I am to blame. I had a feeling Cole was up to something. But I never thought he’d sneak out on his own. And we only knew he was gone because Carly came into the kitchen and found us…”

  Found us.

  Found them engrossed in the dance that had become like second nature when passions flared, and every impulse drove him to her like a ship lost at sea, finally catching a glimmer of light from a safe harbor.

  “You’re not to blame, Bridget. Cole’s headstrong, and once he gets an idea, there’s no stopping him. Last Christmas, I gave him a one-thousand-piece puzzle. He wouldn’t stop working on it until he had it finished. It took the whole family, but we got it done. It was the longest five hours of my life, and Cole never left the table. He’s tenacious like that.”

  Bridget poked the logs once more and smoldering embers replaced the expiring flames. A cocoon of misty darkness surrounded them as they stood there in silence for what seemed like ages before Bridget glanced over her shoulder at him.

  “You’re not a horrible person, Soren.”

  He chuckled, not expecting that. “That’s what you have to say after all we’ve been through tonight?”

  Her eyes full of questions as the moonlight streaming in from the window framed her features in a blue glow. “I don’t understand you. I don’t know how someone can be so cold and cruel and then be so kind and tender.”

  With the scent of the burnt cedar logs suspended in the air, a tiny crack formed in the impenetrable walls he’d constructed around his heart. Like a sinner on the cusp of confession, he closed his eyes.

  “It’s how I survive.”

  Survival. That’s what his life consisted of when he wasn’t with the Abbotts.

  She took a step toward him. “What do you mean?”

  He shook his head, trying to hold back the words. But he couldn’t. Not with her.

  “My parents didn’t want me. Neither wanted to have a child. I was a mistake. An inconvenience.”

  She blinked, giving nothing away.

  And just like that—he’d revealed his cards to the one person who could ruin everything.

  15

  Soren

  He’d heard the words. He’d said them, for Christ’s sake! But he didn’t expect that this admission would come with such succinct clarity.

  Tom knew the gist of his story. His best friend knew about his parents’ careless disregard for their only child. But he’d never spoken the words aloud to anyone. He’d never laid it out in black and white.

  “Soren,” Bridget said, the two syllables like a salve to his heart.

  He held her gaze, unable to look away. “It’s not like I grew up in squalor—quite the opposite. I never went without. Both my mother and father come from money. Old money. I went to the best schools, lived in expensive homes, but neither of my parents had the drive or the desire to be anything more than ornaments on the social scene. A child threw a wrench into their lives. There was a forced marriage, followed by a bitter divorce before I’d even taken my first steps. The wealth allowed my parents to hire people to care for me. Well, the word care is a stretch, but I did have one kind nanny—Janine. She’s my secretary now. She tries to keep me in line when I’m not with…”

  “Tom and his family?” Bridget supplied.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you see your parents very often?”

  He stared into the darkness. How long had it been since he’d heard his mother’s moneyed trill of a laugh or caught one of his father’s blasé remarks?

  Years.

  A message on his phone the day he’d graduated from college.

  He’d invited them to come to Boston.

  A mistake.

  When he’d looked out into the crowd, he’d only seen the Abbotts and the two empty chairs Grace had saved for his absent mother and father.

  Something’s come up, and I won’t be able to make it, Soren.

  That something? A party on a yacht docked in St. Croix.

  At least the son of a bitch had called. His mother had blown the day off entirely. He’d come to learn she’d been shopping in Monte Carlo.

  “No, I barely saw my parents when I was growing up. The divorce gave them shared parental rights, but that only meant that I was shuttled from one penthouse to another. But they were never there. They’d timed their travels perfectly to avoid me. Once I was sent to boarding school, I was truly out of sight and out of mind. During those years, I had more contact with the court and the law firm that oversaw my finances. Once I graduated from law school, I stopped taking their money and built my own private equity firm.”

  “Why didn’t you practice law?”

  The vice clamped around his heart tightened. “I decided to use the knowledge I’d gained in school to start my company. I wanted to make money—a lot of money and do it quickly.”

  And he wanted the power to tear this world apart the way his soul had been shredded by the two people who should have nurtured it. He’d funneled that ruthless energy into any company that didn’t make the cut. But he wasn’t about to admit that.

  “It must have been very lonely,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  “It was.”

  Here in this abandoned cabin, he revealed himself to her—this woman who he’d known for less than a week. She’d worked her way into his psyche. By sharing this slice of his tortured past with her, it unburdened his heart and loosened the hold of the anger and disappointment he’d harbored for so many years. But he couldn’t share the darkest part—the kernel of torment that never left. Even in the best of times, it nudged and cajoled him. It whispered in his ear before he succumbed to slumber each night.

  You are a Traeger Rudolph.

  Cut from the same cloth as your parents.

  The brutal truth?

  If not for the Abbotts, he’d be no different from his mother and father.

  But he couldn’t reveal that. No, that fear had woven itself around his heart so tightly that it had become part and parcel of who he was in the depth of his soul. And while he felt a strange relief sharing his past with this enigma of a vixen, he couldn’t reveal this part to her or to anyone.

  His most ruinous flaw.

  “Do you mind if I ask what happened to your mom and dad?” he said, needing desperately to change the subject.

  Bridget stared into the hearth’s dying light. “They were on their way to celebrate their anniversary. They’d booked two nights at a hotel downtown. It was a big deal. I remember my mother putting on lipstick. She never wore all that much makeup, so I knew this little getaway was a big deal. My parents were college professors, so we didn’t grow up with a lot of money, but we always made do. Lori and I were staying with my grandma Dasher for the weekend. We’d only been at her house a few hours before there was
a knock at the door, and we found two police officers standing on my grandmother’s porch.”

  He watched her closely. “What happened?”

  “They were there to tell us that our parents had been in an accident. That’s when we learned that my mother and father had died like they lived—helping people.”

  “What do you mean—helping people?”

  “A woman was on the side of the road trying to change a flat tire, and they stopped to help her put on the spare when a drunk driver plowed into them. From what the officer told us, it happened very quickly. They were both gone by the time the ambulance had gotten them to the hospital. After that, Lori and I lived with my grandmother until she was taken by cancer almost two years later. Thankfully, she didn’t suffer too badly, and just like that, we’d lost them all.”

  He knew she was strong—but what she’d endured would crush the spirit of most people.

  But not her.

  “Jesus, I’m sorry, Bridget. I don’t know what to say. I had no idea.”

  Of course, he didn’t because he hadn’t taken a lick of interest in Tom’s fiancée and her family—or lack thereof.

  “You don’t have to be sorry. I only had my parents and my grandma Dasher, but Lori and I grew up surrounded by love.” She shook her head. “That was insensitive of me! I didn’t mean to sound so thoughtless.”

  He took a step toward her. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and in the moonlight that came and went as the clouds lumbered across the night sky, hiding and revealing the curve of her cheek and the set of her chin, he twisted a lock of her hair between his fingers before tucking it behind her ear.

  “You’re not thoughtless, Bridget. You’re…”

  Luminous.

  Truly good-hearted.

  Extraordinarily devoted to others.

  “You’re smart and focused. I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do. You assembled an army of mostly lawyers to bake a shit ton of delicious cookies for charity, and you don’t give an inch when it comes to your family. Your work ethic is almost as insane as mine. Hell, I’d hire you,” he said instead, chickening out.

  He wasn’t lying. He’d spoken the truth—just not the whole truth.