Laura came over, slid her arms around his massive shoulders and placed a warm, lingering kiss on his crooked mouth. In response, he lifted her and settled her on his lap. With a sigh, she placed her brow against his and whispered, “I love you, Morgan Trayhern.”
“You love me because you can wheedle anything you want out of me, whenever you want it,” he chuckled as he lifted his chin and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. Drowning in her warm gaze, he added, “But I know you love me for other reasons, too.”
“You’re such a teddy bear, darling. My teddy bear—big and gruff. But underneath,” she continued, sliding her hand against his chest, “you’ve got a heart of gold. I know you care what happens to Colt. And I can see you’re worried about him, though there’s nothing you can do about it personally. Maybe my plan won’t work fully, but Abbie’s lonely and so is Colt. Why not bring two lonely people together? Maybe the Five Days of Christmas celebration will help them.”
Catching her sparkling gaze, Morgan placed his hand over his wife’s as she pressed against his white silk shirt and red tie. “Okay, I’ll give him a call. But no promises, all right?”
When the phone rang, Colt Hamlin nearly leaped out of the chair he was sitting in. A bottle of whiskey, one third of the contents gone from his drinking bout the night before, sat next to the red phone. The phone rang again. Irritated, he snatched it up.
“Yeah?”
“Colt? This is Morgan.”
Instantly, Colt sat up. Scowling, he changed his tone. “Sorry, boss. I wasn’t expecting any calls,” he said contritely.
Morgan accepted his apology for the snarling start to their conversation. “Don’t worry about it. Listen, I need your help. I’m plowed under here with work. Laura needs my help in setting up things for our Five Days of Christmas celebration, but I can’t make it, Colt. I was wondering if you felt well enough to take my place. All it means is a lot of running around, pulling things together, working behind the scenes.”
Colt rubbed his bloodshot eyes. He’d barely slept last night. And drinking whiskey probably hadn’t helped. He felt fractured. Raw. “I don’t do parties, Morgan.”
“I understand. I’m not asking that of you, Colt. I am asking for your time, and maybe some driving here and there. Maybe helping some of the women set up decorations at our home. That’s all.”
Rubbing his chin, which had a two-day growth of beard on it, Colt said, “Yeah…okay…I can do that.” After all, he owed Morgan big-time. Under any other circumstances, Colt would eagerly do anything for his boss. Right now, though, he was hurting so much that he wondered if he could keep himself glued together and focused enough to help anyone at all.
“Great. I’m appreciative. Take the car in the garage beneath the condo where you’re staying over to Abbie Clemens’s place. Here’s the address….”
Colt found a pencil and paper and wrote it down. Philipsburg was a small town—less than 2,500 in population—and was like a second home to him when he came off missions. He knew the layout well.
Hanging up, he sighed. The condo, which was decorated in a Western motif, was silent—and lonely. Getting up stiffly, he padded on bare feet across the thick, dark blue carpet to the bathroom. First, he’d better shower and shave. Otherwise, this woman called Abbie would freak out over his rough appearance.
The heavy knock on Abbie’s back door, off the kitchen, made her jump in reaction. It was an aggressive kind of knock, not a friendly one, that was for sure. Slipping off the chair and placing the half-finished pine swag on the table, Abbie hurried to answer it. Would that be Colt Hamlin already? It was nearly 9:00 a.m. Laura had called to say he would be coming by to help. Glancing through the window, which was wreathed in pale pink, Victorian style curtains with a swag of holly with bright red berries across the top, she could see a very tall, large man standing on the porch. Snowflakes twirled lazily from the gray sky behind him.
Abbie’s heart beat a little harder as she opened the door. The man standing before her reminded her of an angry grizzly bear, a species that lived in this part of the Rocky Mountains. He stood about six foot one inch tall, and his shoulders were massively broad. His black hair was cut very short, with one rebellious curl dipping over his furrowed brow. He was built like a boxer, she decided as she quickly perused the unhappy set of his face. Everything about Colt Hamlin was square—his build, the shape of his jaw, his broad forehead. His nose looked like it had been broken many times. Her gaze ranged upward to his eyes. Though they were bloodshot, she could see they were a forest-green color, the pupils dark and huge. Intuitively, Abbie sensed that he was very tired and stressed out. Laura had warned her when she’d called that Colt was like a bear with his foot in a trap, and to take him in stride.
“Hi,” she greeted him a little breathlessly, and stuck out her hand. “You must be Colt Hamlin? I’m Abbie Clemens. Thanks for dropping by to help me with this stuff. I really appreciate it.”
Colt stared down at her proffered hand. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this. Dressed in an apricot mohair sweater and cobalt-blue corduroy slacks, Abbie Clemens stood about five foot five inches in height, her medium-boned frame probably weighing in at about a hundred and thirty pounds. Her face was plain, but was set off by a riot of curly, carrot-red hair tied back from her heavily freckled, pale face by a pink-orange-and-white scarf. What drew him unexpectedly were her large blue eyes, which were soft and warm, and a wide, smiling mouth that sent a sheet of heat all the way through him to his toes. Her engaging smile was genuine. And the sparkle of welcome in her eyes appeared to be, too.
Jerkily, he lifted his hand and enclosed hers. Such a small, delicate hand covered with copper freckles, compared to his own bear paw. Clearing his throat, he growled, “Yeah, I’m Colt. Morgan Trayhern said you needed some help?”
A stream of tingles flew up Abbie’s fingers into her arm as she released Colt’s massive hand. For all of his masculine strength, she had to give him credit: he hadn’t crushed her fingers. When she saw surprise flare in his narrowed eyes, she wondered why. Self-consciously touching her flyaway hair, which always looked uncombed because it was so curly, she stepped aside. Abbie knew she was not beautiful, not even pretty. She had accepted that her oval face, her straight nose with flared nostrils, and her polka-dotted skin slathered with hundreds of freckles she refused to hide with makeup, did not make her look glamorous.
“Come in,” she invited, and gestured to the huge, white oak table where the pine swags lay. “Just take off your coat and have a seat here at the table while I finish off these last two decorations.”
Abbie watched with compassion as he self-consciously jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and stepped hesitantly through the door. The dark brown leather bomber jacket he wore had obviously seen a lot of wear and tear. The white silk scarf beneath, spotted with melted snowflakes, gave him the look of an aviator. As he shrugged out of the jacket and placed it on the back of an oak chair, she smiled a little nervously.
Colt wore a maroon, fisherman’s knit sweater, the wrinkled collar of a white shirt peeking out from beneath it. Everything about him shouted of stress. Laura had warned Abbie that he was suffering from PTSD. She knew what it was because some of the children she taught had suffered from it—especially Jason Trayhern, due to his kidnapping at an earlier age.
Treading gently, Abbie watched as Colt’s gaze skittered around her bright pink kitchen, with its Victorian-style curtains. Going over to the sink, she put water into the copper teakettle. “Tea or coffee? You look like you could use one or the other.” She kept her voice light and teasing. When his gaze whipped to her, she froze momentarily. He had the eyes of a hunter or predator—always shifting, always moving and restless. Abbie knew he worked for Morgan, but not in what capacity.
“Yeah. Hot tea sounds good.” When he saw her jolt, then freeze, he realized he was snarling again. Damn. Clearing his throat, he added, “Thanks.” It sounded lame.
Grabbing the chair
, Colt pulled it out and sat down. The fragrant scent of pine surrounded him. There were at least a dozen thick ropes of woven evergreen branches on the large, rectangular table in front of him. Sniffing again, he said, “What’s that smell? Cinnamon rolls?”
Grinning, Abbie put the teakettle on the gas stove and turned it on. “Sure is. Have you had breakfast?” Colt probably weighed around a hundred and eighty pounds, she judged. And his cheeks were hollow. He wasn’t eating enough.
Shrugging, he muttered, “I’m not hungry.” There was that snarl again, he thought with dismay. Every feeling was visible in her face. That shook him. In his trade, no one showed any expressions or emotions. Colt reminded himself that Abbie was a schoolteacher, not a spy or a mercenary. Her eyes were lustrous and so blue that they reminded him of the deep, breathtaking azure of a wide Montana sky in summertime. As he studied her, he saw her eyes grow tender. It was almost a physical sensation he received as she gave him that gentle, caring look.
“Are you sure? I can whip you up an omelette and some bacon real fast. I don’t have to have these swags over to Laura’s for an hour.”
Rubbing his throat with his long, thick fingers, Colt muttered, “I got a cold comin’ on or some-thin’….”
“Ohh…well, in that case I’ll put a little honey and lemon in your tea to soothe it.” Reaching up on tiptoes, she grabbed a jar of honey from the cupboard and placed it on the counter. Her heart bounded as she turned and looked over at Colt. He was watching her with such intensity that Abbie wondered if the zipper on her slacks was open or something. Maybe he hadn’t been around a woman for a long, long time.
Unused to such raw male scrutiny, she opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of reconstituted lemon juice. In her job at the high school, she didn’t meet many men who were single. Though Philipsburg was a tourist destination during the summer months, it mainly attracted families seeking an outdoor experience in nature. Abbie felt her skin prickle pleasantly. She was enjoying Colt’s frowning inspection, but found it hard to believe he was attracted to her—Miss Plain Jane of Philipsburg, as she wryly referred to herself in moments of acute loneliness.
Taking the recently baked cinnamon rolls out of the oven, where she’d kept them warm, Abbie popped one onto a plate and set it before Colt. “I hear cinnamon rolls are cold-killers.”
Looking up at her, he saw a grin playing across her full lips. The twinkle in her eyes gave away the fact that she was teasing him. Warming to her, Colt picked up the fork and knife she’d placed beside the plate. “Yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
“Better than vitamin C?” He cut into the warm roll, and the scent made his mouth water. The teakettle began to whistle shrilly and Abbie left his side. Colt felt the sunshine leave with her.
“Absolutely. My kids tell me candy and junk food are the best thing for colds and flu,” she said with a laugh as she poured them each a cup of tea. Abbie turned for a moment to look at him. Colt was enjoying the huge cinnamon roll immensely. Good. He looked like he needed something positive in his life, even a small thing. Placing a teabag into each cup of hot water, she brought them over to the table and sat down opposite him. Moving a half-made pine swag to one side, she spooned a bit of sugar into her tea. When she lifted her head, she met his hooded gaze. Her heart pounded momentarily. The pupils of his eyes were large and black as he studied her. Now she knew what a bug felt like under a microscope. Being a biology teacher, she would have new compassion for them in her class.
“Cinnamon roll okay?” she asked lightly, holding his frank stare.
Blinking, Colt realized he was staring like a starving wolf. What was it about this petite woman with the wild, riotous hair? When she smiled at him, he felt that sunny warmth embrace him. She was so honest and unassuming in an emotional sense that it rocked him. “Oh…the roll. Yeah, its good. After where I just came from, food tastes damn—I mean darn—good.” Colt had to remind himself he was back in the real world once more, not undercover, and not with military types where cursing was as much a part of daily life as breathing air.
Abbie’s heart expanded with joy. Colt was trying so hard to be nice. “You’re really tired, aren’t you? Maybe if I made you a fortifying breakfast, you’d get some energy back?”
He shook his head and polished off the rest of the roll. “I just came off a rough mission,” he muttered in apology, “and I’m sleep deprived. I’ll catch up in the next few days and be okay. Thanks, though…” Taking the cup of tea, he dipped the bag up and down a few times and then put it on a saucer. After adding a spoonful of honey and a bit of lemon juice, he found himself thirstily drinking it down. Abbie was right. Within moments, his sore throat disappeared.
She fingered her cup and chose her words carefully. “When my husband was alive, he worked for Morgan as an operative.”
Frowning, Colt lifted his head. He heard carefully concealed pain in Abbie’s soft voice. She was frowning, too, her thin red brows bunched as she stared down at her cup of tea.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t know….” he began. How stupid of him. He looked at her left hand. There was no wedding band on it. “So…you know what we go through….” He found himself giving an inner sigh of relief because Abbie understood.
She lifted her head and nodded slightly. “Yes, I do.”
Shifting the cup in his large hands, Colt murmured, “How long ago?”
“Two years.” She gave him a game smile. “Ted was in the Marine Corps. A Recon. He quit and came to work for Morgan. I’m a schoolteacher, and I loved moving here to the Rocky Mountains.” Her eyes grew bleak. “I always worried about him when he went on a mission. You know how it is, I suppose?”
“My wife divorced me five years ago because of what I did,” Colt told her bluntly. Not that he blamed Christine. He was gone nine months at a time, sometimes longer. No marriage could survive those conditions. The distress in Abbie’s eyes touched him unexpectedly. “I know the person left behind worries a lot. It leaves you feeling pretty helpless,” he added gruffly.
“It does,” she agreed. “But Ted didn’t get killed on a mission, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Abbie grimaced. “He died in a car accident during a blizzard. An eighteen-wheeler spun out of control and hit him head-on about ten miles from here.”
Shaking his head, Colt said, “Damn, I’m sorry.”
Taking in a deep breath, Abbie gave him a sad smile. “Yeah, isn’t it a sick joke? All along, I thought Ted might die on a mission. Instead he gets killed this way. Go figure…Well, that was two years ago. Laura says I need to start living again.”
Abbie gazed fondly around the small, cozy kitchen. “Laura persuades me every year to help her with the Five Days of Christmas celebration, and I love it. It’s helped me a lot over the last couple of years.” Running her fingers in a caressing motion across the swag of pine boughs and red and silver ribbons she was weaving among the branches, Abbie added, “Family means everything to me, and I know it does for Morgan and Laura, too. Have you ever attended this celebration? Or were you always on a mission when it happened?”
“I was always on a mission.” Colt watched, almost mesmerized by Abbie’s continued stroking of the thick green swag. For a crazy moment, he wondered what it would be like if she stroked him the same way. What would it feel like? Good. Damn good. Hungry for a woman’s touch, he found himself lost in a haze of heat and desire for her. She was a complete stranger to him, yet somehow she’d gotten under his skin without trying. Stunned, Colt admitted he was tired and stressed out. He also told himself Abbie was guileless and open, unlike many of the women he’d met. So how could she become so much a part of him in such a short space of time? It had to be the PTSD, he warned himself. He was raw and hurting, and her natural warmth and vulnerability had opened up his heavily armored heart because right now he needed to be held, to be cared for and nurtured.
Abbie’s lips parted as she saw the heated look in his hooded eyes. Her entire body responded violently to Colt’s s
moldering glance. She was old enough to know what that look meant. Yet she was shocked by it. In the last two years of grieving for her husband, Abbie had never given one thought to the possibility that another man might be interested in her. After all, she was no raving beauty.
“W-well…” Abbie stammered, breathless with the discovery of his attraction, “they throw a huge five-day party for all the Perseus employees who work here. Any mercs coming in off missions and who are staying at the condos outside of town to rest and recoup are invited, too. This year we have fifty people coming.” She gulped and added, “It’s fun because the whole family is invited. The children have a great time. Laura plans everything for the kids, and we adults magically turn into children ourselves during the process.”
She smiled a little as she watched Colt’s perennial scowl begin to ease and disappear. Did she have that much of an affect on him? Before, he’d been so dark and snarly. Maybe he was more cheerful because he had some food in his stomach now, or maybe the hot tea had soothed his sore throat. Or maybe it was she who had changed his demeanor.
Her conscience prickled her, reminding her smartly that she was only twenty-eight years old and in her prime as a young woman. Laughing to herself, Abbie realized suddenly that she had changed since he’d arrived, too. She’d been so mired in her grief for so long that hadn’t realized how down she had been until just now.
For whatever reason, Colt was making her forget the past for a moment as he sat in her tiny kitchen, which was warmed with a wood-burning stove. Her rapid pulse suggested something was happening between them, that on some level at least he was drawn to her. Her of all people! She was not beautiful. She did not have a stick-straight model’s body, but was all curves. Stymied as to why he was interested in her, Abbie gazed at him in puzzlement. As she sat there, however, it felt very good to be with such a ruggedly handsome man—a man she sensed was drawn to her, too.
Romancing the Holidays Bundle 2009 Page 18
