by Val Daniels
She gestured toward him with what was left of the wine, offering him the remainder. He refused with a shake of his head, and she poured the rest of it down the sink.
"That first call was from Karen," she said to break the lengthening silence. "They'd just discovered the mix-up. Karen is glad you're here. I don't believe she thinks I'd know what to do in a blizzard."
"Would you?" She kept her eyes on the bubbles multiplying in the sink while she ran a couple of inches of dishwater. He propped himself on the counter and watched.
"I'd manage."
"Why aren't you with your family?" Matt asked.
She didn't answer immediately, then… "Do you believe in guardian angels?"
He looked at her as if her biscuits weren't quite baked, to use a favorite expression of her grandmother's, and she smiled.
"I was thinking of my grandmother. She sent you here so I wouldn't be alone."
"I don't know your grandmother."
He was really looking at her strangely now. "She died in August. Otherwise, I'd be with her for the holidays."
His face relaxed as he caught on. "What about the rest of your family?"
"My mother and father died when I was small. Grandma raised me." She pulled the plug and let the water gurgle down the drain.
"No one else?"
She shook her head. "I was an only child. So were my folks. I guess that's why I've always wanted lots of kids when I get married. Grandma was wonderful, but I was always a little lonely."
"Okay. So Grandma's playing guardian angel. Why did she send me? Why not the boyfriend?"
Jillian was facing him now and she blushed.
"She wouldn't have approved of my plans with Harrison," she admitted. "But she wouldn't have wanted me to be totally alone, either."
From his amused look, she was afraid he understood more than she wanted him to.
What would Grandma think of Matt? she wondered.
She'd have liked him a lot. Jillian didn't even need to consider it. Instead of showing him her marble-topped table that came west in a covered wagon and making small talk, as she had the first time she met Harrison, Grandma and Matt would have cozied up to the kitchen table, eating pie and talking like long-lost buddies in their matter-of-fact, first-things-first language.
"So what do we do now?"
She wrinkled her brow at the mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"When Harry gets here," he said in answer to her questioning frown. "If Grandma sent me to play gooseberry, what am I supposed to do? I'd be shirking my responsibilities if I left."
Jillian's mouth dropped open. "That's just the word she would have used."
Matt smiled and Jillian knew, just knew, that she was in trouble if he took her ramblings seriously. She didn't think she could stand to be "protected" from herself—not by him, anyway.
She turned away and started toward the bedroom. "The stress is beginning to get to me. I think it's time for bed."
Matt followed. "If you'll just let me get some blankets out of the closet in there, I'll take the couch. It converts into a bed." She stopped outside the bedroom door.
He emerged as she finished casting aside the cushions. Together, they pulled out the couch and he fluttered one of the sheets out over the mattress. They worked silently until the bed was made.
"Well, I've had all I can take for one day. I'll see you in the morning." She paused again at the door of the bedroom.
"I'm sorry the boyfriend didn't make it." He sounded sincere.
She smiled wryly. "And I've messed up your plans for a quiet Christmas."
Matt started toward her and she backed two steps into the other room.
"You'd better have the flashlight." He passed it to her. She felt ridiculous. "Good night," she murmured, then changed her mind and rejoined him at the door. "I'm glad you're here, Matt Carson. I couldn't have handled this holiday alone."
"I know, Jillian Kemp. Good night."
As she closed the door behind her, he raised his voice to add, "Merry Christmas… Jake."
CHAPTER THREE
Jillian usually needed at least three nudges from the alarm clock before she could get her eyes open, but on Christmas morning she woke before daylight. She reached over to the nightstand for her watch, and understood immediately what had jarred her awake. It was freezing in the room. She yanked the covers tight as her breath rose like a cloud around her face.
Moments later, she decided it wasn't going to get any warmer where she was and bravely slipped her feet out from under the blanket. Her usually warm slippers felt like ice.
Pulling the top quilt over her, she grabbed her robe and headed, shivering, for the other room, praying she'd find heat there.
As soon as she opened the bedroom door, warmth seeped in around the folds of the blanket. The closer she got to the fire, the warmer it was, and she scowled at the sight of her roomie.
Mr. Snug-as-a-bug Matt Carson had a bare arm sprawled across his pillow. His one blanket covered him only to the waist. At least he could have kept the fire going, she thought disgustedly, eyeing the few sad-looking lumps of glowing wood.
She dropped her quilt just long enough to put on her robe. Flinging a couple of logs into the fireplace, she poked about as if she knew what she was doing, then rewrapped herself. She sat down on the hearth.
Matt hadn't moved. His ashy-blond hair stuck up at odd angles, his full lower Up curved into a half smile. She fumed. His broad shoulders were bare to the warmth, and his free-form flop indicated how comfortably he'd spent the night.
Her own bones ached from shivering and she fought the urge to yank the covers off him. She cleared her throat loudly and had the satisfaction of seeing him move. One leg slithered out from beneath its hiding place and his foot curled around the edge of his blanket. She stemmed her irritation by remembering that this was Christmas, after all. And she didn't relish spending another holiday in solitary misery.
She glanced at the fire as the logs she'd added sputtered noisily. Harrison would have been as helpless in this situation as she felt. If they hadn't frozen to death first, they would have let all the meat thaw and then have decided to put it outside in nature's refrigerator. The animals would have appreciated their ineptitude.
Considering the situation, the golden man framed in the expanse of white sheets was a big bonus.
But why was he here? She studied him. He had family. Why would you avoid your family during the holidays?
For that matter, why had Harrison planned to come? He'd suggested spending Christmas together when he saw how upset she was after Thanksgiving. She'd eagerly agreed, assuming he was inviting her to share Christmas with his family.
"Lord, no," he said, "I wouldn't inflict them on anyone. We'll have plenty of time for family obligations after we're married. You'll have the rest of your life to put up with them."
"But since we're announcing our engagement—"
He'd stopped her in midsentence by kissing her. "I want you to myself. I need you so much, Jillian. You'd feel the same way if you'd only let go." He'd kissed her again, coaxing her, sensing her hesitation. "We could go somewhere warm. St. Croix, maybe?"
"No." He frowned until she explained. "Please, let's go somewhere personal, private. I don't think I could handle hordes of people. Besides, I want our first Christmas together to be traditional." She'd told him about Karen's cabin—remaining wistfully silent about her desire to meet his family.
Harrison was the youngest of four children. His siblings were all married with children of their own. A house filled with people you loved? Not to spend Christmas with them?
Men! She'd never figure them out. What she wouldn't give for even one more day with Grandma. She sniffed once and dabbed the corner of her eye with the quilt.
Heat drifted toward her in waves. She moved to one of the wing-back chairs and tucked her feet under her, feeling drowsy.
She couldn't get comfortable.
Matt's bed drew her, seduced her, until she gave in, crawled onto t
he corner of the lumpy mattress and curled into a tight ball.
She wouldn't go to sleep, but maybe, if she just used the very edge of the bed, the one closest to the fire, she could rest a bit. After the moment of temporary insanity last night, when she'd wanted him to kiss her, she hated to think what he'd assume if he found her in his bed.
Matt turned over and she lunged away.
Rising to her knees, she peered past the arm draped over his head. His eyes were still closed. His light brown lashes, tipped with gold, seemed bright against his tan. He looked innocent, like a little boy. All he needed to do to dispel that impression was open those wise, knowing eyes.
He turned again, tugging the blanket with him as he went, wrapping it into a mummy-tight shroud. She blushed, realizing that the blanket was his only covering. At his sigh, her gaze jerked to his face. The sigh became a miniature snore, and she exhaled slowly, then resumed her position on the other side of the bed. She relaxed cautiously, willing her short nervous breaths to even out, then closed her eyes to rest them from the smoky heat.
"This is getting better and better." Matt's face filled her view as her eyes popped open. Sunlight streamed in the window, framing his head like a halo. He was dressed but lying beside her, his head propped up on his fist. "Did you change your mind about me stepping in for Harry?" he asked, any resemblance to an angel vanishing instantly.
"The heat is off in the bedroom," she said, drawing back to put some distance between them.
His white teeth brightened his freshly shaved face. "I know," he admitted, and amusement brimmed in his eyes. "I'd decided you couldn't resist me, then went in to get dressed and found out the truth. It was such a disappointment." He tried to look crushed but didn't manage it.
She sat up self-consciously and attempted to smooth her wildly disarrayed hair.
"You look like a wide-eyed Sleeping Beauty," he said, "even more than you did last night. As long as you keep looking that way I have half a chance of convincing myself to keep my hands off you."
Bunching the quilt around her, Jillian blinked rapidly, trying to get her eyes to focus so she could think. The way he was looking at her made it difficult to do anything but listen to her heart pound.
"It's not going to be easy." He cleared his throat and stood up. Walking to the fireplace, he removed the thumbtack from the hand-knitted stocking she'd hung beside the matching, more masculine one for Harrison. "Santa has been here." The stocking landed in her lap before she could react.
"But that's impossible."
He laughed. "Haven't you been a good little girl?"
She lifted the quilted patchwork stocking gingerly. The "something" in it was an almost imperceptible lump in the toe. She looked up at him, stunned. "But how could you—"
"Do I look like Santa? He must have sneaked in sometime between when we went to bed and when you crawled in with me."
She tipped the sock, watching delightedly as a slender silver chain flowed into her hand.
"Go on," he urged.
She tugged gently. An enameled sprig of holly connected two silver bells to the necklace. Tiny silver chains with diamonds at their tips represented strikers. "It's beautiful." Her eyes hadn't left it. Reluctantly she pushed the necklace toward him. "But I can't accept it." Somehow, she'd moved to the end of the bed and was kneeling across from where he sat in the chair.
He pushed her arm back. "I don't see why not."
"You didn't know I'd be here. How did you… where did you get it?"
She looked from the bells to him. His flannel plaid shirt bore signs of many washings, the pocket edges frayed. The necklace wasn't excessively expensive, but it wasn't cheap, either. The bells were obviously handcrafted by a skilled metalsmith. He'd had this specially made for someone.
"Ohh, I see," she whispered sympathetically. No wonder he was here. He was hiding out. He and the woman had quarreled; they'd—
"There's nothing to see. Don't go inventing star-crossed lovers or anything. I happen to sell jewelry. I had a few samples in the Blazer. A friend of mine made that and I wanted to give you something unique." He let out a deep breath. "You're making me regret my impulse."
"It was a very sweet impulse." He winced at the word sweet. "I think you should give it to your mother or sister or someone special." She held it out again.
This time, he took it. Rising from his chair, he sat down beside her on the bed. "Don't worry. They all got something." He turned her by the shoulders until her back was toward him. "I'm giving this to you." He put it around her neck, fumbling with the clasp for a time before uttering an expletive. "Could you hold this out of the way?"
She lifted her wild hair. His fingers tickled her neck, sending silky, shivery waves down her spine.
"There aren't any strings attached?" she asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Dammit." Grasping her a little more firmly this time, he turned her to face him again. "This is the first thing I've done on impulse in years. I caught a belated touch of Christmas spirit because, for once, I had the chance to give something that wasn't expected. And you ask about strings. That's almost funny." He hesitated, searching her eyes with his, then briefly tasted her surprised lips. "That's it," he assured her, "the only obligation. I've just collected." He moved quickly to the pile of logs beside the fire and put another one on top of the still-blazing stack in the fireplace.
"You're a very nice man," she said, fingering the warm chain where it rested on the back of her neck. "Thank you. I'm sorry I suspected your motives."
He shrugged, gazing at the fire until the log crackled and settled noisily into the flames. When he finally looked her way again, the uncharacteristic sternness had left his face.
Then she remembered the giving. Christmas was giving.
He eyed her sudden frown warily.
When she joined him and reached for the other stocking, Matt stilled her hand. "No."
"I can't accept your gift then," she told him soberly, her hands going to the clasp of the necklace. "This was a lovely thought. I wish I'd had it first."
"But you picked that out for—"
"Harrison won't miss one little gift. He'll still have those." She indicated the brightly wrapped packages under the tree.
Matt agreed reluctantly.
"I didn't pick this out for Harrison anyway," Jillian admitted, pushing the stocking at him. She watched the small bottle fall into his hand. "I picked it out because it's my favorite cologne. It's just a small gift."
Matt thanked her warmly. Jillian thought about returning his kiss and decided against it. She was feeling much too emotional. It suddenly felt like Christmas. Her throat hurt. She was afraid she'd cry. She swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in her throat. "We cheated, you know."
He raised an eyebrow.
"Grandma would never let me open my gifts until we had breakfast. I made her traditional specialty— Swedish tea ring. Would you like some?"
His nod was his biggest movement since she'd given him Harrison's stocking. Maybe, for once, she'd left him speechless. She smiled and excused herself to heat the braided bread ring she'd decorated with cherries and nuts. Matt had already made coffee.
When he joined her a few minutes later, she accepted his offer of help by asking him to set the table. As he passed her, carrying the dishes, she got a whiff of the cologne she'd given him and felt disproportionately happy.
"Do you think they'll manage to clear the roads today?" Jillian asked much later as they finished their second meal of the day. The table groaned under the weight of their Christmas feast, and Matt, still eating, shook his head and shrugged. From her vantage point by the window, Jillian looked out at the sun-washed landscape and illogically hoped they wouldn't.
Ice glazed every tree, shrub and weed between the. porch and the lake. And with the snow, everything glimmered like diamonds. Leaning farther back, she tried to catch a glimpse of the road. A drift, running from the corner of the cabin roof to where she guessed the road beg
an, obscured her vision. "The snow always looks so pristine after a storm—I hate when they ruin it."
Matt pushed himself away from the table. "Don't worry, we aren't going to be high on anyone's list," he said, dabbing his mouth with her grandmother's holly-patterned napkin.
"Because we're so far from the highway?"
"Partly," he nodded. "They may not even mess with us after Christmas. These are mostly summer vacation cottages. They may not realize anyone's stuck down here."
"I hope that doesn't mean they won't fix the electricity."
"Probably depends on where it's out. It'll cost triple-time to have anyone working on Christmas Day, and if the line's down between here and the main road, the power company may not even know. No one else may be affected." He leaned back, tipping his chair up on two legs.
Jillian watched the chair lurch precariously and resisted the urge to ask if he was trying to kill himself. He'd probably resent anyone fussing over him.
How little she knew about him. He continually surprised and fascinated her, but she still didn't know anything about him.
Although he'd avoided his family over Christmas and said he wanted to be alone, he'd teased her, talking and acting as if he enjoyed her company. And he obviously didn't mind work, because he'd willingly shared the preparations for Christmas dinner. His culinary skills had contributed the wonderful cornbread-and-oyster stuffing—a traditional "must," he'd said.
She suspected that his see-straight-into-your-soul gaze had identified her capable side. Her fair hair, heart-shaped face and large blue eyes, packaged with her miniature, not quite five-foot frame, had always masked a tough determination. One that few people recognized.
Grandma had worked hard at teaching her to take care of herself. She'd treated her like someone who could share the load—just as Matt did. And he'd eaten two pieces of the mincemeat pie she'd made from Grandma's recipe. Two! Even though it lacked Grandma's tender touch. Jillian sighed.
Matt scowled, emphasizing the permanent wrinkle between his brows. "What's the matter?" he asked.
"I was thinking of Grandma."
