The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap

by Kauffman, Donna; Angell, Kate; Kincaid, Kimberly

  “Several friends have dropped off holiday goodies,” she said. “We have pecan squares, red velvet brownies, eggnog pound cake, or vanilla malted ice cream cake.”

  “What’s your favorite?” he asked.

  “My good friend Lily Callahan is a self-taught cake and pastry caterer. She makes the best ice cream cake. Each slice is orgas—” She blushed, and changed her description. “To die for.”

  Orgasmic cake, Lander read between the lines. Definitely worth a try. “Cake it is,” he said, agreeing with her choice. “Can I cut it for you?”

  She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m getting around better now.”

  He watched as she picked up the paper plates and hobbled to the kitchen. The lady lied—she wasn’t moving well. The corners of her mouth pinched as she walked on the side of her right foot, taking all the pressure off her big toe. He’d eat dessert, then take a look at her injury. She might need a bandage or a splint.

  She returned in a matter of seconds and served him a plate with a large slice of cake. Triple-layer angel food cake with stripes of vanilla ice cream and topped with a whipped white frosting. “Hot chocolate with a peppermint stick to drink?” she proposed.

  The memory of the erotic gingerbread men had him shaking his head. He might never eat peppermint again.

  “More milk, then?” she asked. “We should finish off the carton.”

  He nodded. That sounded far better.

  He rubbed his forehead and realized his headache was almost gone. His rib cage and abdomen remained sore. It hurt to take a deep breath. Hopefully he would recover in a day or two.

  Outside, the blizzard worsened. He listened to the creaks of the cabin and the howl of the wind. The logs in the fireplace popped and sparked and the scent of pine was strong. The camp lanterns kept a steady glow.

  He had a question for Abby when she returned with his dessert. “Why don’t you have a generator?” he asked her.

  She lowered herself to her chair, then said, “My grandma Ada was afraid of them. She thought we’d get asphyxiated.”

  He glanced down the hallway, wondering if Ada slept through the storm. “Where is your grandmother now?”

  “She passed away in October.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  He wasn’t a stranger to loss. “I’m sorry, Abby.”

  “Me, too.” Her shoulders slumped.

  Her pain was recent. He knew if she raised her head, he’d see wetness on her cheeks. He felt bad for her.

  “Gram was eighty-eight,” she said. “She had arthritis and needed a walker to get around. She loved poetry, crossword puzzles, board games, and photography. She remained as sharp as a tack up until her final night.”

  “This is your first Christmas without her then.”

  “I’m not feeling very merry,” she admitted on a sigh. “Especially since it’s December twelfth.”

  He couldn’t let that go by without an explanation. “Why is that?”

  “We always had our tree up by today, all decorated and sparkling. It was a family tradition since it was also Gram’s birthday.”

  The air lay heavy between them. Lander didn’t have a clue what to say next. He needn’t have worried. Abby opened up to him, grateful for the opportunity to talk to someone.

  “Our annual cut tree was delivered three days ago. I forgot to cancel the order this year,” she said. “Now the six-foot evergreen is in the garage, ready to be placed in its stand. I just don’t have the heart or energy to drag out the decorations and ornaments.”

  “Too many memories?” he guessed.

  “It was my grandma and me for as long as I can remember, and now it’s just me.” Her voice sounded sad. “Ada raised me. My parents were from Pine Mountain, but moved to Raleigh when I was in the sixth grade. Their new jobs included a lot of traveling. My mother didn’t want to uproot me every few months, so my grandmother opened her door and I moved in. Her husband had died the previous year. She welcomed my company. We were both family and friends.”

  “My dad and I were close, too,” he reflected, surprised he’d spoken his thoughts out loud. There was an intimacy to the cabin; somehow sharing their losses gave them a bond. “He died of a heart attack a year ago . . . tomorrow.”

  “Were you close?” she asked.

  “We had a solid father-son relationship. He worked long hours, but always found time for his family.”

  His father’s death right before Christmas had hit his family hard. Especially his mother. That had disturbed him greatly. She’d made it through the funeral, and then withdrawn from the world. She’d spent her days in the master-bedroom suite, staring out the window or, on occasion, pacing the carpet. The light in his mother’s eyes had vanished with her husband’s passing.

  It had taken Lander and his sister, Angela, six months to get his mom to venture outside their home so she could return to the living. Not until a week ago had she fully appeared her old self. He and Angela had purposely planned numerous projects and festivities for these two weeks prior to Christmas. They wanted to keep their mother busy and to continue with their time-honored traditions. His father would’ve wanted it that way.

  It was unfortunate that Lander wasn’t around to participate in the merriment. He was snowbound. He wasn’t certain his sister could motivate their mom to grab on to the Christmas spirit and move forward with their plans. Angela wasn’t strong enough to put her foot down when their mother wanted to slip back to her bedroom and let the holidays pass her by. He needed to be home with them, but there was no way off the mountain right now.

  “Your slice of ice cream cake is melting,” Abby said, breaking into his thoughts.

  He looked down on his lap. His plate had tipped and a stream of vanilla ice cream was sliding toward the edge. Toward his groin. He scooped a bite with his plastic spoon. The dessert tasted like Christmas on his tongue. Holiday decadence, he mused. The angel food cake was moist; the heavy-cream frosting reminded him of a soda-fountain vanilla malt.

  “Delicious,” he said after he’d taken his last bite.

  “There’s nothing like a rich dessert to finish a meal.”

  She looked satisfied, Lander thought. The corners of her eyes crinkled, as if she were smiling to herself. Her lips curved slightly. Shadows fell across the arches of her cheek bones, deepening the hollows in her cheeks. She slouched on her chair, her legs stretched before her.

  Here was a woman comfortable in her own skin, he thought. She wasn’t trying to impress him with small talk and flirty smiles. She’d felt a great loss with her grandmother’s passing. Should the blizzard continue, perhaps he could draw her into the holiday spirit. He’d think of something. Setting up the Christmas tree might help.

  “It’s early yet, but it’s so dark outside, it seems much later,” Abby said. “Let me clean up, and, if you’re up to the challenge, we can play cards or a board game.”

  He had his standing monthly poker night with his banking colleagues, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d played a board game. He glanced at his watch. It was only seven p.m. “Works for me,” he agreed.

  She stood, and he rose, too. She motioned him to sit back down. “I’ve got it under control,” she insisted.

  “The two of us will get the job done quicker.”

  She nodded, relenting. She tossed their paper plates and cups into the trash can, while he crossed to the fireplace and collected the cast-iron pans. The ironware had cooled on a brick shelf by the hearth. He carried them to the sink. There, Abby cleaned them with salt and water, scrubbing each with a steel brush. She carefully dried the cookware, then rubbed in a bit of cooking oil to keep them seasoned.

  “Appreciate your help,” she thanked him. “It’s game time. Follow me.” She crooked her finger. “I have a closet filled with board games.”

  She attempted to step around him, only to trip over her own feet. A groan escaped her lips as she gritted her teeth. Lander grimaced. There was no doubt that her toe still hurt her.
r />   “Take my arm,” he offered.

  She backed up against the counter, released a breath. “Give me a second,” she said. “I can make it to the closet.” Her words were brave, but her expression was pained.

  “There’ll be no games until I take a look at your foot,” he said firmly.

  She looked up at him. “You’re pretty bossy for a man stranded in my cabin.”

  He stared down at her. “Not bossy, but concerned.”

  Taking her by the hand, he led her back to her chair. She sighed, but went willingly. Her hand was small and soft within his grasp. Her fingernails were cut short and glossed with a clear polish.

  She sat down, frowned, as he knelt before her. He placed her foot on his thigh and gently removed her right shearling slipper. Her foot was narrow and her big toe was largely swollen. Adding to her discomfort, her toenail had turned black. It looked extremely painful.

  He looked up, met her gaze. “Your toe looks worse than my forehead,” he said. “I’m not a doctor, so I honestly don’t know if it’s broken. But I can make you feel better by taping your big toe to the one next to it for support. You’ll find it easier to walk. Ice would help, too.”

  He moved her foot from his thigh, then rose. “Do you have gauze and adhesive tape?”

  “There’s a first aid kit under the sink in the bathroom,” she told him. “I’m not sure how much tape is left on the roll. We can always use masking tape if necessary.”

  He lifted a lantern off the coffee table and headed down the hallway. Abby was organized; he quickly found what he needed. Returning, he hunkered down before her once again. Cupping her heel, he positioned her foot on his knee this time.

  He tentatively touched her toe and she inhaled sharply. She clutched the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white. The last thing he wanted was to cause her further pain. He looked over at the fireplace. “Do you want a piece of wood to bite down on while I bandage your toe?”

  She gave him a small smile and said, “I could use an entire log if you can drag it over here.” She drew a deep breath. “I had no idea an injured toe could hurt so much.”

  “You just told me it didn’t hurt.”

  “I lied.”

  He shook his head, but couldn’t stay mad at her. He’d guessed as much. He gently squeezed her ankle to gauge how much pressure she could stand. Not much, by the way she bit down on her bottom lip. “I’ll be careful,” he promised.

  She didn’t wince or say another word as he placed a gauze pad around and between her two toes. He then ripped off strips of adhesive tape and wrapped them together. Afterward, he took the ice pack she’d given him earlier and refilled it with cubes from the freezer. He then pulled the coffee table flush against her chair.

  “Elevate your foot,” he said as he adjusted the ice bag over her toes. She pulled back slightly from the weight of the bag until she found a comfortable position. “Try and relax,” he said. “Once your toe’s numb, it won’t hurt quite so much.”

  He remained by her side, waiting for the ice to take effect. Minutes passed before she finally said, “There’s little feeling now.” She eyed him thoughtfully. “Thanks, Lander. I’m used to doing the doctoring, not having someone take care of me.”

  “What caused your injury?” he asked, returning to the sofa.

  She dipped her head, reluctant to tell him.

  “Abby?” he nudged her further. “This has to be a recent accident.”

  She folded her hands in her lap and admitted, “It happened today actually.”

  “When today?” he pressed. “Were you hurt at the community center?”

  She shook her head.

  His stomach slowly sank. “Afterward, then, helping me?”

  “It wasn’t your fault in any way,” she tried to reassure him. “The ravine was snowy and slippery and I lost my balance. I slid down the slope on my bottom, and slammed into your front tire.”

  She winced again, just thinking about it.

  He exhaled sharply. “You could’ve broken your ankle, your leg.”

  “But I didn’t, Lander, it’s just a toe.”

  A toe was a toe. She was hurt and he felt awful. “I owe you, Abby.”

  She looked uneasy. “I did what anyone would do in a similar situation.”

  “This situation involved me,” he said. “Don’t downplay the risk you took. You could’ve been killed if you’d slipped down the mountain slope. It was damn steep. I’ll always be grateful.”

  She tilted her head; a hint of a grin tipped the corners of her lips. “So grateful you’d let me win at Scrabble?” she asked.

  “I’ll give you a fifty-point advantage,” he said, getting into the spirit of the game. “After that, choose your words wisely.”

  Chapter 2

  Abby beat Lander at Scrabble. Cleaned his clock, actually, winning by one hundred and fifteen points. Their game ended when she added her final letters for “bread” to his well-placed “ginger.” He stared at the word “gingerbread” for several seconds. A scowl crossed his brow.

  What was he thinking? she wondered. Was he remembering her erotic cookies?

  Scratching his chin, he said, “Double word and triple letter scores.” He exhaled loudly. “Gingerbread isn’t my favorite word at the moment, but nice going, Abby.”

  She understood his aversion. “I left the box of cookies in your car.” She figured he should know.

  His lip curled. “I hope the gingerbread men freeze their peppermint sticks off.”

  “Could happen,” she said. “The temperature overnight will drop below zero.”

  She looked away and clasped her hands together. She was in a fine predicament. She had no idea how Lander would react when he learned that she was the erotic gingerbread maker. Would he shrug and laugh it off? It seemed doubtful. His angry silence would hurt her more. Her baking ego was already flatter than a burned cookie. Defeated, she sighed, capturing a yawn behind her hand.

  “Are you tired?” he asked, concerned.

  She collected the tiles and stored them in the cloth bag, then folded the game board. “It’s been a long day, wouldn’t you say?” A second yawn escaped from her lips.

  “Don’t let me keep you up.”

  Abby leaned forward in her chair, lifted two lanterns off the coffee table, then stood. Not easy. She’d grown stiff and sore from sitting too long. She ached all over. She’d exercised muscles today she hadn’t used in a very long time. Fortunately, her toe remained numb from the ice bag.

  “I’ll show you to the guest room before I call it a night,” she offered.

  “Don’t go to any trouble,” he was quick to say. He stretched out on the sofa, his feet hanging over the end. “I can sleep on the couch.”

  “You’re too tall,” she insisted. “You’d wake up with a crick in your neck. I have far better accommodations. The loft will give you more privacy.”

  She nodded toward the fireplace. “Select two small logs, a sheet of newspaper, and a couple of matchsticks. The upstairs fireplace will keep you warm.”

  She watched as he collected the necessary items, his profile catching the light just right. Noble and fine, she thought. Despite her ill-fitting sweats, he carried authority and dignity on his broad shoulders. He seemed a man who would take charge, one people would listen to.

  Abby liked strong men. She became lost looking at him, at his long shadow, splashed on the wall larger than life. Just like the man. He was a daydream that would feed her soul long after he’d gone.

  He moved carefully and cautiously, as if his body wasn’t functioning at full capacity. She imagined the worst of the aches and pains from the accident would sneak up on both of them tomorrow.

  Crossing to the kitchen, she located a gallon jug of water. Lander faced a long night ahead, and might enjoy a midnight snack. She cracked the refrigerator door, checking on the contents. The inside remained cold. She chose a pecan square and a slice of eggnog pound cake, then sealed them in a zip-lock bag. “Some g
oodies in case you get hungry,” she told him.

  “You don’t mind me eating in bed?” he asked as he approached her, his arms laden with the materials to build a fire.

  She inhaled the raw scent of pine and man. Earthy and arousing. Her heart quickened and her belly warmed. She stared at him. “You don’t look like a man who’d leave crumbs on the sheets.”

  “You’re right.” He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I prefer not to roll over and hear the crunch of crackers under my back.”

  Abby had a fantasy moment, one where he was in bed, his hair mussed, naked, all warm and sexually hungry. She surprised herself by being so daring with her thoughts over a man she’d just met. He was so handsome; he could melt her resistance like the hot flame of a candle licking an icicle. Her image of him was so potent and lustful that heat tipped her nipples and snuck between her thighs. She was suddenly burning up.

  Embarrassment walked her down the hall.

  She felt Lander’s eyes on the back of her head the entire way. He made her feel nervous and excited. Expectant. For no reason other than he was a man and she was a woman and they were snowbound together.

  The loft was built above the den, and was her favorite room in the cabin. A second triangular window showcased snowflakes being whipped by the wind. The icy coldness from the glass seeped inside. They climbed twelve wide steps to the second floor. The stairs proved difficult, but she was determined not to show her discomfort. She put as little weight as possible on her sore toe.

  Lander stopped on the top step and looked around. “Very nice, Abby.”

  She agreed. Gazing about the room, she allowed the memories of youthful slumber parties with her good friends Clara and Lily to touch her heart. Here had been their hideaway. They’d giggled, played games, discussed boys, and eaten her grandmother’s freshly baked gingerbread men.

  No one baked gingerbread like Gram. The scent was disarming, the taste was soothing. Spicy, but sweet. Abby could be having the worst day of her life, and all it took was one bite of gingerbread to turn her day around.