The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap

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

After Ada had passed away, Abby decided to take the recipe to a whole new level, one with erotic appeal. There’d been no man in her life, so, on a whim, she’d created an anatomically correct G-man. She knew her grandma would’ve shaken her head, and yet hidden her smile. Gram had always encouraged Abby in whatever she’d chosen to do, even if her entrepreneurial debut included peppermint-stick penises.

  Abby had shown the cookies to her two best friends, who’d laughed out loud and loved them. An Internet business had been born in November. To her surprise and delight, the Gingerbread Man website had taken off slowly, but steadily. Which presented a new problem. Pine Mountain was moderately conservative, so she kept her company private. Ordering was discreet and confidential. Only Lily and Clara were aware that Abby was behind the erotic creations.

  She had filled all but one order to date. That particular request was for a holiday bachelorette party in Las Vegas. Thirty-six erect gingerbread men needed to be baked, decorated, boxed, and mailed before the upcoming weekend.

  Abby tapped her taped toe on the hardwood floor, thinking. A stab of pain added to her woes, but she ignored it. She had bigger problems than sticking penises on cookies. She hoped the blizzard wouldn’t hover too long. She didn’t want to bake with Lander at the cabin. She preferred to keep him in the dark about her carnal G-men for a while yet.

  Still favoring her big toe, she carried the gallon of water and lantern across the room, placing them on a golden oak nightstand. She watched as Lander moved between the light and shadows. He showed interest in the furniture. His gaze was appreciative.

  “I like the sleigh bed,” he said, running his hand over the curving headboard.

  “It’s been in the family for a hundred years,” Abby said proudly. The ornate Victorian design spoke of elegant times gone by. And the couples who’d slept in the bed.

  She watched as he crossed to the sturdy knotty pine rocking chair with the red tufted corduroy cushions. He set it in motion. The chair moaned. One corner of his mouth tipped in a half smile. “I guessed it would creak.”

  He next took interest in the framed seasonal photographs on the wall. “Great gallery,” he said.

  “My grandmother took those photos,” Abby shared with him. “Winter can be rough on mountain animals. Gram photographed a deer standing in a snowdrift in the backyard, eating acorns from an outdoor feeder. Ada fed the doe all year long. Our resident red fox liked fruit.”

  Lander took in the next photograph. The melting snow announced the arrival of spring. Abby’s favorite season. The landscape held the promise of new life, green and vibrant. Wildflowers covered the mountainside. A cardinal perched on a tree branch and stared into the camera.

  The beauty of a summer sunrise was captured in the third shot. Abby was a morning person. She often hiked at dawn. The air was still and clear and the view was spectacular. She valued time spent alone with her thoughts.

  The final photograph brought to mind autumn’s crispness and changing leaves, when coats and boots emerged from the closet. The sound of dry leaves crunching underfoot always made Abby smile. The picture on the wall was a close-up of the cabin’s front porch. Inviting porches were a Pine Mountain cabin staple, welcoming all who passed by. A dozen fat pumpkins huddled on the wooden planks and a straw scarecrow decorated the door. Two Adirondack chairs counted down the days to the first snow. They would then be stored in the garage.

  Lander stepped toward the three-shelf bookcase. He thumbed through the titles. “Someone likes mysteries,” he noted with approval.

  “My grandmother was a fan of Agatha Christie, M. C. Beaton, Ellery Queen, and Erle Stanley Gardner,” said Abby. “She’d often read the same book over and over again, even though she knew the ending.”

  He studied the magazines on the bottom shelf. “These National Geographics, Reader’s Digest, and Life magazines date back to the 1950s.”

  “Collectibles, and Gram’s favorite issues,” she said, feeling nostalgic. “I haven’t the heart to throw them away.”

  “I wouldn’t either,” he said.

  He looked at her then, his expression thoughtful. “What was once important to someone in your family should be important to you, too.”

  “Speaking from experience?” she asked.

  He nodded. “My father had an antique revolving world globe on a floor stand in his office. The continents were hand cut and raised with parchment-colored oceans. There was a small crack in the globe over Australia. I used to spin it as a kid, over and over again, driving my father crazy. My dad was pretty smart. He’d let me turn the sphere, but only if I stopped it with my finger. I then had to research the city and continent. Needless to say, I scored high in geography in school after that.”

  He looked off into the distance, as if spinning the world again in his mind. Finally, he said, “I kept the globe after he passed away. It’s a good memory for me.”

  They stood in silence for several minutes, staring at one another. Abby felt an inexplicable draw toward this man. The feeling stretched beyond his good looks and solid build and had everything to do with his compassion for family. He cared. He had no problem talking about his feelings. She liked that about him. It actually made him more masculine. He had a strong sense of self.

  Her heart began to warm for the first time since her grandmother’s passing. She’d hidden her sadness from her friends. She’d attended town functions with forced smiles and appropriate small talk. Everyone had his own holiday agenda. No one realized her pain. She had felt very much alone, even in a crowd of people. Her loneliness now eased.

  Abby knew herself well. She was a logical woman. Practical in a patched quilt kind of way. Pieces of her life stitched together in a wayward pattern. She realized that Lander was only passing through Pine Mountain. His stay with her would be short, but somehow had a purpose. He’d shown up at a time when she needed more than her own company.

  A soft, wanting sigh escaped her lips. She liked his being there. Although a part of her hated the fact her erotic gingerbread men were the reason for his accident in the first place.

  The wild whirling of the wind echoed down the chimney of the stone fireplace, making her shiver. The temperature in the loft was cool, but not uncomfortably cold. A fire would drive away the midnight chill.

  “Can you start a fire?” she asked him.

  He nodded easily. “Not a problem.”

  She kept her eye on him as he eased the iron grate aside, crouched down, and laid out the logs. Then set the fire to burning. The man had confidence and skills. Abby had the distinct feeling he’d built many fires before tonight. She wondered about his home and if he had his own fireplace. Did he have a woman to share its mesmerizing warmth?

  She watched as he splayed his hands toward the low flames, flexing his fingers and wrists before pushing to his feet. He reset the grate, then turned and faced her. His smile was slow and self-assured. And very sexy.

  Abby stared at his mouth overly long. “Nice fire,” she finally managed.

  “I’ll sleep well tonight.” He stretched his arms over his head, gave a low groan. She imagined his muscles were tight and bruised.

  “Sheets and blankets are in the hope chest,” she said, rounding the foot of the bed. She lifted the lid and released the rich scent of cedar. It filled the loft with a holiday feel. All the room needed was a string of Christmas lights and steaming mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows to make it the perfect Santa retreat. With that in mind, she chose a black pine-embroidered bedding set, two wool blankets, and a pillow. She moved to one side of the queen-sized bed and placed the bedding on a padded bench against the wall.

  “Let me help you,” Lander offered, standing opposite her across the bed.

  She smiled to herself. He could make both a fire and a bed. Lander was capable and competent. There was a certainty to his presence she’d never felt with another man. She felt comfortable with him.

  Intimacy lay on the mattress between them as they spread the sheets and tucked in the
corners. Abby took her time smoothing the blanket. She wanted it to be perfect. She slipped on the pillowcase, centered the pillow against the headboard. The bed looked inviting.

  Too inviting. She was so bone tired; she nearly slid down on the blanket and closed her eyes. Instead, she forced herself back to being the good hostess, even if it killed her. And her big toe. Which was now starting to throb from all her standing.

  “There’s a half-bath,” she said, pointing to the door in the far corner. “A guest toothbrush and paste should be in the cupboard. The gallon of water—”

  “Used for the brush and flush,” he finished for her.

  He understood, and that pleased her. What other surprises about him would she discover before the blizzard passed?

  There was nothing left for her to do or to say, so she picked up her lantern and walked toward the stairs. She winced, but it wasn’t from her hurt toe. She’d taken two steps, glanced down into the den where she happened to spot a straw broom. A silver string of holly berries decorated the wooden handle and the lower shaft was scented with cinnamon oil. The delightful Christmasy sight and smell brought heaviness to her heart. She’d purchased the holiday broom for her grandmother a few days before she’d passed away. Ada had been so excited over Abby’s gift that she’d “hugged the stuffing right out of her,” as Gram used to say.

  It took Abby a moment to catch her breath. Her emotions were unpredictable. She couldn’t control how she felt. Her sadness came and went, and, at times, crushed her completely. Now was such a moment. She gripped the handrail to steady herself.

  Inhaling slowly, she spoke around the lump in her throat. “Holler if you need anything,” she said to Lander. “I sleep light. I always heard my grandma whenever she called.”

  “Abby?” She hadn’t heard him come up behind her. His voice was low, deep, and sincere.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezed lightly. “I’m certain you took good care of Ada,” he said. “It must have been a great comfort for her to know you were close by.”

  She leaned back, and their bodies brushed. She felt his strength and compassion. She didn’t dare turn around. Tears now filled her eyes, and the loft blurred around her. She swallowed, sniffed, and felt vulnerable for breaking down in front of him.

  “It’s doubtful I’ll call you in the middle of the night,” he continued, “but I appreciate your offer.”

  She could do no more than nod, afraid if she tried to speak that her voice would crack. While she could dry her tears, her heart still cried.

  Lander released her, saying, “ ’Night, Abby.”

  She slowly took the stairs.

  One step at a time.

  Her heart and her big toe aching all the way.

  “Abby!” A man’s deep voice jarred her awake.

  It was Lander, she realized, sitting up on the sofa with a start. She blinked, focusing. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes, choosing the living room, lulled by the warmth of the fire.

  “Abby!” he called a second time.

  Panic hit her, a feeling she hadn’t expected. For whatever reason, he needed her. She hadn’t felt that since her grandmother’s passing. Most likely he’d tripped in the dark. Or perhaps he’d eaten his midnight snacks and wanted seconds. She’d find out soon enough.

  With a hurried movement, she tossed back the unfinished quilt that covered her. The square-patterned throw was her grandmother’s last project. Yellows and reds, greens and golds. Edged with earthy brown. Like nature’s garden, Gram often said. Ada had passed away before trimming the excess batting and binding the corners. Still, it was Abby’s favorite.

  She hadn’t iced her toe for several hours; the dull ache had her hobbling down the hallway toward the loft. She did a one-legged hop up the stairs. Pushing back her hair with her hand, she stared at the bare-chested man propped against the headboard.

  He’d turned on his lantern. He had bed-head, but his eyes were bright. She was surprised to see him without her sweatshirt, but he looked good in his skin. The blanket was tucked in around his waist, exposing wide shoulders, sinewy biceps and a strong chest. A hint of his navel.

  Hot, sexy, and masculine came to mind. She was suddenly wide-awake and openly staring at him. Her heart beat faster. He was all male.

  “What is it, Lander?” she asked, her voice breathy. She had the sudden urge to touch him. She fisted her hands instead.

  “Did you lose a cat?” he asked. An honest question but there was an undertone to his words, amused yet perturbed.

  “Ah, Tennyson.” She couldn’t help but smile. “He’s never lost, but he seldom lets me find him.”

  “He found me,” Lander said, looking down the wool blanket toward his toes. “He crawled into bed and used my calf as a scratching post.”

  “I’m sorry he bothered you.” She set her lantern on the bookcase and crossed to his bed. “I’ll take him back downstairs with me.”

  Lifting the bottom corner on the blanket, she reached for the male calico. Tenn batted at her hand, not wanting to be removed from the man or his bed. She finally captured the cat around his middle and, in doing so, her knuckles brushed Lander’s leg. His very bare leg.

  Apparently he’d taken off his sweatpants, too. His body heat was warmer than the fireplace. Her whole hand tingled.

  She quickly released the blanket as she drew Tennyson close to her chest. The cat curled comfortably in her arms. His purr ruffled the silence.

  Lander looked at the cat closely. “Tennyson appears to have lived eight lives,” he said, the concern in his voice for her pet touching that soft spot in her heart she rarely showed anyone.

  Abby stroked the cat. True, Tenn was scruffy. Although he ate well, he’d lost weight as he’d grown older. “My boy showed up at the cabin eighteen years ago during a blizzard much like the one tonight,” she told Lander. “Gram was reading poetry and heard an animal crying outside the back door. She got up and found the kitten nearly buried beneath a mound of snow; shivering and half-frozen. We never discovered how he got there. He was smaller than my palm.

  “We wrapped him in a blanket and fed him warm milk from a doll’s bottle. We weren’t sure he was going to make it, but he did. Unfortunately, he lost half an ear and the end of his tail. His fur has always been spiky.” She hugged the calico closer, letting Tenn know how important he was to her, and not just because male calicos were so rare. “I think that gives him character. We named him Alfred, Lord Tennyson, after Gram’s favorite poet.”

  The cat fussed in her arms, wanting to get down. Abby set him on the floor. “He should follow me downstairs,” she said, turning.

  Tenn had a mind of his own. He didn’t move.

  What was he up to?

  She bent to scoop him up again, but he got away from her. An awkward leap and his old bones landed back on Lander’s bed. The cat padded straight toward the headboard where he lay down beside their houseguest’s pillow. Seemed he had picked his place to sleep on this cold night and no one was going to cajole him out of it.

  Abby shook her head, frowned. Tennyson gave her little alternative. She’d have to kneel on the bed to reach him. Perhaps even climb across a naked Lander. Heaven help her if she accidentally grabbed his peppermint stick. While the idea was appealing, her body ached and her toe hurt too much to play kitty-cat games. Tenn could be stubborn.

  “Tennyson,” she said sternly. “Come here.”

  The calico yawned in her face and closed his eyes. There was nothing worse than being ignored by a cat.

  Lander scratched Tenn’s ears. “He can stay, Abby. I’m more a dog kind of guy, but I don’t mind cats. My sister has two.”

  She breathed easier. “You’re certain?”

  “I’m fine with his company now that I know who he is,” Lander reassured her.

  Tennyson gave her the cat’s-eye of satisfaction. As if he understood every word. He’d won this round. “Tenn snores,” she warned, retrieving her lantern and taking her leave.

 
“So do I on occasion,” Lander said, “especially when I’m tired, as I am tonight.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the top stair. She wished she had a camera. The calico had snuggled even closer to Lander. The man slept on his back, and the cat now curled in the crook of his arm.

  Lucky cat, Abby thought, as she followed the glow of light back to the living room. She wouldn’t have minded snuggling with the two of them. Not that it would ever happen, but the thought of it provided an image of everything important to her. Her love of animals—and her desire for a man of her own.

  She once again returned to the sofa and stretched out, covering up with the quilt. Frost curtained the front window in wide swags. Snowdrifts climbed the side of the cabin. The heat of the fire chased the chill from the air.

  All was well in her world atop Pine Mountain.

  She fell asleep, feeling safe and secure in a blizzard that might not blow over for several days.

  Thud, thud, thump, crunch.

  Damn, Lander hated the fact he was making so much noise at such an early hour. He had slept soundly, but rose religiously at six a.m. A habit he intended to put to good use on this cold, frosty morning. Tennyson had no such compulsion. The cat took over his spot under the covers the second he left the bed.

  Abby hadn’t been kidding about Tenn’s snoring. The calico snored so deeply, so loudly, his entire body rumbled. He’d wakened Lander twice. The cat had kneaded his arm while sleeping, his claws extended. Lander had pinpricks on his left elbow. A small price to pay after the previous exhausting day, he decided. He was damn glad to be alive.

  The sleigh bed was comfortable. The blankets and heat from the fire had kept him warm. Had he not been a man on a mission, he might have slept an extra hour. Simply because there was nowhere to go and little to accomplish until the snowstorm passed. But he’d been hit with an idea at first light. His plan would cause him some effort. He hoped his body would hold up long enough for him to accomplish it.

  What he was about to do, he did for Abby.

  He’d gotten dressed, washed his face, and brushed his teeth. There’d been no sign of a razor, so he’d worn his morning stubble. His whiskers helped cover the cut on his lip and several of the bruises on his chin. Rigidly sore from the accident, he walked like an eighty-year-old man. Clutching the handrail, he’d slowly descended the stairs to the den.