He gently brushed the snowflakes from her hair and off her shoulders. Then ran his thumb over her cheekbones and lips. His touch heated her faster than the fireplace. Hotter, too.
“The wind caught me,” she said. “I had trouble opening the door.”
He held her coat for her, standing so close that his breath warmed the back of her neck. “Put this on.” His tone brooked no argument. “We’ll do this together. I’ll hold the door and you scoop snow.”
She looked up at him. His hair was mussed, his forehead was darkly bruised. His mouth pulled tight. His concern for her touched her deeply.
Between the two of them, it took only a few seconds to accomplish their task. Lander clutched his side, and then put his weight behind opening the door that the wind wanted to close. Abby was quick. She filled the ice bag with four handfuls of snow, then capped off the top.
Once back inside, she passed the bag to Lander. She’d only been outside a few seconds, yet her hands felt stiff, frozen. She quickly tugged off her mittens, blew on her fingertips, then rubbed her hands together.
Lander surprised her. He set the ice bag on the three-legged catchall table for keys and mail located to the left of the door. He took her hands and pressed them between his own. Things took a turn she didn’t see coming when her fingers didn’t warm as fast as he would’ve liked.
Without a word, he drew them under his white shirt. Held them there. Her hands splayed against the solid heat of his chest. Her palms caught fire.
Their gazes locked, held.
His stare was interested and intense, and as blue as a flame. Beneath her palm his heart beat rhythmic and steady.
Her own pulse was off the charts. She felt winded. She couldn’t stand still.
Her fingers fisted and her nails scored his ribs.
His abdomen flexed. Muscles rippled.
Her feelings were strong for this man. Forged quickly, but as true as if she’d known him for a long time. They’d talked, shared, bonded. She had the urge to wrap her arms around him. To sink into his body. To hold him in her life until she was ready to let him go.
As if she ever could.
Lander liked having her hands on him. Cold as they were, they soon warmed against his abdomen. He wrapped his arms about her shoulders and tucked her to him. Her bulky jacket flattened against his chest. She had no idea how she affected him. He inhaled sharply then let it out. The thick down fiber couldn’t hide her curves. Abby was a beautiful woman.
He rested his chin on the top of her head. A few snowflakes still clung to her hair. The silky strands felt as cold as the outdoors against his skin. Damp, too, as the snow melted.
He hugged her tighter, and she didn’t resist. She slid her hands from his belly to his back, stroking lightly. Gentle was a turn-on for him.
Sure, he’d had urgent and ridiculously wild sex in his lifetime. Where clothes were ripped off and partners climaxed in the heat of the moment. That wasn’t on his mind now. In his experience with women, he preferred sensual kisses and slow foreplay which aroused emotion.
He wanted a woman to desire him long after her orgasm.
His feelings for Abby were undefined, yet real. She’d saved his life after the accident. Being snowbound had brought them closer together. She was kind and genuine. Wholesome. He’d never met anyone quite like her.
In his mind, he knew he could walk away tomorrow; he’d helped her cope with her memories of her grandmother. She would now make it through Christmas, even if she were alone. But his heart pounded out a different message. For some reason the thought of leaving her tore at him. They had something special, he was sure of it. He wanted to see where it might lead. Time, however, dictated that he could not stay.
He knew his family needed him, too. Their holiday traditions stretched out over the next two weeks. He was expected to take part in the festivities. Even though it had been a year since his father’s passing, he wanted to stand by his mother’s side when she got really quiet. When she remembered Christmases past with his dad. Lander’s responsibilities were many, he knew, and he wasn’t a man to take them lightly.
He decided not to worry about his departure. Instead, he continued to hold Abby as if they had all the time in the world. In truth, this moment seemed unending. He couldn’t control the weather. The sky remained gunmetal gray. Snowdrifts banked the windows. The cabin was without electricity. It was just the two of them.
He had no idea how long they stood together, just holding each other. He kissed her forehead, and she squeezed him tighter. Eventually, she was the first to move. She cleared her throat, trying to make light of what could’ve turned into a very sexy situation. It almost did when she ran her hand along his bare side, making him want her. Tipping back her head, she said, “You need the ice bag.”
He did and he didn’t. He’d rather hug Abby.
She had other ideas, however. Stepping back, she retrieved the bag from the three-legged table. Passed it to him. She then shrugged off her jacket and hung it up. Her cheeks were still pink from the cold. She swung her arms at her sides, unsure as to what should come next.
“We have a few more ornaments and tinsel to put on the tree,” she finally said.
“No problem, Abs, I’ll do it,” he said, holding his ribs.
She shook her head, wiggled her foot. “My toe feels fine. You sit and ice your side and I’ll hang the rest.”
He let her do so. He was pleased she’d made the offer. Her willingness to take part in decorating the tree was a positive step forward. He crossed to the couch, where he immediately noticed that Tennyson had moved from the chair to take over the center cushion, king-of-the-hill style. Tenn curled in a ball beneath the unfinished quilt. Lander lowered himself at the far end. The tip of the cat’s tail twitched, but he didn’t come out and visit.
Lander watched as Abby bent over one of the boxes, going shoulders deep, her bottom raised. Didn’t she know what she was doing to him? She had a very sweet ass, he thought. Round and firm. Her face was flushed when she straightened. She held up a small, brown-painted Dixie cup with googly eyes, white antlers, and whiskers.
“My reindeer,” she said, smiling.
Lander narrowed his eyes on the decoration. “Whiskers, Abs?” he asked.
“My teacher, Mrs. Cleary, instructed the class to make reindeer ornaments, but I wanted to do a cat for Tennyson,” she explained. “We compromised.”
Lander shook his head, chuckled. “You’re such a rebel, Abby.”
“Not so much a rebel, but I can be stubborn at times.”
He nodded. A somber thought hit him. If it wasn’t for her stubbornness, he wouldn’t be sitting here now by a warm fire. He could just as easily have frozen, possibly died, in his crashed car. Thank God she’d found him.
He watched as she set the ornament on the coffee table between them then dived back into the box. She soon showed off two more elementary school projects. “My snowflakes have seen better days,” she noted, disappointed.
The construction paper had yellowed and there were several tears along the edges. “Perhaps using some Scotch tape would hold them together for another year,” he suggested.
She crossed to the three-legged table, pulled out a drawer, and located a tape dispenser. She worked quietly for several minutes. She then turned back to him, seemingly pleased by the results. “Flakes for one more year,” she said.
Back at the box, she drew out a handful of pipe-cleaner candy canes. Red ones were twisted with white and an assortment of small shiny beads decorated the crook at the tops. Her expression softened. “I loved making these,” she said on a sigh. “Mrs. Cleary let me stay in class and miss recess to twist and bead to my heart’s content.”
She paused, counted the candy canes in her hand. “Seventeen,” she said. “Originally there were twenty-four. A few got lost over the years.”
“Candy canes are known to have legs,” he joked.
“Socks run away in the dryer.”
She walked to
the tree and began hanging her childhood ornaments. Happy memories, Lander thought, as she stretched, but couldn’t quite reach the upper branches. He’d like to help but he couldn’t go high either. His side pained him with each pull of his muscles.
“I’ll decorate the top if you have a step stool,” he offered.
She placed the last of the ornaments on the tree, and then stepped back. She admired the evergreen from several angles. “It’s perfect as it is,” she finally said.
Dipping her head, she sounded sad when she added, “Last year I accidentally dropped our prized porcelain angel that topped the tree. My heart broke into more pieces than the angel. Gram was forgiving. Comforting me in that special way of hers. She convinced me not to worry, that she was hoping to shop and find a similar one, but she never found the time.”
Lander rubbed the back of his neck, thoughtful. “I let my mother’s favorite crystal star slip through my fingers a year ago,” he said.
Abby’s eyes rounded. “No, not you, too?”
“Yes, me too. I was on a ladder, holding the ornament by the metal hook. The hook loosened and the star fell, smashing to the floor in a hundred pieces.” He grimaced. “The sound of breaking crystal stays with a man.”
“Did you buy her a new one?” Abby asked, curious.
He shook his head. “The star was one of a kind and a gift from my father. It was irreplaceable. I knew my mom was crushed, seeing as how tightly she was holding on to every memory of him.”
Tennyson took that moment to peek out from under the quilt beside Lander. The calico head-butted Lander’s thigh, making him smile. The old boy wanted to be petted. Lander obliged.
“Your mother must have loved your father very much,” Abby said with a catch in her voice. As if that sentiment tugged at her heart.
“My parents were deeply in love.” He grew reminiscent. “My father was all business most days, but when it came close to Christmas, he became Santa Claus. He was a man who chose the perfect present for each family member. Making a list ole Saint Nick would envy, my dad bought the gifts early and hid them in the closet in the guest bedroom.”
Abby grinned. “You knew about his hiding place?”
“Only by accident,” Lander confessed. “I was sixteen and happened to be walking down the upper hallway when I saw my dad dart into the extra bedroom. He was carrying shopping bags. Big bags with red bows hanging out over the sides. He hadn’t expected anyone to be home. My mother was at an organizational meeting and my sister had stayed after school for gymnastics. I had a football meeting but no practice, so I decided to come home afterward.”
He released a slow breath. “I kept quiet, peeked around the door, and caught my father stashing wrapped Christmas gifts in the guest closet. Each one was decorated with a unique holiday flare. Striped foil paper, gold wrapping, and an antique red velvet box for my mom. My dad had a smile on his face. He looked so pleased with himself. I backed up, kept his secret.”
He paused, then went on to say, “Because I knew he purchased early gifts, I prayed he had already bought something for my mother before he passed away. While my mother swept up the glass, I climbed down the ladder and headed for the guest room closet.”
“Were there gifts?” Abby barely breathed the words.
He nodded, grinned, and said, “I found lots of presents inside the closet. Those meant for my mother were on the top shelf. I gathered them all.”
He scrubbed his knuckles along his jaw. “Returning downstairs, I asked my mom to sit on the sofa in the living room. There, one by one, she opened my dad’s gifts to her, each time her eyes tearing up. She celebrated their Christmas several days early. In one of the gift bags was a small, clear crystal gift box topped by a red crystal bow dusted with gold. My father’s card to her read: I want you to have a gift every day of your life.”
He looked at Abby and saw the same emotion on her face that he felt in his heart. Her eyes were watery and she bit down on her bottom lip. She was equally touched by his father’s gift to his mother as he had been. Abby understood the depth of his parents’ love for each other.
“Our family Christmas turned out as good as it was going to get without my dad,” Lander added, catching his breath. “At least my mother had a gift from him that would last a lifetime.”
“Your dad knew your mom well,” Abby slowly said.
“They did most everything together,” he mused. “They had their own lives during the day, but come six o’clock, they were inseparable. Weekends, they were one person.”
“Sounds very romantic,” she said. Her voice was low; her expression thoughtful.
“They believed in commitment,” he said, wondering why in the world he felt compelled to tell her that. She brought out emotions in him he’d never shared with anyone. “They didn’t take each other for granted.”
“That’s how a marriage should be,” she agreed.
He liked her way of thinking. Lightening the mood, he teased her, “Ever been in love, Abby?”
“Does ninth grade count?” she asked, returning to one of the boxes and removing the dark green flannel Christmas tree skirt. “If so, then his name was Jimmy Mayer. Smartest boy in my class.”
She’d surprised him with her answer. “You like brainiacs?”
She spread the skirt around the base of the tree before answering, “Looks can fade, but smart never gets old.”
So, she found intelligence sexy. “I graduated from high school with honors,” he said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, “then went on to college and graduate school.”
His neck heated. What a stupid thing for a grown man to say. He sounded as if he were trying to compete with a ninth grader. Which, in truth, he had been. Pretty lame, he decided.
She glanced his way, and winked at him. “Handsome and brainy, you’re quite a catch, Lander.”
So he’d been told by many women long before Abby. But hearing her say the words had impact. She wouldn’t compliment him simply to get his attention. Or initiate a date. Not this lady. Abby with the electric hair and sore toe was on her hands and knees smoothing out the flannel skirt and not trying to impress him. He liked that about her.
She’d just finished arranging the skirt when Tennyson got his second wind. Seeking attention, he crawled out from under the quilt and moved toward Abby as fast as his eighteen-year-old body would allow.
She saw him coming and stuck her hand under one corner of the skirt. She wiggled her fingers from beneath like a sock puppet. Tenn went cat crazy. He played like a kitten, attacking her hand and meowing with each pounce.
Abby laughed, and then looked at Lander. “Tennyson is playful today,” she said. “He’s got Christmas spirit.”
He loved seeing her like this. She’d grown more relaxed over the course of the morning, Lander noted. The sleigh bells were hung and the tree was fully decorated, all but a few branches.
“Now what?” he asked from the sofa.
She made her decision. “You sit still and I’ll hang the tinsel.”
Tennyson had grown tired of chasing Abby’s fingers, so he settled on the Christmas tree skirt and immediately went back to sleep. The cat could snore.
“Interesting tinsel,” he said when she located a flat box. “It shimmers. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Austrian tinsel,” she told him. “The individual pieces are thin, made of metal, and eighteen inches long.”
He noticed she’d started to hobble on her way back to the tree, favoring her right foot. She needed to get off her feet, as much as he needed to ice his side. They were recovering together.
Still, he couldn’t deny her extra effort was worth it. The sparkling tinsel brought the tree to life. It became a bright, glittery magical thing. Once the electricity returned, the bubble lights would round out the decorations. Here stood one eclectic, vintage tree, he thought. Every ornament reflected Abby and her family. He hoped to add a few more memories to her life before he left for Philadelphia.
He chu
ckled when she drew back her arm and tossed the last pieces of tinsel toward the very top. They managed to catch on the branches, streaming down and covering the major gaps.
“Looks good,” he said.
“I think so, too.” She stood back then, appraising their efforts. “We did a good job, Lander.”
We. He liked being included in her Christmas.
Yet, for all her enthusiasm, she looked a little sad. As if the enormity of the holiday rested on her shoulders. He didn’t want her to slip back into her sorrow.
“What’s left to do?” he asked, doing a visual sweep of the area. The living room was taking shape, appearing very festive.
She glanced at him, her gaze distant, as if she had been in her own world. “We need to unpack the musical snow globes, an assortment of candles, and the big Christmas stocking.”
Big was an understatement.
Somehow, Lander wasn’t surprised when Abby withdrew from one of the boxes a long, long, red knitted stocking decorated with a giraffe. She unfolded it slowly; he swore it stretched over six feet. He wondered about the giraffe design and why it wasn’t Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer or a holiday moose.
“Where does it go?” he asked, setting aside his ice bag, then rising from the sofa to help her.
“Traditionally we hang it on the wall to the left of the fireplace,” she said.
They crossed there together. She smiled as he reached up and attached the stocking to two large clip-hooks. “My grandmother knitted the stocking when I was ten,” Abby said, running her hand across the top. “I had a fascination with giraffes that year. Gram asked me what animal I wanted on the stocking. She never blinked an eye when I told her. She purchased yellow and brown yarn and went with my choice.”
Lander wrapped his arm about her shoulders and hugged her to him. “There’s nothing wrong with a Christmas giraffe,” he said, appreciating Abby’s creative mind.
She leaned against him, all relaxed and warm, as if they’d spent a lifetime together. When in actuality it had only been one day. Time froze on the mountain during a blizzard, he thought. Closeness connected two people in a cabin buried in snow. Comfort came in liking the person he was with.
The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap Page 19
