Christmas Magic on the Mountain

by Melissa McClone

  Zoe bent over to set the laptop back in its place. Her scoop top provided a great flash of her round, high breasts. Was that a hot-pink bra?

  Sean blew out his breath. He needed to show her that kissing each other would be a lot more fun than playing games and watching movies. He shifted to get a better view and elbowed a can of soda onto the floor. Brown liquid splattered on the hardwood floor.

  Zoe straightened. “You okay?”

  “Fine, but I made a mess.”

  She grabbed a roll of paper towels. “I’ll clean it up.”

  He hated that his leering had been the cause of all this. “It would be easier with a mop.”

  “A mop?”

  “In the laundry room.”

  “The laundry room,” she repeated. “Where else would a mop be?”

  Zoe returned in a few minutes with a mop and a bucket. She filled the bucket with water at the kitchen sink. “Do you use soap on the floor?”

  Hadn’t she mopped a floor before? Maybe not hardwoods.

  “My mom says a little dishwashing soap goes a long way,” he said.

  “Right.”

  Sean turned on the television set and flipped through the channels. So many stations yet nothing good ever seemed to be on. Truth was, he’d rather watch Zoe.

  She carried the bucket to the spill. As she stuck in the mop, water cascaded over the edges. “Guess I put in a little too much water.”

  He didn’t say anything. It was his fault she had to mop the floor in the first place. He changed the channel again so she wouldn’t think he was staring at her.

  She tucked her hair behind her ears, pulled the mop out of the water and swabbed the spill. Water flew everywhere, making an even bigger mess.

  First a fire, now a flood. Sean bit back a smile. It was always entertaining with her around.

  Staring at all the water, Zoe leaned against the mop with a dejected look on her face.

  He remembered what Zoe had said to him at the hospital.

  I’m not, uh, very domestic. I feel it’s fair to warn you I’m cooking and cleaning challenged.

  In spite of his headache, Sean tried to piece together the clues she’d given him about her past. Snowboarding on Thanksgiving with her family. That would be expensive. Her board and outfit weren’t cheap, knockoff brands, either. Yet Zoe had told him she’d been running low on funds and didn’t have a place to live. She couldn’t cook or clean, either. Zoe Flynn might not have money herself, but he’d bet her family did. Sean wanted to know more about her.

  “Sorry you have to clean up after me,” he said.

  “That’s okay.”

  “I’m not used to it,” he said. “Somebody else cleaning up my mess.”

  She didn’t reply.

  He tried again. “I guess you’re used to having a housecleaner.”

  A smile broke over her face. “In college, I even paid my roommate to clean and do my laundry.”

  Definitely from money, Sean realized. That explained a few things.

  She bit her lip, as if realizing she’d said too much. “So where did I go wrong? With the floor?”

  Apparently more revelations would have to wait. “You need to squeeze the water out of the mop before you try to wipe the floor with it.”

  “So that’s what that thingy at the bottom is for.”

  He grinned. “Yeah.”

  She put the mop over the bucket and wrung the water out of it with the lever. “You learn something new every day.”

  Sean nodded thoughtfully. He couldn’t wait to learn more about Zoe. Most women didn’t shut up about themselves, but Zoe diverted his questions. That raised his curiosity and his concern.

  What was she hiding? Or who was she hiding from?

  A few days later, Zoe pushed her stack of poker chips forward. “All in.”

  Her move didn’t seem to surprise Sean. Well, if it did, she couldn’t tell. His expression remained exactly the same as it had been all through the game. He studied the flop, turn and river cards lying between them on the couch.

  On the radio, Mariah Carey sang “All I Want For Christmas Is You.” Zoe knew what she wanted. Not for Christmas, but right now.

  She wanted to win.

  Sean reminded her of a border collie, a high energy animal that didn’t like being kenneled or leashed or, in Sean’s case, stuck on the couch. He’d been right saying this wasn’t an easy job. Helping Sean and not letting him try to do too much was a full-time job. Not to mention doing chores around the house.

  Worse, she’d been struggling to keep him from getting bored. Bored equaled grumpy so she’d tried to keep him busy playing video games, board games and anything else she could think of. He’d been counting the days until he could get his computer back. But when she’d found a silver case full of poker chips and cards in the coat closet, her job had gotten easier because Sean loved playing poker. That improved his mood.

  His healing seemed to be taking care of itself, but everyone from Connie to Jake Porter said Zoe was the reason. She wasn’t going to take all the credit, but the compliments filled her with pride. She was finally doing something right and being responsible. Her mother would be pleased, but that didn’t matter as much to Zoe now. She was necessary to Sean in a way she’d never been necessary to anyone before. She’d never felt so valued or valuable and didn’t want it to end anytime soon.

  Zoe studied her cards. “You could always fold.”

  Sean raised an eyebrow. “Having second thoughts?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  And Zoe didn’t. She was going to win. Finally. She had three aces—two in her hand and one in the river position.

  “Such confidence,” he said.

  She searched for any kind of tell that would give away his cards, but nothing in his mannerisms and facial expression told her if he was bluffing or holding a winning hand. “It’s all in the cards.”

  Sean’s gaze met hers, probing yet secretive. She stared back, as if she could will him to call her bet.

  The air sizzled between them.

  Slowly, his fingers inched toward his stacks of chips that towered over hers.

  Zoe’s heart beat faster. The game, she told herself, not him and how much healthier and happier he looked today. If she didn’t win this hand, she would be out.

  He matched the amount of chips she’d put in. “Call.”

  With a smile, she turned over her cards. “Three aces.”

  Sean flipped his. A two, three, four, five, six.

  Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t believe it. A straight.”

  Using his hand, he swept the pile of chips toward him. “We’re different kinds of players.”

  She gathered the deck of cards. “Yeah, you win.”

  Sean’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

  Butterflies flapped in her stomach. She focused on this pile of chips.

  “That’s not quite what I meant,” he explained. “You play by instinct. That means you’ll win big, but you’ll also lose big. It’s an exciting way to play if you don’t mind taking the risks.”

  “You’re the risk taker, not me.” Zoe tucked the cards into their box. “You climb mountains, snowboard, rescue people.”

  “I take calculated risks. Ones I’m prepared for.”

  “And I just go all in.”

  “That makes you fun to play with,” he said.

  “Easy to beat.”

  Laughter gleamed in his eyes. “That, too.”

  “So how do you decide when you’re going to bet?”

  He sorted the chips. “I only bet when I’m going to win.”

  She thought about the times he folded or checked. “So if you don’t think you can win…”

  “I don’t play.”

  “And I only play harder,” she said. “We do approach the game differently.”

  He nodded. “The way a person plays cards says a lot about them.”

  No kidding. Sean played to win. His MO extended beyond poker and reaffir
med her decision not to kiss him again. Well, except for pecks on the cheek in front of his family and friends. Losing a card game was one thing, but having her heart broken was something to be avoided at all costs.

  “Want to play again?” he asked.

  “Not now,” she said. “You know all my secrets.”

  He grinned. “I wouldn’t say all of them.”

  Sean was right, and Zoe had to keep it that way. She chewed the inside of her cheek.

  “But I’m hoping to discover a few more,” he added.

  Panic bolted through her. “You might be disappointed by what you learn.”

  “No way. Not after all that you’ve done for me.”

  Thank goodness. A way to change the subject. Talking about herself made Zoe uncomfortable. She didn’t want to lie to Sean, yet couldn’t tell him the whole truth, either. “You’re doing so much better.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Just doing my job.”

  “A good job, but I can’t wait until I can shower.”

  “I could try taping plastic bags over your feet and legs.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “I’m still working on negotiating the stairs with the walker. The sutures come off soon. I can wash up at the sink a few days longer.”

  She couldn’t do much about his desire to shower, but she could make one thing easier for him. “Want me to wash your hair?”

  “I don’t mind ducking it under the faucet.”

  “But I mind. Please let me do this for you.”

  “I’d rather play another round of poker.”

  “If you let me wash your hair, I’ll play another game after dinner.”

  Not that she had much to do to prepare the food. Once word got out about her lack of cooking skills, meals appeared every day. Zoe only had to order takeout occasionally now. She would have liked to learn to cook for Sean, but this was better for him and kept the fire department away.

  “Deal,” he said.

  Zoe was relieved he was up for something new. She only hoped this activity would go off without a hitch unlike some of the others. She stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TEN MINUTES later, Zoe had everything in place. Towels padded the edge of the granite counter. A bar stool set in front of the sink. A bottle of shampoo was within arm’s reach. “Ready?”

  “Not really.” He made his way toward her using the walker. “Playing beauty salon isn’t really my thing.”

  “You have no idea what you’re missing out on.” She helped him sit in the chair and moved his walker out of the way. “Take off your shirt.”

  “Is being shirtless a prerequisite for getting your hair washed?”

  “It’ll keep your shirt from getting soaked.”

  His eyes brightened as he pulled off his T-shirt. “Do I get to wash your hair next?”

  “No.”

  He shrugged. “A guy sometimes has to try.”

  “And a girl sometimes has to say no.” Even when she had to force her gaze from drifting downward to his bare chest and abs. She adjusted the towels to better cushion his head. “Comfortable?”

  “Fine.”

  Zoe removed the nozzle, hit the spray button and tested the water against her wrist. “Relax.”

  “I’m relaxed.”

  The moment the warm water hit Sean’s head, his eyes widened. She ran her hand over his hair. Strands of hair slipped through her fingers. Slowly, his eyelids drooped.

  “Feel good?” she asked.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  She squeezed shampoo onto her palm and rubbed it on his head. Slowly she worked the shampoo into his hair. The rise and fall of his chest became more even, calm.

  Leaning over to reach the back of his head, her breasts brushed his arm. She jerked back. “Sorry.”

  “No worries.”

  Zoe wished she could say the same. The water temperature matched the heat emanating from Sean’s body. She felt as if the thermostat had been turned up fifteen degrees. The turtleneck she wore only made her hotter.

  “So this is what I’ve been missing by going to a barber all these years,” he said, his eyes nearly closing. “No wonder women get their hair done so much.”

  She rubbed her fingertips against his scalp to work up a lather. The scent of coconut filled her nostrils. “I love going to the salon. A new cut. A different color. It’s like I’m a new person when I walk out the door.”

  Sean’s gaze fixed on her face. “I like the person you are just fine.”

  His words would have pleased her, except he didn’t know the truth about her. “You don’t know me very well.”

  “Well enough.” As if sensing her discomfort, he lightened his tone. “So what’s your natural color?”

  Water spurted. “Oh. Um. I hardly remember. I’ve been coloring my hair since I was fifteen.”

  “Fifteen?”

  She nodded. “My mother didn’t want me to so I couldn’t go to a salon. A friend and I did it by ourselves. My hair turned green.”

  “I can’t imagine you with green hair.”

  “I once streaked it with hot-pink-and-blue stripes,” Zoe admitted. “That was my alternative rock stage. I also went through a Goth stage in high school. The jet-black hair drove my mother absolutely insane.”

  Sean studied her face. “I don’t see any body piercings.”

  “My mother would have killed me if I’d done that. I had to make do with black nail polish and temporary tattoos.”

  Zoe massaged his scalp. His wet hair slid through her hands. His scalp felt smooth beneath the pads of her fingers.

  “You’re way too sweet to be into that look,” he said.

  She shrugged. “Sometimes I wasn’t so sweet.”

  Sean raised a brow. “Are your brothers as rebellious?”

  “Not at all.”

  “How many brothers?”

  “Three. Older,” she added, forestalling his next question. “And they always did, still do, what Mother wanted.”

  Clean-cut and conservative, her brothers had accumulated advanced degrees, high-paying jobs, beautiful wives and perfectly groomed children in the appropriate order and according to their mother’s timetable. Maxwell, the oldest one, had recently run and won a seat in the state legislature.

  Zoe grimaced. “I haven’t been so good at meeting expectations.”

  “Me, either,” Sean said.

  She looked down at him in surprise. No one could say Sean wasn’t successful. “In what way?”

  “Well, my dad would have preferred if I’d gone into the construction business with him. And let’s not even mention children. Rather the lack of them.”

  She laughed.

  “You haven’t mentioned your father,” Sean said.

  Remembered warmth settled around Zoe’s heart. “My father was the greatest. Friendly and fun—that was my dad.”

  “He sounds like you.”

  “My mother says I’m a lot like him.” She ran her fingers over his scalp again. “He died when I was twelve. A heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Zoe nodded. “Things were never the same after he was gone. But I think he would have liked all my different hair colors. Even the wild, crazy ones.”

  Sean reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I like your hair now.”

  “Thanks.” She picked up the spray nozzle. “My mother actually suggested it.”

  “Before you were estranged?”

  Zoe nodded.

  “You said you missed them.”

  “Yes, but…” How could she explain to him that she needed this time away? Not only to spare her mother’s campaign, but also to figure out what she wanted. “I’m happy I’m here with you.”

  “So am I.”

  His words gave her a boost of confidence.

  “So you’re the youngest,” Sean prompted. “And the only girl.”

  She eyed him warily. She wanted to be careful how much s
he told him. “That’s right.”

  “I’m surprised your family isn’t keeping closer tabs on you.”

  “Well…my mother has a pretty high-powered position that takes all her time and energy. My three brothers are male versions of her.”

  “But not you.”

  “Nope,” Zoe admitted. “Which drives them all crazy. I don’t understand why since none of them ever has any time for me.”

  “Do they have any idea where you are?”

  “No, but it was my mother’s idea for me to…”

  “What?”

  “See the world. Learn responsibility. Stay out of trouble.”

  “How is that going for you?” he asked.

  “Only time will tell, but it seems to be working out okay.”

  “I think you’re doing great.”

  “Thanks.”

  As she rinsed the soap from his hair, Sean closed his eyes. A satisfied smile settled on his lips. He was enjoying his shampoo.

  So was she.

  A little too much.

  Her suggestion to wash his hair had been totally innocent, one more way she could care for him. But touching his hair, his head, was much too intimate.

  Zoe felt guilty.

  For the shampoo and for not being able to tell him the truth. Sean liked the person he thought she was. So did Zoe.

  She gave his head a final rinse to make sure all the shampoo was gone.

  Too bad she couldn’t leave Zoe Carrington behind and just be Zoe Flynn.

  “I guess I should have figured out you are one of those workaholic types.”

  Sean glanced up from his computer, the one he’d been dying to use for the past week, to find Zoe standing in front of him with a cup of coffee in her hand. “What?”

  “You’re like a kid playing video games.” She set the steaming mug on the end table. “We might have to rethink your allotment of screen time. You’re completely obsessed with your computer.”

  “Not obsessed, just checking e-mail. I’ve been out of touch with people at the office for a while.”

  She went into the kitchen. “Whose fault was that?”

  “Mine, but it’s a busy time. I need to get caught up,” Sean explained. “Custom orders are streaming in because of the holidays. We’ve got a huge PR event coming up at New Year’s, the Rail Jam Extravaganza, that could increase our exposure and distribution significantly.”