Sugarplum (Silk Stocking Inn Book 5)

by Tess Oliver

  "By any chance, is your friend a witch who likes to eat little children?" Everything coming out of my mouth sounded silly and slurred. "Does the cold make you feel intoxicated? I'm feeling like I had one too many tequila shots."

  I climbed off the snowmobile. Holt hopped off quickly to catch me before my legs collapsed.

  "Got ya, my sweet frozen treat. Yes, hypothermia makes you feel a little punch drunk, and no, my friend is not a witch who eats children. He's a nature photographer who comes up here occasionally to take pictures of animals and seasonal changes. Now let's get you inside."

  Holt lifted a potted plant and dug through some slushy snow. "Got it." He held up a key and turned to the door. With some effort, it opened, and Holt helped me inside. The interior of the cabin was surprisingly cozy but icy cold.

  I turned to him and the movement made my head spin. "I hate to tell you this, but it's just as cold in here as it is out there."

  "Yep. But I can have a fire roaring in that hearth in minutes, and while we wait, I'll just have to find another way to keep you warm."

  "Looking forward to it," I mumbled on my way to the small sofa sitting in front of the hearth. It was covered with a red and green crocheted throw. With my legs feeling as if I'd just finished a hundred mile uphill bike ride, it looked terribly inviting. I flopped down on it like a rag doll and immediately turned on my side and curled into a fetal position.

  My heart was no longer thumping with the fear that I might freeze to death alone in the forest, but none of my limbs were cooperating yet. It seemed it was going to take more than the presence of an incredibly hot man to get me back to normal.

  Holt lumbered back into the house with an armful of wood and kindling. He pulled off his coat and tossed it onto the floor. Then he dropped down to one knee, pulled open the metal screen and dropped the wood into the hearth one log at a time.

  I hugged myself and grew mesmerized by the movement of his arms and back muscles beneath his sweater. "Have I mentioned that you look just like a video game character I'm working on for Hell's Rangers? His name is Ziggy Holt."

  His face shot toward me. "I think maybe you're just a little out of it still."

  "All right. You don't have to believe me. But it's true." I covered my mouth as a loud, stretched yawn bellowed from it. "I'm so sleepy."

  "Yeah, that's one of the effects of hypothermia. I think I got to you just in time though." The wood and new flames crackled and popped as the fire worked its way through the wood. Holt straightened and stared down at me. "We should have some decent heat soon enough. I was going to curl myself around you, but I don't think this sofa is big enough for me."

  "Oh, but I'm really waiting to have you curled around me. I could move this throw to the floor."

  He snapped his fingers. "Good idea." He strode off to the small room in the opposite corner and emerged with an armful of blankets and pillows. He arranged a nice floor bed directly in front of the fireplace.

  My head hurt some as I pushed up to sitting. I stared up at Holt, feeling confused and helpless. "I'm thinking about taking off this big, puffy coat because it's kind of wet, but the idea of moving my arms that much just seems too hard." I looked down at the boots that had kept my feet warm well enough on the path but had quickly become squishy wet snow receptacles once I'd veered away from the trail. "I think my boots will be too much work too. They might just be permanently frozen to my feet. So I guess the whole sandal worry is a moot point because I'm going to be stuck in these clodhoppers forever."

  While I blathered on, Holt walked over to the couch and unzipped my coat. I smiled up at him as he pushed it off my shoulders and down my arms. "You've got very long eyelashes," I noted as he leaned over to take off my boots. "He has them too."

  "Who is that?'

  "Ziggy Holt, my video game fantasy man."

  His face popped up. It seemed he was having a hard time keeping away a smile.

  "Oops. That was supposed to stay inside my head. My gosh, this really is like being drunk."

  "Then you make an adorable drunk, snow angel." He lifted me into his arms. "Let's see if we can defrost those toes and fingers. And anything else that needs warming up."

  Holt lowered me onto the soft mound of blankets and pillows. The flames were growing tall and red. Slowly, a delicious heat began to flow from the hearth.

  The sleepiness that had consumed me still lingered in my limbs, and my head was heavy with the events of the day. The second Holt stretched out next to me, I scooted into his warmth. He wrapped his arms around me.

  "How did you find me?" Some of my more logical thoughts were returning. It seemed miraculous that instead of being frozen like an icicle to a tree, I was cuddled next to Holt in front of a roaring fire.

  “When I pulled up to the inn, Coco came running down the steps, looking worried. A rarity for her. She said she'd sent you on a walk but that you'd been gone too long. I'm skilled at tracking, but the snow had obliterated some of your footsteps. I found exactly where you went off the trail and then sort of just followed my instincts. I know it's strange, but I felt this connection with you, as if I could sense you were in trouble, and I just rode until I found you huddled against that tree. Why did you leave the path?"

  "Gretel was out for a walk with the cubs. And I just wasn't ready to kiss my ass good-bye. Although, in my daze, I did conclude that providing food for a hungry bear family would have been a noble way to go. Painful, I imagine. But noble."

  He laughed and squeezed me tighter. "So you were a few degrees body temperature away from freezing to death and you reasoned out that you'd at least save the lives of three bears. I guess I'd probably be thinking the same thing. Still, I'll have to let Mike, the other ranger, know that Gretel is making the rounds with the cubs. We weren't expecting her this early."

  I sighed with satisfaction as the glowing heat from the fire and the even more glowing heat from the man slowly thawed out my limbs. I actually felt my body relaxing for the first time since I'd gotten lost. Moments later, in the secure warmth of Holt's embrace, I fell asleep.

  Chapter 14

  "Hey, sleepy, how are you feeling?" The voice penetrated my dreams that had something to do with sugarplums that were shaped like bears.

  I opened my eyes. The only light in the cabin came from the flickering flames in the hearth. Outside the dust covered windows, the sun was beginning its descent. Everything was bathed in the shadows of late afternoon, including the man next to me, who still looked breathtaking even in the fading light.

  "I'm feeling pretty much back to normal. But I'm hungry."

  "Yep, I was thinking the same thing." Holt leaned over me and kissed me. "I've spent the last twenty minutes watching you sleep. Very cute, by the way. And all the while, I was trying to decide just how wrong it would be for me to take advantage of my sleeping snow angel after she'd been through a scary ordeal. But now that you're awake—"

  I didn't let him finish. I threw my arms around his neck and pulled his mouth back down to mine. We clumsily hurried to pull each other's clothes off. By the time we were down to underwear, we were both frenzied with wanting each other.

  He'd come through the snow to save me. My fantasy hero had rescued me from certain death and now it felt as if he'd carved his initials in my heart. Even if I never saw him again after I left the inn, I would never, ever forget him.

  He pulled me beneath him and nearly ripped my panties as he yanked them off. He hesitated long enough to roll on a condom before positioning his long hard body between my legs. His hand rested against my face and his thumb brushed over my eyebrow as he gazed down at me. "Never expected someone like you to walk into my life, Jen."

  His words tugged at my chest, filling me with hope that this weekend wouldn't be both the start and the end.

  Holt's hand slid underneath my bottom, lifting me to meet his cock. He stared down at me as he pushed inside of me one inch at a time.

  "Oh, Holt," I sighed as he landed back in that magic sweet
spot he'd awakened.

  I lifted my hips to meet his thrusts. The fire crackled at our feet as we rocked in perfect rhythm. A sheen of sweat covered our bodies, and the friction between us grew like the fire in the hearth. It was impossible to think that just hours earlier I’d been so cold I was sure I'd lose toes.

  My pussy still ached from the sex we'd had all night and yet each time he slammed into me, I wanted more. The tender pain was the thing that would take me over the edge.

  I threw my legs around him and he dove deeper, so deep that a gasp flew from my mouth. Holt froze and looked down at me. "Did I hurt you?"

  I reached up and stroked his face. My fingers stuttered over the thick beard stubble on his jaw. "Only in the best possible way." I tightened my legs around him and lifted my hips to him.

  I grasped the blankets beneath me, trying to hold onto something, worried that I might just be carried away by the orgasm building in my body.

  "Yes, fuck yes," I cried as I felt my pussy clench down around him.

  He didn't slow down. As my mind and body tried to absorb the vibrations of ecstasy pulsing through me, Holt groaned and came too.

  He lowered himself onto the blankets next to me. The fire was slowly dying and as our skin cooled, the air in the cabin seemed to be cooling with it. "We need to head back before dark. Coco will be worried."

  I sat up. "Oh my gosh, I forgot about Coco."

  Holt pulled me back down into his arms. "She'll be fine. As you might have noticed, the woman knows everything long before it happens."

  "So you noticed that too?"

  "Yep, but I stopped trying to understand it long ago."

  I pressed my arm against my stomach to quiet the hunger growls. "She was going to make me tomato soup and biscuits."

  "Are you trying to tell me something?"

  "Yep." I sat up. "Let's go back. I'm starved. Getting lost in the snow took a lot of energy." My mind flashed back to those terrifying moments when I thought I would die alone in the snow and the grim reality of how close I came to a horrid death hit me. Tears sprang loose before I could stop them.

  Holt's green eyes darkened with concern. He reached up to wipe a tear from my cheek. "Hey, Jen, it's all right. You're safe now. You're with me. I won't let anything happen to you." He sat up and pulled me onto his lap, and I had a good long cry about it. I couldn't ever remember feeling as safe as I did sitting in Holt's arms.

  The ride back to the inn seemed so much shorter than I'd expected. In my mind, I'd trudged through snow for hours. But it turned out I wasn't all that far from civilization. Just really, really lost.

  Coco was pulling on a bright red shawl as she came out the back door to greet us. "Hurry into the kitchen, Jen. I've got hot soup and cheddar biscuits on the table."

  I looked at Holt as I climbed off the snowmobile. "How on earth did she know what time we'd be back?"

  Holt shrugged. "With Coco, it's easier not to question."

  Coco reached us. "There's a bowl for you too, Holt. Think you've earned it." She winked at him before taking hold of my arm. She led me toward the inn. "Everything all right?"

  I glanced back at Holt and faced back forward. "Everything is just dreamy, Coco. Just dreamy."

  Chapter 15

  After I'd filled my empty belly with two bowls of hot soup and three biscuits, I'd headed upstairs for a hot shower. Holt had taken off after the soup for racing practice but promised to return before dark.

  I pulled on warm, dry clothes and headed downstairs. Yet another flurry of wonderful aromas met me at the landing. I followed my nose down the hallway to the kitchen.

  It happened again, those few seconds where the vision in front of me was of an elderly woman who could have been well past eighty. But by the time the Coco glanced up from the dough she was rolling out, the young, vibrant twenty-something woman had returned.

  "Are you feeling better?" she asked.

  "Much. Thank you. Between the soup and the hot shower, I'm back to my old self."

  "I'm glad. Thank goodness Holt was able to find you out there. I feel terrible about sending you out for a walk. I had no idea Gretel had left her den."

  "Please, you have nothing to reproach yourself for. I knew she was out. I saw her last night when I was in—" I stopped myself before finishing and ended my sentence with a hot blush on my cheeks.

  Coco was polite enough to ignore the whole thing. She dipped a measuring cup in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar and sprinkled a generous amount on the rolled out square of pillowy dough.

  "Cinnamon rolls? When we were kids, my mom made those every Sunday. Then she went on a health kick and decided to switch Sunday breakfasts to oatmeal. It was like switching Christmas morning to a dentist visit."

  Coco's laugh was the kind that could be set to music. It had a rich, lyrical quality that would be impossible to copy. "I suppose there is something to say for eating healthy, but it does take away some of the joy in life." She expertly rolled the dough into a smooth tube. "I'll leave some behind for you two tonight. They are Holt's favorite. I thought he deserved a little treat."

  "Absolutely. He's a great guy. I've never met anyone else like him." With the exception of the lifelike drawing on my work computer, I added silently. "Are you leaving again?"

  "Yes, I'm taking some of these rolls to a friend's house. She lives an hour away, so I usually stay the night. That way we can catch up on things and talk about the good ole' days."

  I laughed at the idea of a woman who was no more than two or three decades old having tales to tell about the good ole' days. "What kind of stories would that be? Fighting over the jungle gym at recess?"

  Her brilliant green eyes sparkled beneath furrowed brows as if she hadn't understood my humor. Then she smiled and picked up the first tray of rolls. I scooted around the big work island to open the oven door. She slid the pan in and gave her hands a brisk rub across her apron. "Naturally, I've got dinner prepared for you and Holt. Do you like chicken pot pie?"

  "Oh yes, but I've only had the frozen kind. I imagine yours is way better."

  "If I do say so myself, it's divine. I'll put the timer on so that the pies will be ready at seven. Does that work for you? I know you had soup late in the day."

  "Yes," I patted my stomach. "I'm still full from the delicious soup, but I'm sure I can work up an appetite for chicken pot pie at seven." I glanced through the kitchen window. It afforded a view of the backyard and gardens, all covered in a crystal white cloth after today's snowfall. "Do you think Holt will be back by then?"

  "Well, it is Saturday night. He likes to go out to play pool and hang out with friends when he has the weekend off. But, on the other hand, he's got plenty here to bring him home early." Another wink. "If you're interested, there's a well-stocked library on the other side of the entryway. I suggest the large green velvet chair. It's extra comfy and has a great view of the lush fields running along the road. Of course, there's no green anymore, but it's still a nice view."

  "That actually sounds wonderful."

  "Great. I'll bring you some of my homemade butter caramel tea."

  "Wow, I will not say no to butter caramel tea no matter how full I am. Thank you."

  Chapter 16

  I turned the corner into the library. My gaze circled the entire room, taking in the polished cherry wood floor to ceiling shelves, the oil paintings framed with antique gold frames and the ornate, ivory-colored ceiling tiles. Even the furniture looked like perfectly preserved pieces from the past. It seemed my hostess took accurate and authentic restoration to a whole new level. There was even a large painting of Coco, masterfully done. She was dressed in a Victorian style dress complete with high collar and black velvet choker. Even her hair was done up with a mass of loose curls. I stepped closer to the painting. The style, the furnishings, even the pink blush and rouge on her lips made it seem as if she sat for some early nineteenth century portrait artist, which was, of course, impossible. No details had been missed. There was even a crackled look t
o the thickly painted colors.

  I walked along the shelves. Most of the books were old classics like Wuthering Heights and Moby Dick. Astonishingly, they all looked like first editions, bound with leather and titles embossed in gold. I wondered if Coco collected the rare books or if she'd inherited them from a relative.

  I ran my fingers along books and stopped at a title that I hadn't seen before. "The Matchmaker's Handbook." I pulled the book from the shelf. It, too, was bound in leather, but the letters were embossed in pink. Unlike the rest of the collection, this book was worn and faded as if it had been read many times. The top edges of the cover were frayed, and a thin purple ribbon was pulled down the middle holding a spot like a bookmark.

  I carried the book to the green velvet chair, which was indeed comfy. During the short walk to the chair, I could have sworn I breathed in a sweet fragrance like brown sugar or possibly molasses. It made perfect sense if it was a book that Coco had read often. She always had some delicious scent circling about her. But then with all the amazing, award winning books in the library, why would she spend so much time browsing one that had obviously been written as a tongue and cheek how-to book?

  I opened the pages and soon discovered the book had been written in some foreign language. Which language, I had no clue. It wasn't anything I'd ever seen before and some of the characters were not the usual alphabet letters. I continued on, hoping to find something, a note or pictures, to help me understand the book's contents but I found nothing. It was like looking at manual written for another time and place.

  I brought the book closer to my nose. Mixed in with the sweet smells was the pungent odor of ink. It had been handwritten. Maybe it was some type of code or maybe it truly was meant to be just gibberish, a joke book.

  I was about to close the book when I remembered the ribbon. I pushed my finger between the two pages that were separated by the bookmark. A picture fell out and landed in my lap. Before I'd even picked it up to look at it, I could tell by the paper and worn corners that it was a very old picture. I turned it over. My guess was verified by the faded brown and white picture on the front. It was three people, a couple dressed in the hats and clothing of the nineteenth century and another woman standing next to them in front of a house.