by Judith Bowen
A fool.
Unless—the tiny voice kept insisting—you’d actually been in love with the brother all along.
And didn’t realize it?
In which case, she was an idiot, too. Zoey did her best to squelch the unsettling thought. She was getting very good at doing that.
She showered, scrubbing until her skin stung, then toweled her hair dry and twisted it into a loose French braid. She dressed in jeans and a red sweater. Applied moisturizer, hand cream, no makeup. She inspected her nails. The manicure had held up well, would probably last through the wedding. Two more days! The cake to bake early tomorrow, to decorate in the afternoon, and the day after that the wedding. Edith and Tom. Ryan and Mary Ellen.
Then, thank heaven, it would be all over and she could go home to Toronto.
And forget.
THE TREE WAS TRIMMED by half past eight and hadn’t been the ordeal she’d thought it would be. Ryan wasn’t there—it seemed he’d gone off to the Owens’ to help Mary Ellen and Edith decorate theirs.
But he’d brought home a beautiful tree that afternoon on a sled behind the snowmobile and Lissy was rightly proud of it.
“We cutted it down over by the river,” she announced when Zoey arrived just after they’d had their supper. She’d brought Marty’s boots to return. “Me ’n’ Uncle Ryan.”
“It’s a lovely tree. Did you pick it out?” It was beautiful, in its way. A wild, rather scraggly but dignified spruce tree, nothing like the ones for sale in a city lot, all clipped and groomed to shape.
When she arrived, Cameron was stretched out on the floor, securing the tree into its stand, and there was a great deal of “is it straight?” and “which way?” and “just a little more—that’s it!” Marty provided hot chocolate and swore that if she almost stepped on that cat one more time, she was going to hang him from the tree for a decoration.
Lissy, of course, disagreed, and carried Kitty around for a while to keep him safe, letting Zoey and Marty do most of the decorating. The little girl seemed quite content to watch. Marty grumbled and Zoey soothed and Cameron didn’t say much at all. He’d looked straight at her when she’d shown up at the door, all snowy and breathless from her dash across the yard. A warm, appreciative gaze, nothing like the deep-freeze on the trip home from town.
He’d had time to think things over, and so had she. She hoped he wasn’t going to bring up the subject again.
With the lights blazing and the decorations shimmering, the tree looked truly magnificent. Then Zoey remembered the porcelain angel. They hadn’t unpacked it yet. She rummaged around in the bags, found it and presented it to Cameron to place on top of the tree.
“Ooooh!” Lissy breathed when she saw the angel. “Please, Daddy, put it up. Really, really high.”
Cameron obliged and after much maneuvering, which included making sure the light inside the angel was going to connect up to the rest of the tree’s wiring, the angel was up, beaming down on them.
Marty switched off the overhead lights and Zoey felt Cameron’s presence behind her, then his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gently caressing the nape of her neck. She didn’t dare move. Lissy was beside her, one thumb in her mouth in a sudden throwback to babyhood, one arm holding her kitten. “Oh, Zoey, isn’t it boo-ti-ful?”
“It is, honey.” She sensed a slight movement behind her. Cameron’s proximity was doing weird things to her stomach. “It’s the prettiest tree I’ve ever seen.” Of course, she felt that about every Christmas tree every year, but there was no need to tell Lissy that.
Zoey had assumed the child would be ready for bed, but, surprisingly, Lissy asked if she’d play Scrabble with her.
Zoey caught Cameron’s eye in surprise. Scrabble? Lissy was in kindergarten. He grinned and raised one eyebrow. “Up to the challenge?” he tossed out. “We play by our own rules.”
“Sure.” Zoey was up to any challenge.
“I’ll get the game,” Cameron offered.
Zoey cleared off the coffee table while Lissy positioned herself on the sofa. Cameron set the game down and Zoey spread out the board, making sure the tiles were all turned over so they couldn’t be seen. She noticed a much-scrawled piece of paper inside the box, a score sheet, with plenty of names on it, mostly Marty and Lissy, although Cameron and Ryan were there, too.
Marty winked at her. “I’m going to do a little more of my—” she shot a warning glance at the girl “—fancywork. You have fun. She needs a little help from time to time, doncha, honey?” She bent down and kissed the girl loudly on the cheek.
“Just sometimes,” Lissy admitted, nodding her head seriously. “Mostly, I can spell my own words.”
This should be interesting, Zoey thought.
She kneeled down on the floor and put a tile-holder in front of her and one on the other side of the table for Lissy. To her dismay, Cameron hunkered down beside her. “I’ll play, too,” he said, smiling at his daughter. How could Zoey object? “Maybe I’ll need some help from you, Lissy. We’re not word professionals like Zoey, here.”
Lissy could count, at least, and picked out her seven tiles. Cameron and Zoey did the same. Zoey got the letter nearest an “A” so she started. She felt the side of Cameron’s knee pressed against hers under the low table and moved slightly. He moved, too, apparently casually, to press against her knee again.
She stared at her letters.
“Here we go.” She spelled out H-U-N-T across the center square on the board. “Who’s keeping score?”
“You’d better,” Cameron said easily, staring at his own tiles. “I need to concentrate.”
Zoey wrote their names in order. Cameron followed her, and then Lissy. The tree lights twinkled and someone had put some low music on the stereo. What a peaceful scene, Zoey reflected. Totally, happily domestic. If Charlotte and Lydia could see her now. Even Kitty was curled up, sound asleep on the sofa behind Lissy, like a cat on a Christmas card.
“Okay, here’s mine.” Cameron spelled out T-R-I-P, using the T from her word to form his. “Lissy?” He shifted a little closer to the girl and helped her position her tiles. P-W-T-Z-E.
“What’s that?” Zoey asked.
“‘Pretty,’ like you!” Lissy said. “That’s how you spell it, isn’t it, Dad?”
“Yep.” He winked at Zoey. “Close enough, honey.”
Ah, Zoey thought with a smile. That was how the game was played. She felt Cameron’s knee against hers again. She remained rock-still. He was just testing her. Teasing her. She’d show him it meant nothing.
But if that was the case, why was the room getting warmer and warmer? Zoey took off her cardigan and reached over to sling it across the arm of the sofa. It was also an excuse to move away from him and the contact under the tabletop.
“Whose turn?” she asked, noting as calmly as she could that his eyes were on her bare arms. She shivered; suddenly the room was chilly.
“Mine.” Cameron made a great show of assembling his word, then helping Lissy with hers. The girl was taking the game very seriously, trying out this and that combination, some of which were vaguely word-like. Zoey was winning by a mile.
“Okay,” he said, giving Zoey a look that sent the blood rushing to her toes and back again. “Here’s my word.” He spelled out M-A-R-R-Y and Zoey took a quick breath, containing her surprise.
“That’s not a great use of a Y,” she managed. “You could have played it for quite a few more points.”
“Yes,” he said, “but I have another strategy in mind. I’m not interested in maximizing my points. Not just yet.”
“It’s a game. Those are the rules!” Really! And she moved to the other corner of the table, so her knee was well away from his.
“What’s the word, Dad?” Lissy asked innocently.
“Marry,” Cam replied.
“Oh! Just like in ‘Merry Christmas,’ right, Dad?”
“That’s right, honey,” he said, his eyes challenging Zoey’s. She felt a ripple of heat sweep through her.
“Okay, Lissy, here’s your word. Right here.” He used the M on his word and then put Lissy’s E down beside it.
Zoey stared. Marry me.
“What do you say?” he asked. “How many points is that?”
“Er, it’s four.” Zoey gave her full attention to the score sheet. “Four for Lissy.”
Aha! It was her turn. She didn’t have an N to make NO. She had an E and an S, but there was no way she was spelling YES, game or not! Yet she was tempted to play along. He’d tossed out an interesting challenge. She realized she hadn’t picked up a tile from the last time she’d played.
She picked up an M. It was worth three points and she should try and play it on at least a double or a triple. If she was going to be sensible…. She sent him a quick look and proceeded to lay down her letters. M-A-Y-B-E, using his Y.
Cameron laughed out loud. Zoey wanted to laugh, too, but she didn’t dare. Or she’d cry.
“My turn!”
Zoey edged over to help the child. “Here’s a word, honey.”
Lissy leaned close and whispered, “What is it?”
Zoey whispered back. “Queen. And it’ll give you millions of points if you put the first letter on that pink square. You can even beat your dad. Do you want to play it?”
Lissy nodded vigorously, her eyes shining. “Zoey says we’re gonna beat you, Dad,” she boasted while Zoey arranged Lissy’s letters, hitting a triple with the Q, which counted for 30. She felt a thrill run down her spine.
“Queen. Hmm.” Cameron studied his letters. He laid down a Y next to the M from MAYBE.
My queen.
Zoey knew her cheeks were red, her eyes bright. It had been a long, strange day. She was tired. Over-wrought. She wasn’t the only one. Lissy put her head on her father’s shoulder and leaned heavily against him, sucking her thumb.
“Time to finish up,” Zoey announced. This game was getting dangerous. “Lissy’s ready for bed and so am I.” She added up the figures. She’d won by a mile but there wasn’t a lot of satisfaction in that. “You’re the winner, Lissy!”
“I am?” the girl said tiredly, popping her thumb into her mouth.
“Yep. You beat your dad and me.”
Cameron stood, with Lissy in his arms. “Off to bed for you, sweetheart.”
Zoey rested her hand briefly on the girl’s cheek. “Good night, Lissy. That was fun, even if it was your dad’s rules.”
“Thanks for playing the game with us,” he said.
“With you, you mean.” She couldn’t resist.
He smiled. “Oh, with me, it’s no game. And I play for keeps. You can believe that or not.”
Zoey gathered up her sweater and slipped it on. She’d carried over her own boots so she could wear them back.
“Zoey?”
She turned. “Yes?”
“Do you believe me?”
“Believe you, what?” She was playing for time.
“That with me it’s not a game?”
“Yes,” she said and swallowed the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat. “I do believe you. Good night.”
His “good night” rang in her ears as she tossed and turned, unable to sleep. And she had to start early to get the two cakes done tomorrow!
He wasn’t kidding. He’d actually asked her to marry him in the strangest, most whimsical way. Then he’d made a point of making sure she knew he meant it. She’d never have guessed he had a playful streak in him. But he couldn’t be asking her to marry him! He’d never even kissed her normally—either he’d grabbed her like some caveman, as he’d done in her apartment, or he’d kissed her like a lover when she didn’t even know who he was. They’d had no courtship of any kind, not even a pretend one.
Yet he’d spelled out “Marry Me” and it had been no accident.
She let her mind drift back to the night they’d spent together. To the morning after, when he’d told her Ryan wasn’t interested. What had he called her? Strong. Beautiful. Sexy.
No man had ever called her that before.
What would it be like, she wondered sleepily, to be loved by a man like Cameron?
Then she remembered: he’d also called her stubborn.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
GLOVES STIFF WITH COLD, Cameron broke open the last round bale he’d delivered to the herd. He forked the tightly packed bundle around a little, opening it up for the hungry steers. Their breath, thick and foggy in the cold air—the thermometer had hit twenty below this morning—surrounded him.
“There you go, boys.” He felt great. He could hardly wait to get back to the house and pick up a flask of coffee. Zoey was there—in his house—baking her little heart out. When he’d come in for breakfast, she was already mixing up a batch of cake batter, her face flushed, her hair pinned up, one of Marty’s aprons on over her jeans and T-shirt. Marty had put breakfast on the table for him. Lissy was still in bed. He’d watched Zoey work, aware that his attention flustered her. That was a good sign.
Man, hadn’t he hit it right with that Scrabble game last night? Another piece of luck! He’d been angry after their talk in town and ready to say the hell with her. She had attitude problems and she definitely wasn’t the only woman around.
But she was the only woman for him. He’d realized that when he was taking his shower before supper. He wanted Zoey Phillips. He didn’t want any other woman.
Which meant he had to get back on track with her. And pronto. She was leaving the day after the wedding—two days from now. It was going to have to be the fastest damn courtship in Cariboo-Chilcotin history. And the district had seen some pretty quick work in that department over the years.
Well, he’d made a helluva good start with that “Marry Me” on the board game.
Okay, steers were fed. Ten minutes to the house. He grinned as he jumped into his pickup and started the engine.
And for her to come back with “Maybe!” Son-of-a-gun. He’d wanted to jump up and kiss her right there in the living room, under the mistletoe or not. Then pack Lissy off to bed, lock the door and make love to the woman he wanted to marry.
Of course, he cautioned himself, maybe she’d simply been missing the letters for a great big No.
The trailer was light with the hay gone and Cameron drove fast. He made it back in record time and parked by the house. He saw that Marty’s car was gone again—she was taking Lissy shopping sometime today—and took a big breath before he walked in.
Home alone.
There was a time for jerking around and a time for action. He was a man of action. He wasn’t going to beat around the bush with her anymore, pretend nothing had happened.
They’d spent the night together. He’d said, “Marry me.” She’d said, “Maybe.”
As far as he was concerned, that was a clear invitation.
ZOEY CHECKED the first batch of cakes in the oven. They looked good—so far. Twenty minutes ago, Marty had left to take Lissy to do her Christmas shopping.
She glanced at the kitchen wall clock. Quarter past ten. With luck, she’d have the cakes baked by two o’clock and decorated by suppertime. If nothing went wrong…
She heard a vehicle’s engine and looked out the kitchen window.
Cameron.
What was he doing back here? Ryan wasn’t around, but then he never was, anymore. She supposed he had last-minute things to take care of before the wedding tomorrow. Elizabeth had called to tell her she’d taken over some of Mary Ellen’s duties. Mary Ellen would normally be overseeing the reception and party, but now that she was getting married herself, she needed help. Zoey, Elizabeth had declared, was too busy with the cakes to even think about doing more, so she— Elizabeth—would be happy to supervise anything that needed supervising.
Which was fine by Zoey. She hadn’t slept well, and there’d been more on her mind than preparing two wedding cakes.
She went back to her bowl of batter. Each wedding cake had to be baked in two batches because a whole batch was too much to mix up and ba
ke at one time. She studied the recipe, which she’d taped to a kitchen cupboard for easy reference.
The side door slammed shut and a few minutes later, Cameron walked into the kitchen. He looked healthy and fit and his cheeks were red from the cold. “Coffee on?”
“Coffee!” Zoey tossed in the egg whites and turned the mixer on. “If you want coffee, you’ll have to make it yourself. Marty never said anything about you coming back for coffee.”
“Oh?” He sauntered over to the counter and reached into a cupboard to pull out a package of ground coffee. “Maybe that’s because I didn’t tell her.”
Zoey gave him a surprised look. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked the idea of being alone in the house with him. He was too…too dangerous to her current state of mind. She’d thought about his charge of stubbornness again and again during the sleepless night and had come to the conclusion that he was right. She had been stubborn. Ever since she’d arrived in Stoney Creek. She’d decided on a plan—to chase Ryan—and had followed it, regardless of the facts.
In the past, she’d liked to think of this particular trait of hers as persistence. Stick-to-it-iveness. But, she conceded, it could be called stubbornness, too.
She heard him run water for the coffee machine and kept her attention on the cake batter. She measured out the vanilla and stirred it in.
“Oh!” She jumped as she felt a cold sensation on the side of her neck. Cameron’s arms came around her. She was glad he couldn’t see her face. Her pleasure at feeling his arms tight around her, her back pressed tight against his chest, was tempered by everything that had happened in the past two weeks.
He was kissing her!
She twisted around so she could see him better and he took the opportunity to kiss her chin, to nibble at her ear.
“Cameron!” She squirmed in his arms, but he only held her more tightly. “Don’t do this. Why are you doing this?”
“Mmm.” He kissed her throat, and Zoey shivered. He made a low sound, sort of a laugh, deep in his throat and she shivered again, this time right down to her toenails. He kissed her ear, her cheek. She wanted him to kiss her mouth. To kiss her as he had before, to—
