by Val Daniels
Silver Bells
By
Val Daniels
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
"Christmas is getting better and better!"
At the sound of Matt's voice, Jillian's eyes flew open.
Sunlight streamed through the window, framing Matt's head like a halo. He was lying beside her, fully dressed, his chin propped on his fist. "Did you change your mind about me stepping in for Harry?" he asked, any resemblance to an angel vanishing instantly.
"His name is Harrison, and this isn't what it looks like—the heat is off in my bedroom." Jillian spoke defensively, drawing back to put some space between them.
"And here I'd decided you couldn't resist me." He tried to look chagrined but didn't quite manage it.
Jillian sat up self-consciously, making an attempt to smooth her wildly disarrayed hair.
Slowly the humor left Matt's face and he studied her thoughtfully. "You look like a wide-eyed Sleeping Beauty. Continue looking like that and I have half a chance of convincing myself to keep my hands off you. But it's not going to be easy."
Val Daniels says she'll try anything once, from waitress to market researcher, from library aide to census coordinator. But her real love has always been writing. It's fitting that her first published novel, Silver Bells, is a Christmas Romance, because her grandmother used to put Harlequin Romances in her Christmas stocking! Val lives with her husband, two children and a "Murphy dog" in Kansas.
ISBN 0-373-03092-4
Harlequin Romance first edition December 1990
For Grandma, who shared her love of Harlequin Romances with me.
Copyright © 1990 by Vivian Thompson.
CHAPTER ONE
"The Kansas Highway Patrol has announced another highway closure: Due to blizzard conditions and low visibility, I-70 from Lawrence to Salina…"
Jillian Kemp slammed down her paperback and clicked off the drone of the radio weatherman. That was the third road to be closed in north central Kansas in less than an hour. Should she get out of this backwater cabin now? While she could?
She prowled anxiously to the window. A curtain of snow shrouded the night and she couldn't tell whether it was still coming down or just blowing. She couldn't see her car, parked less than fifty yards away. But then she hadn't been able to see it the last time she checked, either.
She glanced around the borrowed hideaway, pleased with all she'd accomplished during her busy day and reluctant to leave it behind, yet leery of staying.
Holiday warmth radiated from every nook and cranny. If Harrison would just get here, she knew he'd be suitably impressed. She wanted their first Christmas together to be perfect, so she'd come ahead to clean and decorate the empty cabin. He was to have driven down this afternoon after he escaped his office.
So where was he? He should have been here four hours ago. The blizzard busily dumping itself on the entire Midwest seemed to promise she'd spend Christmas by herself, after all.
She bit her lip. She'd only agreed to this premature honeymoon because she couldn't face the holidays alone without Grandma.
The lights flickered and then went off. "Oh, Grandma, haven't you done enough?" she groaned. Grandma had been adamant in teaching her the rights of marriage and the wrongs of skipping the ceremony and going directly to the "fun" part. A guilty conscience wasn't helping Jillian to feel comfortable with her plans. "Please, not the electricity, too."
She waited expectantly for the lights to come on. Instead, the hollow darkness settled in as if it intended to stay.
A soft thud outside, followed by a barely audible oath, sent her flying to the door. Thank heaven! He'd made it. "Go play guardian angel somewhere else," she muttered toward the ceiling. "Isn't it bad enough that I have to do this to keep from missing you so much? Do you have to make me feel guilty, too?"
The latch of the door rattled and Jillian flung it wide. "I'm so glad you're finally here!" she called as a blast of cold rushed at her. A well-bundled figure stepped in, bringing a flurry of snowflakes with him. He closed the door, shutting out the wind, and then she was in his arms.
She cupped his face with her hands and shivered. "You're like ice," she whispered, trying to defrost his ears with her warmth. Frozen crystals showered her fingers as he pulled away. She smiled, not at all surprised at Harrison's reaction to her eagerness. She'd kept him at a distance up to now. But she'd agreed to his idea of an engagement celebration, and she had to start as she meant to go on or she'd be lost. She laughed nervously and entwined her fingers behind his head.
His gloved hands slid gingerly up her arms and he started to ease her away. She pressed her body to the length of his and covered his chilled lips with her own. His continuing lack of response did surprise her.
Jillian parted her lips invitingly. This was what he'd been wanting. He was going to get her wholehearted enthusiasm. He relaxed and gave her kiss for kiss until a current of longing, stronger than any she'd known before, swept through her. Her breath mingled satisfyingly with his as she sighed. When she could barely breathe and her grip on him weakened, he raised his head.
A low rumble started in the chest next to hers, culminating in a soft laugh. Jillian froze.
"Santa's already been here, I see," said an unfamiliar voice. "Are you my present? Or did he forget one of his elves?"
The hair stood up on the back of her neck and her heart thundered. She willed herself to move away, but her legs wouldn't obey. The wind rose mournfully, and Jillian recalled her journey down the lonely road leading here. All the cabins she'd passed were closed for the winter. No one would hear if she screamed.
Then she remembered why she'd liked the isolation when she borrowed the cabin. Harrison!
"I'm expecting someone. I thought—" It was obvious what she'd thought, but why hadn't she noticed that this wasn't Harrison? I have to stand on tip-toe when Harrison kisses me, she scolded herself. And this man's shoulders were wider. "Would you mind letting me go?"
"I think you've got it backward." The husky voice sounded mocking, and Jillian dropped her arms. His arms circled her again, tightening around her. "But you're wonderfully warm." His words settled into her tousled hair and raised goose bumps down her spine. He moved away a moment later, leaving her feeling chilled and alone.
"What happened to the lights?" He tugged the gloves from his hands and removed his coat. "Did you want to greet your friend in the dark?"
"The electricity went out." She scowled, irritated at herself for answering. It occurred to her that he was probably just stranded and looking for help. "Are you lost?"
"Why didn't you start a fire?" he asked.
"I've tried. It keeps going out." If he was stranded, why didn't he give her a straight answer? His lighter flicked, bringing a spot of brightness into the room. She watched suspiciously as he went to the fireplace and peered in. He rearranged her neatly laid logs.
"What are you doing?" she demanded. He acted as if he were the owner of the place instead of an unwelcome guest. "You can't just walk in and take over," she protested. But she welcomed the steady yellow glow that grew and dimly lit the room.
His medium-length, straight hair trapped the honey-colored light and sent out its own glow. His craggy profile etched itself against the shadows. The ice crystals dotting his neatly trimmed mustache gave his face a tinseled look.
"Who are you?" she asked. Her wariness grew as he ignored her and extended a hand toward the flames.
He continued to frown pensively into the fire. He's
nuts, Jillian told herself and promptly stepped behind the large couch that separated the main part of the room from the door. "Did you have car trouble?"
He turned, at last acknowledging her presence. "Not exactly," he said. That was all—"not exactly."
She fingered the floor lamp beside the couch. Would it be too heavy to use as a weapon? Then it occurred to her that maybe he'd had an accident. "Would you like to call for help? There's a phone in the bedroom." She groaned inwardly. If he turned out to be an escaped ax-murderer, she'd given away her only hope of being rescued. If he'd been the grim reaper, she'd probably have handed him a butcher knife.
The corner of his mouth curved as if he'd read her mind. "My car will be fine in the ditch for now, thanks." His smile reminded her of Dastardly Dan's as he tied Polly Pureheart to the railroad tracks.
He was definitely an escaped lunatic, she decided. "You can't stay here!"
"I can't go anywhere." He tossed his navy pea jacket across one arm of the couch and came toward her.
Jillian edged away, circling the opposite end of the couch, then shifted from one foot to the other.
"You're beginning to make me nervous," he said.
Trying vainly to keep an eye on him while searching the gloomy room for a promising means of defense, she missed his lunge toward her. Even then she would have evaded his outstretched hand if the coffee table hadn't met her shin with a whack. She yelped as he grabbed her wrist, his hold light at first, then tightening as she tried to hop away. Tears of pain and fear filled her eyes.
"Calm down." He spoke soothingly. Trapping her shoulders between his palms, he turned her to face the firelight. He shook his head warningly as she judged the distance between her hand and the hefty marble ashtray on the end table. "You're scaring yourself, you know. Have I done anything to make you think I would hurt you?"
Just the kiss. But she'd been responsible for that, she remembered. She blinked and drew a long breath. His touch was gentle.
"That's better," he continued as she grew still. He gave her arms a reassuring squeeze. "I don't know any more about you than you do about me, and I have a lot more reason to be suspicious."
She started to protest but he put a finger to her lips.
"Later." He nodded toward the Christmas tree holding its dark vigil in the corner. "You've obviously been here a while. Did you happen to run across any candles? I don't think the electricity will come back on right away. Let's get some light, then we can talk." He released her.
His suggestion seemed logical. Seeing him clearly would help. "I saw an oil lantern in one of the kitchen cabinets."
"Show me." He led her toward the kitchen.
"Oh, no!" Jillian pulled away and rushed to the far end of the counter where her cinnamon-scented wine was still warming, awaiting Harrison's arrival. "I hope this isn't ruined." She turned off the heat. Mundane though the action was, it made her feel she was finally taking control of the situation. Surely she could handle burned wine, no electricity, a blizzard and Christmas Eve with a stranger who might be—no. No sense in scaring herself again. Come to think of it, at least she wasn't alone.
"The lamp was in that cabinet up there." She pointed to a spot above the refrigerator. "You get it and I'll see if I can find some candles." She groped in one drawer, then another.
"Any chance you've seen some oil for this?" he asked close to her ear a minute later.
She jumped, banging her wrist, and he laughed aloud at her oath.
"I shouldn't let you have this," she said, irritably rubbing her forearm. She slapped the flashlight she'd found in the drawer into his hand and indicated the utility closet. "Try there."
He switched on the flashlight, shining it directly in her eyes. "Batteries seem fine."
Pushing his arm away from her face, she squinted to readjust to the dark.
"Sorry," he muttered absently, then swung the light back under her chin. Jillian flattened herself against the sharp edge of the counter top as he propped his hand beside her and leaned in, the light's width away.
His face was golden. Gold hair, gold eyes—tiger eyes—gold complexion. Why hadn't she noticed the tickly-looking mustache when he kissed her?
"You even look like a Christmas present," he said, eyeing the red bow she'd tied around the collar of her white jumpsuit. "What's your name?"
"Does it matter?" she asked defensively.
He shrugged and moved to the closet. "Thought it might be nice to know, since it looks like we're going to be sharing this cabin for the next day or two."
"Listen, you can't just walk in some place and announce that you're staying. I won't throw you out to freeze to death but—" She knew she sounded ridiculous, when he smothered a laugh. He wasn't a big man, but he had a good eight inches on her. And he had gall. She didn't have any trouble imagining him throwing her out.
"My name's Matt Carson," he said, continuing the conversation from behind the closet door. Shutting it with his foot, he placed a bottle of lamp oil on the counter beside her.
"Are you going to ignore everything I say?" she demanded.
"Why don't you take some of those candles into the other room and light them?"
He'd done it again. She wanted to shake him.
"And I sure could use some of your mulled wine."
"But—"
"Humor me?" He passed a hand through his hair, leaving his damp hair disheveled. "I'm not going anywhere, and I don't figure you are, either. We have at least two days to hash this out. Can we do it later, when we can actually see each other?" His voice softened and Jillian felt a caressing quality in its tone. "First things first, okay? Then I'll answer all your questions."
He looked exhausted, she noticed with a twinge of sympathy. She sighed, shoulders sagging, and gathered the paraphernalia she'd unearthed in the drawer. "Do you have a match?"
He reached in his jeans pocket and produced a lighter, which he tossed to her. Then he turned to carefully fill the lantern with oil.
"It's probably undrinkable by now," Jillian muttered a little later as she placed mugs of mulled wine on the table. Then she sank into a chair beside the fire, surveying the room. Candlelight almost reached the corners. Ornaments glimmered. She caught her breath. Even without the glow from the strings of tiny lights she'd arranged so meticulously, the tree cheerily dominated the room.
With shattering clarity, she remembered her grandmother's wry voice, repeating her standard comment after the decorations were hung. "Christmas was prettier before electricity."
Jillian had always suspected that judgment had more to do with their sickly-looking trees than with electricity. Still, she had to admit the greenery over the mantel looked lusher than it had earlier that day. The two stockings hanging there cast a surreal shadow, and she felt like part of a life-size Christmas card. The nubby brown couch looked inviting instead of drab; the mismatched chairs looked intimate... But she was sharing it all with a stranger!
"I know you did this, Grandmother," she whispered sternly. She imagined she heard a mellow laugh. For the first time in the four months since Grandma's death, Jillian didn't gulp back tears just thinking about her. She was too irked at her meddling. But what did you do with Harrison? she wanted to ask.
She turned her watch toward one of the candles.
"It's not quite midnight." Matt's voice startled her.
Quit sneaking up on me, she thought. "Thank you," she said.
"Anytime." Matt placed the lantern carefully amid the greenery on top of the mantel and lowered himself into the other wing-back chair.
"Nice," he commented as he took a sip from his mug and settled deeper.
Her patience snapped. "Look, Mr. What-ever-the-heck-your-name-is—"
"Matt."
"I've been as patient and hospitable as I can. It's cold and nasty outside, it's Christmas Eve and all of that, but don't you think you owe me some kind of explanation? Maybe we can find someone to help you get your car out of the ditch so you can be on your way to wherev
er you were going." She consciously slowed down, leveling her voice, which threatened to become shrill. "I've gone along with you up to now because I assume you're lost or something. I ought to be terrified—"
"Are you?"
"Not anymore, but that's beside the point." Losing the rhythm of her speech, she stopped and glowered at him.
He leaned toward her, resting his elbows on his knees. She had his full attention now and wished she didn't. His warm eyes were hypnotic.
She jerked her gaze back to her wine, sniffing indignantly. If she didn't look at him, he couldn't get her offtrack. "You waltzed in here like you own the place—which you don't. You act like you plan to just hang around—which you can't. You even hinted that you think I might need to be watched or something. A friend of mine lent me this cabin, and I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate my filling it with anyone who happened to drop in." She made the mistake of glancing up again.
He smiled.
"Stop that," she hissed. Couldn't he be serious?
The corner of his mustache quivered as he raised a brow and replaced his grin with a mock-serious look.
That exasperated her. Praying for composure, she decided to use the same tack she would with one of her boss's difficult constituents. "Perhaps it would help if I knew where you were headed. Won't someone be worried? Isn't someone expecting you for the holidays?"
"I was coming here."
She wanted to hit him.
"The light threw me off because my friend's cabin is the last one on this lane. I saw the light and assumed there was another cabin farther on. I went right past, down the boat ramp. I ended up in the ditch to avoid the lake."
"You must have taken the wrong road," she offered pleasantly.
He shook his head. "Afraid not. I came here fishing last summer. This is the cabin we stayed in."
Jillian's voice rose an octave. "You've been here before?"
