Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | A Little Bit of Holiday Magic

A Little Bit of Holiday Magic
Melissa McClone
All widow Grace Wilcox wants is a fresh start for her and her young son Liam. When her truck spins off the icy road, her rescuer turns out to be the hottest fire-fighter in Hood Hamlet, and even wary Grace can’t say no to his offer of help!Bill Paulson has stuck to his no-dating rule so far this Christmas, but having Grace in his home is testing his chivalrous side to the limit! Her little boy is melting his heart, even asking for a new daddy from Santa… But Grace has already loved and lost one hero.Can she really let herself get close to another… ?


A new family…for Christmas?
All widow Grace Wilcox wants is a fresh start for her and her young son, Liam. When her truck spins off the icy road, her rescuer turns out to be the hottest firefighter in Hood Hamlet, and even wary Grace can’t say no to his offer of help!
Bill Paulson has stuck to his no-dating rule so far this Christmas, but having Grace in his home is testing his chivalrous side to the limit! Her little boy is melting his heart, even asking for a new daddy from Santa.…
But Grace has already loved and lost one hero. Can she really let herself get close to another?

“Maybe Christmas magic brought you to Hood Hamlet last night.”
“Maybe.” She spoke with a wistful expression on her face. “Or maybe it was an angel.”
“Christmas is a time for miracles, but I haven’t had much experience with angels except the snow kind,” Bill said. “I’ll stick with magic.”
“You do that.” She glanced at Liam. “I’m going to stick with my angel the next time I need a Christmas miracle.”
Bill wouldn’t mind sticking with her.
Whoa! Where had that come from?
He wasn’t up for sticking with anyone. Not for more than a night. Maybe two if they had fun together.
Maybe the temperature had dropped more than he’d realized. Time to head inside and warm up. He was thinking nonsense right now. “The snow’s picking up. Let’s warm up inside and make ourselves some hot cocoa. We can check if there’s an update on your truck.”
Her soft smile kicked his gut with the force of an ornery mountain goat. He forced himself to breathe.
Something was at work here. Not magic. Physical chemistry.
That would explain the way he felt. But he couldn’t fool around with Grace—no matter how appealing the thought might be.
Dear Reader,
When I decided to write more stories about a group of volunteer mountain rescuers on Mount Hood, I kept the order of heroes/heroines in my head. After Jake Porter in the first book, I’d write Sean Hughes, Leanne Thomas and then Bill Paulson. After writing Sean’s story I was kicking myself that I’d married off Tim Moreno before Jake’s book began. In Leanne’s story, Firefighter Under the Mistletoe, I added a new character—Dr. Cullen Gray—so I could write another story, because I wasn’t quite ready to leave Hood Hamlet.
I’m ready now. The time has come to say goodbye to the brave men and women of OMSAR and the quaint Alpine-inspired town of Hood Hamlet, Oregon.
I always knew Bill Paulson’s story would be the last book in the series. Bill has been one of my favorite characters, always up for a good time or a laugh, often at his own expense. This Christmas the confirmed bachelor finds more than he bargained for after he helps a young widow named Grace and her three-year-old son, Liam. But with a little Christmas magic—something Hood Hamlet is known for—you never know what might happen!
I want to thank all the readers who fell in love with Hood Hamlet and its inhabitants the way I did. Being asked whose story I was writing next gave me such a great feeling. I must admit typing The End in this last book was a bittersweet moment. Although each book in the series stands alone, I’ve tried to give updates on some of the previous couples and characters.
I hope you enjoy your visit to Hood Hamlet!
Melissa
A Little Bit
of Holiday Magic
Melissa McClone


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing MELISSA MCCLONE ever thought she would be doing was writing romance novels. But analysing engines for a major US airline just couldn’t compete with her ’happily-ever-afters’. When she isn’t writing, caring for her three young children or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats, and a good book. She enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated. Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, two daughters, a son, two lovable but oh-sospoiled indoor cats, and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty that has decided to call the garage home.
Melissa loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034, USA, or contact her via her website: www.melissamcclone.com.
In Memory of Elizabeth Brooks.
Thank you for the wonderful memories and always
believing I could be a writer.
Special thanks to: Karyn Barr, Roger Carstens,
Alice Burton, Lori Freeland, Lisa Hayden, Terri Reed,
Jennifer Shirk, Margie Lawson and her
Nov. ’12 Fab 30 class.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u6cabbe81-c669-5cfc-bafc-e6d25a632ce6)
CHAPTER TWO (#u1374f630-6886-542d-9049-c10903ef2e4d)
CHAPTER THREE (#u808b1f5d-15e8-5d5c-a355-07118f60a3b5)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
PLEASE, TRUCK. DON’T die on me.
Grace Bad-luck-is-my-middle-name Wilcox gripped the pickup’s steering wheel tighter, as if willpower alone would keep the sputtering engine running in the middle of a blizzard on Mount Hood. A CD of cheery Christmas carols played, but frazzled nerves kept her from singing along.
The tire chains crunched on the snow. The wipers’ frenetic back-and-forth struggled to keep the windshield clear of falling snow. The engine coughed, a croupy-seal-bark sound.
She raised her foot off the accelerator.
A gut-clenching grinding noise shook the cab, confirming her fear.
Forget reaching the Oregon coast tonight. The truck wasn’t going to survive the drive over Mount Hood.
Stranded in a snowstorm with her three-year-old son.
Shivers racked her body, a mix of panic, fear and bone-chilling cold. The heater had stopped working an hour ago. Her fleece jacket and knit gloves weren’t enough to keep her warm.
Grace pressed on the gas pedal, praying for a miracle. She glanced in the rearview mirror to the backseat of the truck’s extended cab.
Liam slept in his car seat with his head on a blue stuffed elephant named Peanut, and his body covered with sleeping bags and blankets.
A ball of warmth settled at the center of Grace’s chest. Liam—the one bright light in her otherwise dark life. The reason she kept going. “I hope you’re having sweet dreams, baby.”
Because reality sucked.
Except when you were a little kid and trusted your mom to keep you safe.
And she would keep him safe. That was her job. Though she was failing at being a good mommy tonight.
Liam must be exhausted. It was nearly eleven o’clock, hours past his bedtime, and they’d spent another long day on the road, their progress hampered by harsh winter weather.
“Looks like Astoria will have to wait one more day.”
Her voice trembled from the cold, disappointment, fear.
If only we were there now.
The small northern Oregon coastal town, about a three-hour drive from Mount Hood, would be their home. She could make a new life for herself, and most especially, Liam.
With only one working headlight, Grace struggled to see the road due to the wind-driven snow.
The engine clanked and rattled and thunked.
She needed to find a place to stay the night before the truck gave out. She glimpsed something, a pole. No, a sign.
Grace made out the words Hood Hamlet. An arrow pointed right.
She had no idea what Hood Hamlet was—she assumed not a Shakespeare character in a hoodie—but anything had to be better than being stuck on the side of the road in this freezing weather all night. She flipped on the blinker, even though no one else was crazy enough to be driving in these conditions, and turned right.
Deep snow. A foot more than was on the highway. No tracks.
The truck plowed ahead, slowed by the road conditions and her nerves. The snow muffled the sounds of the tire chains, but the disturbing engine noises increased in frequency and volume.
Not good.
White-knuckled, she clutched the steering wheel as if it were a lifeline.
Hood Hamlet, please don’t let me down.
The snow and darkness, pitch-black except for the one headlight, made seeing more than a foot or two ahead impossible.
She leaned forward, squinting, trying to see.
The windshield fogged on the inside. Frost built up on the outside.
A T in the road lay ahead. But no sign to direct her, nothing to let her know she was close to Hood Hamlet.
Right or left?
Grace chose right. That turn seemed easier to negotiate with the road conditions. She eased the steering wheel toward the passenger’s side.
The truck skidded, sliding sideward.
Air rushed from her lungs. Her fingers dug into the steering wheel. “No. No. No.”
Turn into the slide.
Hadn’t Damon told her that when she was learning to drive? Wait. That was for front-wheel drive cars, not his truck.
She turned the steering wheel the other way.
The truck straightened.
Grace glanced back at Liam, who was still sleeping. “Maybe our luck’s changing.”
The truck slid again.
She tried to correct, but the vehicle spun in the opposite direction. Round and round, like a merry-go-round with afterburners.
Her pulse accelerated into the stratosphere.
The world passed by in slow motion, appearing through the windshield wipers like blurry photographs.
Trees. Snow. More snow.
Round and round.
Grace couldn’t tell what was real, what was her imagination. The roar of her heartbeat drowned out the music.
It’ll be okay, babe.
Damon. Tears stung her eyes at the memory of his voice. Nothing had been okay since he’d died.
A wall of snow appeared in front of her.
Every muscle in her body tensed. Panic ricocheted through her. Grace closed her eyes. She screamed, clutched the steering wheel with all her strength. If only she could hold on to Liam...
“Damon, help us.”
A prayer. A plea.
The truck jolted with an awful metallic, crumpling sound. Something exploded, hitting her in the face. A horrible smell filled her nostrils. “Oh.”
The engine died.
Liam wailed.
Adrenaline surged. Her face stung. She coughed. “Liam.”
He screamed louder. The soul-piercing sound stole her breath and her hope.
Hands shaking, she struggled with her seat belt. The air bag had deflated and lay on her lap. She had to get to her son. “Be right there, baby.”
He sobbed, alternating between hiccups and cries, each stabbing her aching heart. “P-nut. Where P-nut?”
“I’ll find him.” Grace unfastened the belt, turned, reached back. Her face burned. It hurt to breathe. She couldn’t see anything, but felt around. “Fleece blanket, cookies, jacket. Peanut has to be here.”
She hit the switch on the cab lamp above her.
Light flooded the truck. The engine might not work, but thankfully, the battery still did.
Crocodile tears streamed down Liam’s cheeks. “P-nut.”
Grace glimpsed blue fuzz stuck between the front and back seats. She pulled out the stuffed animal. Pushed the elephant into Liam’s mitten-covered hands. “Here’s Peanut.”
The tears stopped flowing. He cuddled his favorite toy. “Mine.”
“Do you hurt anywhere?”
“No.” He kissed the elephant. “I fine. Peanut fine, too.”
A lump clogged her throat. The relief was short-lived. If she didn’t do something fast, they were going to freeze.
She tucked blankets and sleeping bags around him again in between coughs.
“Mommy needs to check the truck.” And get help. She grabbed her cell phone. Dead. Of course it was. She hadn’t been able to find her charger since driving through Utah. “Stay here and keep Peanut warm. I’ll be right back.”
Grace pulled on her handle. The door wouldn’t budge. “Come on.”
She tried again. Nothing.
She crawled to the passenger seat and tried that handle. On her third attempt the door opened, pushing away a drift.
Thank goodness. She stumbled out of the truck. Her canvas sneakers sank into the soft snow. Her toes curled from the icy cold.
Wind whipped. Freezing air stung her lungs. Fear doubled with every passing second.
Crossing her arms over her chest and tucking her gloved but trembling hands beneath her armpits, she closed the door with her hip. She needed to keep Liam protected from the cold.
The truck was stuck in a seven-feet-tall snowbank. The shell over the back of the pickup looked fine. She couldn’t see the damage to the driver’s side, but based on the impact sounds she expected it to be crunched.
“Help,” Grace yelled, though she doubted anyone was around. She couldn’t see anything in the darkness with snow falling. “Can anyone hear me?”
The wind swallowed her voice. A weight pressed down on her.
She couldn’t give up.
Her son needed her to be strong.
If Grace hadn’t had Liam, she would have given up the night the army rang her doorbell to tell her Damon, her Ranger husband, a man she’d loved since she was fifteen, had been killed in Afghanistan. Damon had saved three soldiers before dying, but the word hero could never fill the gaping hole his death left in her and their son’s life. A hole still present two and a half years later.
Damon had always said, “It’ll be okay, babe.”
She repeated his words. “It’ll be okay. It’ll be okay.”
All she had to do was find shelter. Get Liam out of the cold. Everything else could wait until daylight.
Grace looked around.
Snow and trees.
That was all she could see.
Stupid snow and stupid trees.
Driving across country from Georgia to Oregon two weeks before Christmas had been stupid. Sure, she’d finally graduated college, but she should have stuck it out another few months until the weather improved.
What was I thinking?
Making new Christmas memories, not dwelling on old ones. Ringing in the New Year in a different place, not wondering what might have been. Meeting new people instead of saying goodbye to old friends transferring out of the Rangers or heading downrange on another deployment, not knowing who wouldn’t be coming home this time.
Snow coated her jacket and jeans. Her hair, too. Her gloved hands tingled. She shoved them in her pockets.
“I’m sorry.” Her teeth chattered. She blinked away tears. “Should have stayed in Georgia.”
It’ll be okay, babe.
Grace wished she could believe things would be okay. She glanced back at the truck. At the light illuminating cab. At Liam.
No giving up.
The snow helped the burning sensation on her skin. She wasn’t coughing. It no longer hurt to breathe. All good things. And this road had to lead somewhere, to people, right?
She forced her tired legs forward to find help, her feet completely covered in snow. Wetness seeped into her shoes, sending icy chills up her legs.
Grace glanced back at the truck, not wanting to lose sight of her son. Looking forward again, she shielded her eyes from the snowflakes coming at her sideways like miniature daggers. She scanned right to left.
Snow, trees and...
Santa Claus?
She blinked. Refocused.
A lit-up Santa beckoned in the distance. Beyond the figure was a house strung with multicolored Christmas lights.
It’ll be okay, babe.
It was going to be okay. At least for tonight. Grace looked up into the swirling snow. “Thank you, Damon.”
* * *
“No worries. I have power, Mom.” Bill Paulson walked out of the kitchen holding a bottle of beer in one hand and the phone against his ear in the other. “This is your third call tonight. It’s late. Go to bed. I’ll be by in the morning to plow your driveway. I have to check the rental properties, too.”
“Unless the snow keeps falling.”
Her hopeful words were not unexpected. His mom preferred him stuck inside and safe, rather than on another outdoor adventure. She seemed to forget he was thirty-three, not thirteen. Though, admittedly, sometimes he acted more like a kid than an adult.
“It better stop snowing.” He sat in his favorite chair, a big, comfortable leather recliner. Sports highlights played on the TV, with the volume muted. Flames danced and wood crackled in the fireplace. “I don’t want to lose another day on the mountain.”
A drawn-out, oh-so-familiar sigh came across the line, annoying him like a tickle in the throat before a full-blown cold erupted. He loved his mom, but he knew what was coming next.
“There’s more to life than climbing and skiing,” she said.
“You don’t climb or ski.”
“No, but you do.”
“My life rocks,” Bill said. “There’s nothing like helping people in trouble get down the mountain, or carving the first tracks in two feet of fresh powder, then crawling into a comfy, warm bed after a day on the hill.”
Especially if he wasn’t alone. Which, unfortunately, he was tonight.
“You’re headstrong like your father. Always off doing your own thing.”
Bill knew that disapproving-mother tone all too well. He’d grown up hearing how much he was like his dad, a man who was never around to support and love her. But this was different. His mom didn’t understand the pull of the mountain. The allure of the adrenaline rush. The satisfaction of a successful mission. She was too worried Bill would end up hurt or dead. That could happen one of these days, but still...
Time to change the subject before she laid on another guilt trip. He didn’t want to end up letting her down again. “This morning I put up the Santa you brought over. Got the lights strung on the eaves, too.”
“Wonderful. How’s the tree coming along?”
Two ornaments—a snowboard and a snowshoe—hung from the branches of a seven-foot noble fir. Bill had a box full of more ornaments, but he’d gotten bored trimming the tree. Decorating with a sexy snow bunny for a helper would have been more fun. “The tree’s coming along. I’ve even got a present under there.”
He wasn’t about to tell his mom the gift was a wedding present for Leanne Thomas and Christian Welton, two firefighters getting married on Saturday. Soon Bill would be the only member of their crew still single.
He didn’t mind.
Marriage was fine for other people. Somehow his parents had remained together in spite of spending so much time apart. Maybe when Bill hit forty he would reconsider matrimony as an option. Then again, maybe not. He didn’t need another woman dependent on him, like his mom. A woman who would think he wasn’t a good enough man, husband, father, and kept waiting for him to screw up.
“I’m happy to finish decorating your tree,” Mom said.
He had no doubt she would happily show up to decorate his whole house, wearing an embroidered Christmas sweater and jingle bells dangling from her earlobes. With her husband away most of the time, she focused her attention and energy on Bill. Always had. After she’d miscarried during a difficult pregnancy, she’d turned into a hovering, don’t-let-the-kid-out-of-your sight, overprotective mom. His turning eighteen, twenty-one, thirty hadn’t lessened the mother hen tendencies. “Give me another week.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” She made a smacking sound, her version of a good-night kiss over the phone. “Sleep well, dear.”
“Will do.” Too bad he’d be sleeping alone. Stormy nights were perfect for going to bed with a hot woman. But the December dating deadline—the second Monday in December, when men stopped seeing women, in order to avoid spending the holidays with them—had passed. Even friends with benefits expected more than he was willing to give this time of year. “’Night, Mom.”
He placed the phone on the end table, sat in the recliner and took a long pull of beer. This year’s seasonal brew from the Wy’East Brewing Company went down smoothly.
He glanced at a photograph hanging on the wall—of Jake Porter, Leanne, Nick Bishop, Tim Moreno and himself at Smith Rock during a sunny day of rock climbing in central Oregon. He raised his bottle in memory of Nick, who’d died during a climb on Mount Hood’s Reid Headwall at Christmastime nine years ago.
Wind rattled the windows.
Storm, storm, go away. Billy Paulson wants to play.
He downed the rest of the beer.
Game highlights gave way to a sports talk show.
He flipped through the channels, not bothering to turn up the sound. News. Chick flick. Syndicated comedy. The same boring shows.
Bill heard what sounded like a knock.
No one would be out tonight. Must be a branch against the house.
Another knock.
He stood.
The knocking continued. Rapid. Loud.
Not a branch. More like someone in trouble.
Bill ran, opened the door.
Cold wind slammed into his body. Bits of ice pelted his face. Swirling snow blinded his eyes.
He blinked. Focused.
A woman stood on the porch. A woman holding a bunch of blankets. A woman covered with snow.
Bill ushered her inside, then closed the door.
Dark, wet hair obscured her face. Her teeth chattered. Her jeans and jacket were soaked. She wore wet gloves.
He brushed snow off her jacket, icy wetness chilled his palms. “What’s going on?”
“S-slid into a s-snowbank.”
“Were you buckled up?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“No. Air b-bag.”
“Back or neck pain?”
“No.”
“Does anything hurt?”
“F-f-face was b-burning. H-hard to breathe. B-but that’s better now.” She shivered. “Just c-c-old.”
Bill pushed the wet hair off her face to get a better look at her.
Wide amber eyes. Flushed cheeks. Runny nose.
Full, generous lips.
The kind of lips a man, at least this man, dreamed about tasting and kissing and...
Her lips trembled.
Focus, Paulson. “Let’s get you out of that wet jacket.”
She held out the pile of blankets. “M-m-my s-son.”
Adrenaline shot through Bill. He grabbed the child and laid him on the rug in front of the living room fireplace. “Is he injured?”
“I d-don’t think so.”
Bill peeled away the wet top covering. “How old is he?”
She struggled out of her gloves and pink fleece jacket, nothing more than a waterlogged sponge now. “Three.”
Another blanket came off, this one dryer than the last. “What’s his name?”
The woman slipped off canvas sneakers. She wasn’t wearing socks. Not exactly dressed for the weather. What in the world was she doing driving around in a snowstorm?
“Liam.” She stepped away from the puddle of water pooling by her shoes. “I’m G-Grace. Grace Wilcox.”
“Bill Paulson.”
“Mommy,” a small, scared voice said from beneath a blue fleece blanket.
Grace kneeled next to the boy. She wore a short-sleeved T-shirt. Goose bumps covered her arms. “R-right here, honey.”
Bill raised the blue blanket. “Liam?”
A small boy with dark hair and pale skin looked up with quarter-size blue eyes. He wore red mittens and forest-green footie pajamas.
Bill gave the kid his best fireman smile. “Hello, little dude.”
Liam’s lips quivered. “Mommy.”
Grace pulled his mitten-covered hand onto her lap. “It’s okay.”
Okay? Only if she was talking about them being out of the storm. Maybe she had hit her head or maybe she was drunk.
Bill didn’t smell alcohol. She didn’t show any obvious signs of impairment, except for driving late at night in a blizzard. “Was Liam in a car seat?”
Her do-I-look-like-a-bad-mother glare hit Bill like an ice pick in the forehead. “Of course my son was in a car seat. He was in the backseat.”
“Just a question.” Bill didn’t see any cuts or bruises. “No offense intended.”
He touched the boy’s shoulder.
She grabbed the top of Bill’s hand, her fingers, as cold as Popsicles, dug into his skin. “What are you doing?”
“Checking your son.” Bill didn’t need to look over to know an anxious mother was watching his every move. “I’m a firefighter with Hood Hamlet Fire and Rescue. I have EMT training and am a wilderness first responder with OMSAR.”
“OMSAR?”
Definitely not from around here if she didn’t know what that was. He shot her a sideways glance. Anxious, but attractive with wide-set eyes, high cheekbones, straight nose and full lips. Mid-twenties, if that. “Oregon Mountain Search and Rescue.”
Her gaze went from distrustful to relieved. “Looks like I picked the right house.”
“Da-arn straight.” Bill didn’t want to curse in front of the kid. “No visible signs of trauma. Does anything hurt, buddy?”
The little guy scrunched up his nose. “P-Nut.”
Bill looked at Grace. “Huh?”
“Peanut is right here.” She handed the child a stuffed animal. “Tell Mr. Paulson if anything hurts, okay?”
The kid’s eyes glistened. Tears would fall in 3...2...1.
“Tummy.” Liam’s voice cracked.
Internal injury? Bill’s throat tightened. “I need to check Liam’s abdomen.”
Color drained from the woman’s face. She rubbed her hands over her mouth. “Maybe we should call 9-1-1.”
“I am 9-1-1, minus the truck, flashing lights and uniform.” Bill grabbed the pajama zipper and pulled. “Relax. I know what I’m doing. If he needs help, we’ll get it.”
“Hungry,” Liam said.
Bill’s hand stalled. “You want something to eat?”
The little boy nodded.
“Wanting food is a good sign.” Bill examined Liam. No redness or marks from where the car seat straps may have hit his body. No signs of distress or shock or concussion. The kid seemed fine. “How does a cookie sound?”
A grin brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree erupted on the kid’s face. “Cookie! I want cookie, puh-lease.”
Bill’s throat relaxed, allowing him to breathe easier. The kid was going to be okay. But the mom was another story. Not quite panicked, but cold and suspicious.
The dark circles under her eyes told only half the story. Exhausted, check. Stressed, check. Nervous, two checks. Her eyes darted back and forth, unable to focus on one thing too long. But with each pass, her gaze lingered on him a second longer than the last. Her wariness pissed him off. She seemed to forget she’d knocked on his door tonight.
“Do you want a cookie?” he asked. “Chocolate chip. My mom made them.”
Grace gnawed on her lip. “No, thanks.”
Bill rose. He grabbed two chocolate chip cookies from the snowman-shaped cookie jar on the kitchen counter, then returned to the living room. He handed one to Liam, who’d removed his mittens, and the other to Grace, who looked as if he’d given her a grenade with the pin pulled.
Her confused gaze bounced from the cookie to Bill. “I didn’t want one.”
“You look like you need one.” He watched Liam munch his cookie. “Nothing wrong with his appetite.”
“Unless I’m trying to feed him veggies.”
Grace’s lighthearted tone surprised Bill, but it was good to see her sense of humor come out. “Who wants to eat icky green and orange things?” he asked.
The kid and Peanut nodded.
“Green and orange things—” Grace emphasized the last word “—help a person grow to be tall and strong. I’m sure Mr. Paulson didn’t become a firefighter by eating junk food and drinking soda.”
Grace sounded like a mom. Duh. She was one. He wasn’t helping her out here. “Your mom’s correct, Liam. Eat lots of vegetables, fruit and protein if you want to grow up to be tall and strong like me.”
She stared down her nose at Bill. “Modest.”
Her tone and look screamed not interested. That only piqued his. “Humility is a virtue.”
Grace opened her mouth, but didn’t say a word. She looked away, then took a bite of her cookie.
Bill knelt next to her. Wet hair dampened Grace’s shirt. She wasn’t busty, but had curves in the places that mattered. She smelled good in spite of being wet, a mix of vanilla and cinnamon and something he couldn’t place. “Let’s see how you’re doing.”
Holding the cookie, she crossed her arms tight over her chest. “I’m okay. The snow washed away the powder from the air bag.”
“Looking you over won’t take long.”
She scooted back. “I’m good.”
He cut the distance between them. “Let me make sure.”
Grace stood. Every motion seemed to take effort. A battle of fatigue and stress and shock, one she was losing. “You’ve done enough.”
His gaze ran the length of her, checking for obvious injuries. He didn’t see any. “Show me where the seat belt straps hit you.”
“It’s not necessary. I told you, the air bag—”
“If you stiffened prior to impact, you’re going to be sore.”
“I’m—”
“I’m trying to do my job here. That’s all. Please let me examine you.” He was losing patience. “I have to determine if you need to go to the hospital tonight.”
She nibbled on her lip.
“Would it make a difference if I put on my uniform?” he asked.
“None whatsoever.” Her firm voice left no doubt she was serious. “I appreciate you letting us get warm, but I need to find a place to stay tonight.”
“You’re not going anywhere unless it’s the hospital.”
She glanced out the window. “But—”
“The weather’s wicked. You’re staying here tonight. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
Forget deer in headlights. Grace’s expression made her look as if she’d been flattened by a semi. “That’s—”
“Your only option.”
Her mouth twisted.
He wasn’t deterred. “I have two spare bedrooms. Use one or both.” Bill pointed to her coat. “You may feel warmer without your wet jacket and shoes, but you need to change clothes.”
Grace rubbed the back of her neck.
“Sore?” he asked.
“Fine.” She moistened her lips. “All my clothes are in the truck.”
“I have something you can wear. Be right back.” Bill sprinted to his bedroom and grabbed a pair of flannel pajamas, a Christmas gift last year from his parents. Well, from his mom. His dad usually arrived home on Christmas Eve and was out the door on the twenty-sixth, leaving Bill to become his mom’s entire world again. Maybe if he’d had a sibling, a little brother or sister, things would be different. Better. But Bill hadn’t called for help soon enough. His mother had lost her baby and couldn’t have another.
Back in the living room, he handed the pajamas to Grace. “They’ll be big on you.”
She stared at them as if he’d handed her a French maid outfit to wear, complete with fishnet stockings and a feather duster.
Her jaw tightened. “You want me to wear your pajamas?”
He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “They’re practically new. I’ve only worn the bottoms a couple times. Flannel is warm. You might be hypothermic.”
Her suspicious gaze targeted him once more. It was a good thing she wasn’t armed, or he would be a goner.
“You’re really a firefighter and mountain rescuer?”
“Check the pictures on the mantel.” He pointed to framed articles and photographs. “And the walls.”
Looking around, Grace held the pajamas in front of her like a shield.
Okay, he got it. Got her.
No wedding ring, and a kid had made her cautious. That was smart. She didn’t know him. Didn’t know her having a child meant he considered her off-limits, a look-don’t-touch, modern-day leper.
“My job is to help people in trouble. I do that when I’m on the mountain, too,” he said. “That’s all I’m trying to do here.”
“It’s just...” Grace glanced at Liam, who was playing with Peanut. She touched the boy’s head. “I’ve never been stranded—with a stranger.”
“No worries. I understand. But you’re safe here. If it makes you feel any better, the bedroom doors lock.”
Her eyes darkened. “From the inside or outside?”
That would be funny if she didn’t sound so serious. “I have an idea. I’ll call the sheriff’s office. Let them know about your truck, so they can get it towed. Then you can talk to the sheriff or a deputy. They’ll appease your concerns about staying here tonight.”
“The sheriff and his deputies will vouch for you?” Only a deaf person would miss her please-someone-tell-me-he’s-not-psychotic plea.
“I’ve lived in Hood Hamlet my whole life. I know everybody.”
Grace’s gaze took in the articles and photographs hanging on the wall again. The tension in her face, especially around her mouth, lessened. “Okay. Let’s call the sheriff. I doubt there’s more than one black pickup stuck in a snowbank around here, but in case there is, mine has Georgia plates.”
“Long way from home.”
She shrugged.
Must be a story there. Not his business.
Even if he was curious...
CHAPTER TWO
FIVE MINUTES LATER, Bill took the phone from Grace, who held on to his pajamas with her other hand. The lines creasing her forehead had disappeared, but the wariness in her eyes remained. He hoped that look wasn’t due to something the sheriff had said. “All good now?”
“The sheriff said Liam and I would be safe with you.” Her voice sounded stronger, but her words had a nervous edge. She rubbed her fingertips against the pajamas. “He’s going to take care of my truck.”
“Truck,” Liam repeated. “I like trucks. Big ones.”
“Me, too.” The kid was cute. So was the mom. If she would quit acting as if Bill was a murderer. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. At least her toes weren’t frostbitten. “Something’s still bothering you.”
Her hands stopped fidgeting with the pajamas. “You’re perceptive.”
“Sometimes.” Bill wasn’t about to play games with Grace after what she’d been through. “Tell me what’s going on.”
She looked at Liam, looked at his EMT and wilderness first aid books on the shelf, a snowboard, an old fire helmet, looked at everything in the living room except Bill.
He took a step closer. “Something’s got you wigged out.”
Grace rubbed her lips together. “The sheriff thinks you should, um, check me. See if we...I...need to go to the hospital.”
That would do it. “Good idea.”
“No. I don’t. Need to go, that is.” Her gaze still avoided his. “I’m a little sore. Nothing else.”
Liam played with Peanut, seemingly oblivious to everything else.
“Most people are sore after an accident.” Bill didn’t know if she was afraid of going to the hospital or of him. He’d guess the latter, but wished she’d look at him so he could try to see if something else was going on with her. “The rush of adrenaline can mask injuries. You should be examined.”
Grace nodded, but looked as if she’d rather face a dentist and gynecologist at the same time than be checked by him. She ran her teeth over her lower lip.
“I promise I don’t bite,” he teased.
She blushed. Her bright red cheeks made her look like a teenager.
He motioned to a chair. “Do you want to sit?”
“I’d rather stand.”
Figures. When Bill was on a call or out in the field on a rescue mission, he tried to keep the patient at ease. Joking around with Grace wasn’t working. He’d try talking to her. “Where do you live in Georgia?”
“Columbus.”
“You don’t sound Southern.”
“I grew up in the Midwest. Iowa.”
“Cornfields and the Iowa Hawkeyes.”
Her amber eyes twinkled. “And country fairs.”
“Let me guess. You were the Corn Queen.”
Her grin brightened her face. Not only pretty, unexpectedly beautiful.
Air stuck in his throat. He struggled to breathe.
She struck a royal pose, lifting her chin and shifting her shoulders back. “Corn Princess.”
Bill had no idea why he’d reacted to her. Must be tired. “Sash and tiara?”
“Corn-on-the-cob scepter, too.”
“Real Iowan corn?”
“Only the finest.” She gave Liam a royal wave. “I was the envy of the corn court until an unfortunate incident with one of the 4-H goats.”
“Poor goat.”
“Poor corn.” She made an exaggerated sad face. “After the goat encounter, I was a princess without a scepter.”
Okay, this was more like it. Smiling and joking and raising Bill’s temperature ten degrees. “So what brings her highness out of the land of sweet tea and juicy peaches across the Mississippi River and over the Rockies to the verdant Pacific Northwest?”
She stared at Liam. Her eyes softened. “Astoria.”
“Ah. Nice little coastal town, if you don’t mind being at sea level.” Bill preferred living in the mountains. “Do you have family there?”
“No, but I thought why not try something different.”
Her voice sounded shaky. Nerves?
Or something more? “That’s a big move.”
She shrugged, but tight lines formed around her mouth. “I’ve moved a lot.”
“I’ve moved twice, not counting my stint at the fire academy. Once from my parents’ house to an apartment, then into this house.” Bill stood next to Grace. The top of her head came to the tip of his nose. “Show me where you’re sore.”
She pointed to her left shoulder, where the seat belt would have hit.
He touched the spot. “Does this hurt?”
“Slightly tender.” She glanced at his hand on her, then looked away. “I can’t remember all the moves we’ve made. My husband was in the army.”
Was. Past tense. She hadn’t said ex-husband, but she wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Bill knew some folks didn’t wear rings. Others lost them. Or pawned them. “Is your husband waiting for you in Astoria?”
She bent down and stroked Liam’s hair. “He’s...dead.”
Her words cut Bill at the knees. He opened his mouth to apologize, to say something, anything, but nothing came out. She was so young with a kid.
Just like Hannah, Nick’s wife.
A million memories rushed back, memories Bill had hoped to forget. The smell of death when his rescue team had found the bodies of Nick and Iain, still roped together. The sound of grief when he’d spent days at Nick’s house, trying to comfort the Bishop family. The taste of regret when Bill had realized nothing he did or said would make things better for Hannah and her two young kids.
He had felt so useless back then. He forced himself to breathe now. At least he could do something for Grace. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” The words came automatically, as if programmed in and spoken without thinking.
Her gaze, full of affection, remained on Liam, who kept himself entertained with the toy elephant.
Bill thought he could reach out and touch the love she was sending her son. A small knot formed in his chest. Ached behind his ribs. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like how he wanted to hold Grace until she looked at him the same way.
Not that she would. He had a habit of failing the women in his life. Just like his dad.
“Columbus, Georgia.” Bill forced the words from his dry throat. “Is that where your husband was stationed?”
“Yes. Fort Benning. Damon was a Ranger. He was killed in action in Afghanistan two and a half years ago.”
Damn. That sucked. “A real hero.”
“Yes. Highly decorated. He loved what he did.”
Grace’s affection for her late husband filled her voice. Love never played into Bill’s relationships. He much preferred the other L word. Lust. Love was too messy, too complicated. It was capable of causing pain and grief, like Grace must have endured with her husband’s death. “Our service members have paid a high price in the Middle East, but your husband leaves behind a legacy of memories, and Liam.”
Her gaze went from her son to Bill. “Is there, um, anything else you need to check?”
He looked at his hand on her shoulder. Damn. Still touching her. He lowered his arm. “Any headache or sore neck now?”
“No.”
If her headrest wasn’t set properly she could have whiplash. He rubbed his hands together so they wouldn’t be cold against her skin, and stepped behind her. “I’m going to move your hair to check your neck.”
“That’s fine.” Her tight tone made him think otherwise.
Bill pushed her long wet hair over to one side. His fingertips brushed her neck.
She inhaled sharply. Tensed.
“Sorry.” He liked the feel of her soft skin. If only she wasn’t so cold. But he knew ways to warm her up. Lots of ways.
Stop. Right there.
Bill might have the reputation of being a player, but he didn’t play with patients. He touched her neck again. “Does this area hurt?”
Her back stiffened. “Not really.”
He wasn’t buying it. “You feel something.”
“Nothing major.” She sounded nonchalant, as if she had a splinter in her finger, nothing more. “A dull ache.”
He moved his hand lower. “What about here?”
“Very dull. Almost nothing.”
He moved in front of her. “Show me where the seat belt hit you.”
Grace pointed to her left shoulder, then diagonally across her chest and over her hips.
“Does your abdomen or lower back hurt?”
“No.”
“Hips?”
“All good.”
“We can hold off a trip to the hospital tonight. Depending on how you feel tomorrow, you might want to see a doctor.”
“Okay.”
“Time for you to get out of those wet clothes. You can change in the bathroom. First door on the right.” Bill motioned to Liam. “The little dude and I will make cocoa.”
Liam clapped the elephant’s paws together. “Cocoa. Cocoa.”
Bill offered her the phone. “Take this with you. You can call whoever you need to, and let them know what’s happened.”
Sadness filled her gaze. “Thanks, but there’s no one to call.”
With that, Grace walked down the hall. Denim clung to her hips, showing off her curves and the sway of her hips.
Nice butt.
Hot.
Whoa.
Not going to happen. Not with a mom. Definitely not with a widow.
He liked rescuing damsels in distress, but only long enough to see them back on their feet and be rewarded for his efforts. He might help moms, but he didn’t date them. Ever.
Mothers with children equaled commitment.
He’d rather hang in base camp, drinking and playing cards, than attempt that summit. Married friends might be happy, but they had provided enough beta on the climb. Marriage took commitment and hard work. An instant family wasn’t on Bill’s list of peaks to bag.
Hot or not, Grace and her son were his houseguests, period.
The bathroom door closed.
Liam sidled up next to Bill, pressing against his leg.
He glanced down. “Guess it’s you and me, kid.”
Liam held up his elephant.
“And Peanut.” The expectant look in the little boy’s eyes reminded Bill of the schoolkids who toured the station on field trips. Sitting behind the steering wheel wasn’t enough. Sirens needed to blare and lights flash. And helmets. The kids all had to wear the helmet. “I bet you want another cookie.”
“Please. Cocoa, too.”
Kids were the same whether they came from Hood Hamlet, Oregon, or Columbus, Georgia. “Marshmallows or whipped cream?”
“Both.”
A small hand clasped Bill’s larger one. Squeezed.
Warmth shot up his arm. Boy, that felt good. And not because Liam’s tiny fingers weren’t so cold any longer.
Inquisitive eyes full of adoration gazed up at Bill, making him feel like a superhero.
Something tugged inside his chest. Something he’d never experienced before. Something he didn’t understand. He shook off the unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling.
Must be all the excitement around here.
This wasn’t the evening he’d expected to spend. A cute kid wanting to make hot chocolate with him in the kitchen. A pretty mom changing into his pajamas in the bathroom. But Bill was not unhappy the way tonight was turning out.
Company and cookies and cocoa beat decorating the Christmas tree any day.
Even at midnight.
* * *
It’s going to be okay.
In the bathroom, Grace repeated Damon’s words. She stripped out of her clothes and dried herself off with a blue towel hanging on the rack.
Why wouldn’t it be okay?
She was naked, standing in a strange man’s house, about to put on a strange man’s pajamas, wondering if the strange man was too good to be true.
According to the sheriff, Bill Paulson was a kind, caring, generous man. She shouldn’t be surprised, since she believed Damon had helped her find this refuge from the storm.
But she doubted her late husband would appreciate the hum racing through her body. A hum that had nothing to do with the drive or the crash or the strangeness of the night, and everything to do with her handsome rescuer. The only way to describe the feeling was first-date jitters. Except this was no date. And Bill...
He reminded her of Damon. The two men had similar coloring and take-charge personalities. Bill exuded the same strength, confidence and heat as her husband.
Too bad the similarities ended there.
Damon had always been attractive, but his looks became rugged over the years due to scars from shrapnel and a nose broken twice. Not exactly world-weary, but not happy-go-lucky like Bill Paulson, whose gorgeous features belonged on the pages of an outdoor magazine layout. Bill wasn’t quite a pretty boy, especially with the sexy razor stubble, but close.
No doubt she was in shock.
That would explain her noticing every little thing about him. Reacting, too.
Touching Bill’s hand had felt good, his skin warm and rough against hers. His touching her had felt even better, his hand on her shoulder, calming and sure, as if it belonged there.
But when he’d touched her neck...intimate, almost sexual, albeit unintentional...
She missed...that. A man’s touch.
Don’t think about him.
At least not that way.
Annoyed with herself, she shrugged on the pajama shirt. The soft flannel brushed her like a caress. The friction of fabric over dry skin warmed her, even though the pajamas were too big.
The sleeves hung over her hands. She rolled them to her wrists, then fastened the front buttons with trembling fingers. Her hands didn’t shake from the cold, but from the situation.
Nerves.
She stepped into the pants. The hems pooled at her feet. She cuffed them.
The waistband slid down her hips. She rolled the top, determined to make this work.
Nerves weren’t her only issue. A touch of guilt, too.
Something’s got you wigged out.
Yeah, him.
Of all the houses on Mount Hood, she would pick the one belonging to a firefighter and mountain rescuer. The hottest guy she’d been alone with since, well, Damon had deployed.
Grace grimaced at her starstruck reflection. Had she looked this goofy while talking to Bill? She hoped not. Either way, she was being silly, acting like a teenager with a crush, not an adult, not a mom.
So what if Bill Paulson was a nice piece of eye candy? So what if he had a killer smile? So what if the concern in his bright, baby-blue eyes for her and Liam had sent an unexpected burst of heat rushing through her veins?
Tomorrow he would be one more person who had passed through her life. Nothing more.
All she had to do was survive tonight.
How hard could that be?
Grace shuffled from the bathroom and down the hallway, the carpet runner soft beneath her feet.
In the living room, a sense of warmth and homey goodness surrounded her. She’d been so frantic earlier she hadn’t noticed the house. Now she took in the hardwood floors, beamed ceiling, river rock fireplace, wood mantel covered with photographs, and beautifully lit Christmas tree.
She wiggled her toes.
More cabin than house.
Inviting and comfortable.
The kind of place she’d dreamed of living someday. The kind of place where a kid could grow up happy. The kind of place a family could call home.
The scent of the Christmas tree hung in the air along with a touch of smoke from the burning fire. The beer bottle on the wooden end table and the gigantic leather recliner seemed typical for a bachelor pad, but the couch with color-contrasting pillows and coordinating throw blanket seemed out of place for a guy living alone. A far cry from her cheap apartment in Columbus.
Was there a girlfriend or wife in the picture? Maybe an ex who had lived here and decorated?
Male laughter, rich and deep and smooth, washed over her like water from a hot shower, heating her from the outside in. Forget feeling warm; she was downright feverish.
She’d forgotten the appeal of a man’s laugh, the happiness and humor contagious. A higher pitched squeal joined in. That laugh, one she knew better than her own, brought a smile to her lips.
Liam.
Her chest tightened.
He could be such a serious boy. She was pleased he was having so much fun.
Grace entered the charming kitchen, with its dining area separated by a breakfast bar.
Bill sat at the table with her son, who was wrapped in a blanket, his little hands around a mug. Peanut sat on the table with his own mug in front of him.
What kind of guy would fix a cup of hot chocolate for a stuffed animal?
The sheriff had told her Bill Paulson was a cross between an Eagle Scout and an X Games champ. Yeah, that seemed to sum him up.
Grace moved behind Liam. She placed her hands on his narrow shoulders. “It looks like you boys did fine on your own.”
Bill stood, his manners excellent. “Your cocoa is on the counter.”
She noticed the steaming mug. “Liam doesn’t drink his very hot.”
“I’ve been around kids. I put ice cubes in his and Peanut’s cups in case they decided to share.”
She appreciated his treating Peanut like a living, breathing elephant, not a stuffed one. “Liam could spill on your blanket.”
“It’s washable. Isn’t that right, little dude?”
Liam looked up at Bill. Her son had a case of hero worship. “That’s right, big dude.”
“Okay, then.” Grace took her cup from the counter and sipped. “This is delicious.”
Bill raised his cup. “My mom makes her own cocoa mix.”
Liam took another sip. “It’s yum.”
Interesting. Her son seemed perfectly content to be away from her. Usually he didn’t want to be out of eyesight.
A twinge of regret pinched Grace’s heart. She’d done everything she could to be a good parent, but that didn’t seem to be enough. Liam liked having Bill—a man—around. Well, her son better enjoy the company because tomorrow they would be on their own again.
“You have a very nice home.” She wouldn’t expect a single guy’s house to be so clean, with homemade cocoa and cookies at the ready. “Thanks for everything.”
Bill gave her the once-over.
Grace knew better than to be flattered, especially since she couldn’t tell what he thought of her. Probably not much, given she was wearing his baggy pajamas, had no makeup on and her hair was a scraggly mess.
Her appearance wasn’t due only to traveling. She hadn’t cared how she looked since Damon died. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her hair cut. She hadn’t thought about her hair, her nails, her looks.
Until now.
She combed her fingers through damp strands, all too aware of how she’d let herself go these past two and a half years. Not that she wanted a man in their life. She could have stayed in Columbus and married Kyle if she’d wanted a husband.
Liam needs a father. You need a husband. You’ll grow to love me.
As if saying “I do” was all it took to make a marriage work. Grace shook the memory of Staff Sergeant Kyle Gabriel’s proposal from her mind. She dropped her hand to her side. “I don’t know how I’ll repay you for tonight.”
“No need.” Bill motioned to the empty chair next to Liam. “Send me a postcard once you’re settled in Astoria, and we’ll call it good.”
Relief washed over Grace, grateful that he hadn’t asked for more, for something she might not want to give. A postcard would be easy. She would have to remember to get his address. She sat. “I can manage that.”
“You mentioned trying something different by moving to Astoria. Why there and not a bigger city?”
“The Goonies.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s a movie called The Goonies,” she explained. “When I was dating my husband, Damon was saving money to buy his truck, so we didn’t go out on dates that cost a lot of money. One time he came over to my house to watch movies. We saw The Goonies. Damon said when we got married we should go to Astoria for our honeymoon.”
“Astoria, Oregon?”
She shrugged, waiting for hot tears to prick her eyes. Surprisingly, they didn’t come. Sadness and grief ebbed like the tides. “It sounded cool to a couple of kids from Iowa. We didn’t have the money for a honeymoon after we eloped. We got married at city hall. Two excited kids—me in my Sunday best and Damon in his army dress uniform–with a bouquet of carnations and two plain gold wedding bands. Going to Astoria ended up on our to-do list.”
“You and your son are doing it now.”
Grace nodded. She thought Damon would approve.
Liam yawned.
She took the mug from his hand. A preemptive move. “Tired, baby?”
He shook his head. “P-nut tired. He ready for nighty-night.”
“It’s been a long day for Peanut. You, too.” Bill pulled out Liam’s chair. “I’ll show you the guest rooms.”
“One room is fine.” She stared at the dirty cups and spoons on the table. “Less of a mess to clean up tomorrow.”
“Help yourself to the spare toothbrushes and toothpaste in the bathroom drawer.”
“Have a lot of unexpected guests?” she asked.
“Not a lot, but I like to be prepared.” He winked. “You never know who might knock on the door.”
His tone teased, but Grace doubted his houseguests were stranded like her and Liam. Most likely they were attractive young females eager to spend the night.
The realization unsettled her.
Maybe she was wrong.
For all she knew, he had a girlfriend or a fiancée. The thought didn’t make her feel better.
“Thanks. I appreciate your hospitality. I hope having us here won’t cause you any problems with your...girlfriend.”
“No worries,” he said. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Yay. Single. Grace stiffened. Being happy he was available was a crazy reaction, but oh well. She was only human.
And out of his league.
She needed a haircut, a good night’s sleep, a job and the ability to converse with a hot guy without losing her cool.
Not only out of his league, in a different grade. Grace was a kindergartner when dealing with the opposite sex. Bill was working on his master’s thesis.
“Come on, Liam.” She reached for her son. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Liam held his arms out to Bill.
Hurt flashed through Grace. Her chest tightened. She struggled to breathe.
“What can I say?” Bill’s smile lit up his face and took her breath away. “Kids love me.”
“Women, too?” The words came out before Grace could stop them. She wanted to cringe, hide, run away. But where was she going to go? She swallowed a sigh.
Bill’s lopsided grin defined the word charming. “Most women. Except those who think I’m a psychotic killer.”
He meant her. His lighthearted tone told Grace he wasn’t upset. If anything, he made her suspicions sound...endearing. But she was still embarrassed.
“I’ll carry him to the guest room.” He lifted Liam up. “Don’t forget Peanut.”
Liam hugged the elephant and settled comfortably in Bill’s arms, against Bill’s chest. “Peanut like to be carried.”
“Good,” Bill said. “Because I like to carry.”
Watching the two was bittersweet for Grace. The last time Damon had carried their son, Liam had been a year old, barely walking. Babbling, not talking.
Don’t look back.
Grace was moving west to start over. She couldn’t change the past. Damon was never coming back. She needed to look forward for both her and Liam’s sake.
She followed Bill down the hallway to a room with a queen-size cherry sleigh bed and matching dresser and nightstand. A patchwork quilt covered the bed, with coordinating shams on the pillows. Framed pictures hung on the wall. The room sure beat a cheap motel with paper-thin walls, or an expensive hotel she couldn’t afford.
“This is lovely.” But odd considering the house belonged to a single guy. “Did you decorate the room yourself?”
“My mom helped me with the entire house. She thought my apartment was too much a man cave. I give her full credit for making sure everything coordinated.”
“Your mother did a good job.”
Holding Liam with one arm, Bill pulled down the covers. He gently set the little boy on the bed. “There you go, bud.”
Liam thrust out his lower lip. “Not tired. More cocoa and cookies.”
“I’ll take you to the bathroom,” Grace said. “Then I bet you and Peanut will be ready for bed.”
At least she hoped so, because she didn’t think her heavy eyelids would remain open much longer. Her feet ached for rest. Her brain wanted to shut down for the night.
“Want Bill.” Liam’s tiny fingers wiggled, reaching for the firefighter. “P-nut want Bill, too.”
Grace opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t. This was the first time Liam had asked for someone else. She tried to ignore the prick of hurt, telling herself this was no big deal.
Bill knelt next to the bed, giving her son the height advantage. “Listen. I’m going to be in the room next to the bathroom. That’s across the hall. When you wake up, we can have breakfast. Chocolate chip pancakes sound good?”
Liam nodded about a hundred times.
“We’ll make a snowman if the storm lets up.” Bill stood. “But you and Peanut need to be well rested, okay?”
Another nod from Liam. This time Peanut joined in.
Grace mouthed a thank-you.
Bill stepped away from the bed. “Give me your keys. I’ll get your suitcases out of the truck.”
She thought for a moment, touched her hand to her face. “Oh, no. I left the keys in the ignition. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“You’ve been through a lot.”
He had no idea. “Our suitcase is on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Everything else we own is in the back.”
Compassion filled his eyes, not the usual pity people lavished on a widow.
She appreciated that.
Bill glanced toward the window. “Under a tarp or do you have a shell?”
“Shell.”
“I hope there aren’t any cracks from the accident.”
“If there are, I don’t want to know.” She looked at Liam, who was bouncing Peanut on the bed as if the mattress was a trampoline. “Not until morning.”
Bill drew his hand across his mouth as if he were zipping his lips.
The gesture was kidlike and sweet at the same time. “Thanks.”
His gaze rested on Liam. “It’s not easy being a single parent.”
The sincerity of Bill’s voice made Grace wonder if he knew someone who’d lost a spouse. She thought about asking, but didn’t want to pry. “You do what you have to do. I’m not the first wife to have lost her husband. Or Liam his father.”
“It still sucks.”
Bill’s words cut through the pleasantries—aka crap—people said to her, trying to make the bad stuff bearable. “Yes, it does. But you’re right about having memories and Liam. That’s made all the difference. And now we have our own Ranger angel looking out for us. Damon definitely had our six tonight.”
A thoughtful expression formed on Bill’s face. “You’re lucky you walked away from that snowbank without any injuries.”
“True, but that’s not what I meant.” Grace smiled up at him, a smile straight from her heart, something usually reserved for Liam alone. “I was talking about us finding you.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE SMELL OF freshly brewed coffee enticed Grace to open her heavy eyelids. The scent made her mouth water and her tummy grumble. A cup of java and one of Damon’s banana walnut muffins sounded so—
Wait a minute.
Her husband was dead. She was in bed.
Who made the coffee?
She blinked, disoriented and confused.
Light filtered through the window blinds. Not her apartment. Not anyplace she recognized.
Grace bolted upright.
Tall dresser, closet door, closed bedroom door.
Memories of the night before exploded in her mind. Driving in the blizzard. Crashing into the snowbank. Stumbling to Bill Paulson’s front door. She hadn’t been dreaming. Last night had been real.
Grace stretched her sleep-drenched arms and arched her back, like a drowsy cat waking from a much-needed nap.
She’d slept through the night. No bad dreams to wake her.
Amazing, considering she hadn’t had a full night’s sleep since Damon’s death, and odd, since she was sleeping in a strange house in a stranger’s guest room. Maybe this move to Astoria hadn’t been the worst idea since skinny jeans.
Wind shook the window. The storm hadn’t let up.
“We sure aren’t in Columbus anymore, baby.”
Grace moved her hand to the right to touch her son. Her fingers hit the mattress. “Liam?”
The spot next to her was empty.
No Liam.
No Peanut.
Her stomach clenched. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. “Liam.”
No answer.
A million and one thoughts raced through her head, none of them good.
She scrambled out of bed, threw open the door and raced down the hallway. Every muscle bunched.
The sheriff had vouched for Bill Paulson. She’d been taken with the handsome firefighter herself. But Bill wasn’t used to having kids in the house. What if he’d left cleaning solution where Liam could reach it? What if he’d left a door unlocked and Liam had wandered out of the house? What if? What if? What if?
Every nerve ending twitched. Her stomach roiled. She thought she might be physically ill.
It’ll be okay, babe.
If only she could believe that.
“You’d better not do that again, Liam.” Bill’s voice, loud and boisterous, sounded from the kitchen. “I’m warning you.”
Liam wasn’t outside, but the knowledge didn’t loosen the tension in her shoulders. Something was going on.
Grace accelerated her pace, lengthening her stride. She rounded the corner. Skidded to a stop.
On the floor between the dining area and breakfast bar, Bill sat crisscross applesauce with Liam and at least thirty dominoes set up in a row.
“I mean it this time.” Bill tried to sound serious, but his mouth curved upward, a big grin tugging at his lips. “Don’t touch the dominoes!”
Defiance gleamed in Liam’s gaze. Mischief, too. He raised his arm, made a small fist and pushed over the first domino. The rest cascaded one on top of the other.
“You did it again!” Bill placed his hand over his heart and tumbled to the floor as if he’d been knocked over, too. “What are we going to do, Peanut? Liam won’t listen.”
Her son giggled.
The sheer delight in his voice warmed Grace’s insides. Her pulse slowed. Her heart rate returned to normal. A bolt of guilt flashed through her at being so quick to think the worst of Bill Paulson when she’d woken up without Liam next to her.
Liam clapped. “Again. Again.”
“Okay, kid. But only for you.” Bill reset the dominoes, a job that took patience and a steady hand. “One more time.”
Liam spread his fingers. “Ten more.”
Grace wondered how many times they’d played this game. Knowing Liam, at least ten, but Bill didn’t seem to mind.
“Two more,” Bill countered. “I’m getting hungry.”
“Four more. I help cook.”
“You strike a hard bargain, little dude.” He stuck out his arm. “But it’s a deal.”
Liam shook Bill’s hand. “Deal.”
The guys from Damon’s squad, Liam’s honorary uncles, visited when they could, but over the past two years they’d dropped by less and less. Some attended professional development schools. Some went to Special Forces training. Some joined other military units. Some left the army. Their group of friends had gotten smaller, but Liam had never been this animated with them, people he’d known his entire life. He rarely acted this way with her. Only Peanut. Liam’s one and only friend.
Though Bill Paulson could probably qualify as her son’s friend now. The guy had the right touch with Liam.
Jealousy stabbed Grace, an unexpected emotion. One she didn’t like.
So what if her son had a new friend? Bill was nothing more than a nice guy who’d offered them shelter for the night. Something she would expect from a man who rescued people for a living, but she hadn’t imagined a bachelor being so in tune with a three-year-old.
Watching Bill and her son play together made her feel older than twenty-six. Sure, she got on the floor, and didn’t mind a big mess with art projects or mud. But she was always so tired, as if she carried a hundred-pound pack all day, struggling to keep herself balanced and not fall over like one of those dominoes.
Unlike Bill. No tired eyes. No sagging shoulders. Only smiles and an innate strength she felt from the doorway.
She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Good morning.”
Liam jumped to his feet and ran toward her. “Mommy.”
The excitement in his voice warmed Grace’s heart. This was more like it. She scooped him up, eager to have him in her arms. “I woke up, and you weren’t in bed.”
Liam gave her a wet kiss. “I wake up. Peanut, too. You asleep so I get Bill.”
“You mean Mr. Paulson.”
“That’s my dad’s name.” Bill stood. “Liam can call me by my first name.”
“Okay.” She relented only because they would be leaving today. She cuddled her son close. Sniffed. “You smell like cookies.”
Liam pointed to his new best friend. “Big dude.”
Bill’s cheeks reddened. “Liam wanted to wait until you were up to have breakfast, but we were a little hungry.”
“Hungry men eat cookies.” Liam spoke the words with a growly voice, as if mimicking someone.
Bill’s entire face turned red. He cleared his throat. “Cookies have flour, eggs and milk in them. Not that different from pancakes.”
“Cookies are healthy.” Liam bent his arm to show off his biceps. “Make me strong. Like Bill.”
Grace covered her mouth with her hand and bit back laughter. “I can let cookies before breakfast slide this one time.”
Bill’s grin made him look more like one of Liam’s peers than hers. “I appreciate that.”
“It’s the least I can do after being able to sleep in. That never happens.” Or hadn’t since Damon’s final deployment. Grace was reminded of what she and Liam had lost in the mountains of Afghanistan, of what other people took for granted, without giving their good fortune a second thought. “I hope Liam didn’t wake you up too early.”
“I was awake when he knocked on my door. No reason for both of us to be up at the crack of dawn.” Bill studied her with his watchful gaze. “I hope you weren’t worried when he wasn’t in bed.”
She hugged Liam tight, remembering her fear waking up without him. He was all she had. “I had a moment of panic until I heard you in the kitchen.”
Liam pushed away from her. “I winning.”
Grace placed him on the floor. “You always win.”
“And here I thought I had the age advantage,” Bill joked. “Liam’s quite the domino shark. He’s kicking my bu—er, behind.”
She appreciated the way Bill watched his language.
“I shark. Let’s play,” Liam shouted.
“Duty calls.” Bill set up more dominoes. “Breakfast will have to wait a few more minutes.”
“You boys play.” Grace knew having a guy to play with was a big deal for her son. She’d let him have his fun. “I’ll fix breakfast.”
Bill’s gaze met hers. “I don’t mind cooking.”
“Neither do I.”
“You’re a guest.”
“And you’re sweet.” She meant each word. “Consider my cooking breakfast a bonus on top of the postcard I’ll be sending.”
He glanced at a waiting Liam, then back at her.
“Okay.” He returned to setting up dominoes. “It’s better this way. The guys at the station aren’t that keen on my cooking.”
“I find that hard to believe.” He seemed like the kind of man who could do anything, including setting up dominoes while carrying on a conversation. “It’s hard to ruin pancakes.”
“Unless you burn them, turning breakfast into a three-alarm call.”
“You’re a firefighter,” she said. “I’m sure you can take care of any flames.”
“Oh, I know how to put out fires.” He looked up with a mischievous grin. “I also know how to start them.”
His words, flirtatious and suggestive, hung in the air. His gaze remained on her.
Grace’s pulse skittered. Attraction buzzed all the way to her toes. Something passed between them. Something palpable. Something unsettling.
She looked away. Gulped.
“I have everything you need.” He returned to the dominoes. “On the counter.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came from her Mojave-dry throat. “Thanks,” she finally said.
She shuffled to the kitchen in her bare feet, eager to put distance between them.
A few words from a gorgeous guy? A look? And she was incapacitated?
So not good.
Pancake mix sat on the counter, along with measuring cups, a wooden spoon, eggs and a stainless-steel bowl.
What was happening to her? She wasn’t in shock. She didn’t need more sleep. Maybe loneliness had finally sent her over the edge.
Grace measured the flour mixture. Her hand trembled and her vision blurred. She managed to fill the cup and dump the contents into the mixing bowl without making too much of a mess. She added water and eggs. Stirring the batter, she slowly regained her composure.
Dominoes clattered against the hardwood floor.
Liam laughed. “Oops.”
Bill released a drawn-out sigh. “We’ll have to try that again.”
Her son clapped. “Again. Again.”
“I’ve figured out your M.O.,” their host said. “You don’t do anything once.”
Bill impressed Grace. “You pick up quick. Are you sure you aren’t married with kids?” she asked him.
“Nope. Most of my friends are married, but my life is good, and I’m happy. Marriage and kids can wait until those things change. And if they don’t change, then I’ll be happily single.”
“Wait until you meet the right woman.”
“Why settle for one when there are so many out there?”
“So cavalier.”
He shrugged. “Some of my friends have great marriages. Others not so good. My parents have struggled with a long-distance marriage.”
Grace’s life had started the day she fell in love with Damon. He’d wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, but being a Ranger kept him away from home and cut his life short. “Being married takes work whether you’re together or not. Damon and I were apart a lot. Loving someone isn’t easy. But we managed. Had a child. Were a family.”
“My parents and I have never been much of a family. My dad is always away because of his job. His traveling is hard on my mom. Makes me wonder if the family thing is for me.”
“If you don’t know, it’s good you’re waiting to settle down.”
“Thanks for saying that. Everyone else has been telling me to grow up because I’m missing out.”
“I never said you weren’t missing out,” Grace teased.
She felt sorry for Bill. He could play all he wanted and be as sweet as could be, but she would never change places with him. At least she had Liam. One day, Bill was going to find himself lonelier than her.
“Cartoons. Cartoons,” Liam chanted. “Peanut wants to watch cartoons.”
Bill looked at her. “Is Liam allowed to watch TV?”
“Yes, but I limit how much.”
“That’s good,” Bill said. “Kids should be outside playing and making snow angels, not sitting on the couch inside.”
“You sure don’t act like a confirmed bachelor who doesn’t want kids.”
“I may not want children of my own, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like other people’s.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “You’re the perfect playmate and babysitter rolled into one. If you ever get tired of being a firefighter, you’d make great manny.”
His brow furrowed. “A what?”
“A male nanny.”
He rose to his feet with the grace of an athlete. “I’ve been known to babysit a time or two. Though I’m the call of last resort.”
That surprised her.
“Come on, little dude.” He picked up Liam and grabbed Peanut. “You get the best seat in the house. My favorite chair.”
Bill carried them into the living room. Thirty seconds later, the sound of cartoons filled the air. Liam squealed.
Her son seemed to like whatever Bill did. Of course, being a playmate or friend was easy. Being a parent and disciplinarian not so much.
Bill joined her in the kitchen. “How are the pancakes coming along?”
“Stirring the batter now.”
“You’ve got a great kid.”
“Thanks. But he has his moments.”
“Don’t we all.”
Grace tried to focus on cooking, but curiosity about the handsome firefighter filled her mind with questions. “You said you don’t plan on settling down anytime soon, but you must, um, date.”
The second the words left her mouth she regretted them. Talk about awkward. But wanting to know more about him had gotten the best of her.
“Yeah, I do,” he answered, as if she were asking if he put butter on his toast. “But I won’t be dating again until December.”
She added chocolate chips to the batter. “You don’t look like the Grinch.”
“I’m not. I love Christmas.”
“Most people like having someone to date for the holidays.”
“I’m not most people.”
She would agree with that. “So why won’t you date until after Christmas?”
“Too many family obligations.”
“Do you have lots of brothers and sisters?”
“Just my mom and dad. I meant a date’s family.”
“You lost me.”
“Nothing worse than being dragged to countless family gatherings, with everyone asking when’s the wedding, even if you only started dating.”
All she’d wanted to do while dating Damon was think and talk about their future. But she knew guys weren’t like that. “That would get old.”
“Didn’t your family do that?”
“No, my family didn’t want me getting serious with Damon. His family felt the same way.”
“Why?”
“They thought we were too young. I was fifteen when we started dating. Nineteen when we wed. My parents couldn’t forgive me for eloping and marrying a man who’d joined the military instead of going to college. They haven’t spoken to me since. Damon’s folks were furious when he enlisted. They’d asked me to talk him out of it. Our getting married only made things worse.”
“You’d think both sets of parents would be proud of what Damon was doing. The sacrifice he and you were making.”
Bill had no idea how horrible both sets of parents had acted. “We made our choices. They made theirs.”
He glanced around the doorway into the living room, then back at Grace. “Have you started dating again?”
Answering should be simple, but the unexpectedly personal question startled her. “A few months ago I went out with another Ranger.”
“It didn’t work out.”
“He proposed. On the third date.”
“Whoa.”
“That’s exactly what I thought.” She poured batter onto the skillet. “Kyle is a sweet guy from Damon’s platoon, but I wasn’t sure if he was serious about marriage or trying to do the right thing by a fallen mate.”
“Sounds like a good man, either way.”
“He is, but...”
“But?”
She remembered Kyle, all earnest and sincere, proposing while Liam napped on the couch. She was all for being practical, but Kyle was a friend, nothing more. “I wasn’t in love with him. We went on a few more dates, then it was time for him to deploy and...”
“Hard to go through that again.”
“I wasn’t going through it again.” She hadn’t been ready to marry another hero. She didn’t want to love a man and give her all, but not be his priority.
God. Country. Army. Family.
That was how Damon’s priorities fell. The army and serving a greater good had always come before her and Liam. She’d known where she’d fallen on the list going into the marriage, had accepted her place, respected it, because she was young, and her love for Damon was that strong.
But she was not about to accept being second, third or fourth again. Not for any man.
Grace and Liam deserved to be the number one priority. She would never settle for anything less.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/melissa-mcclone/a-little-bit-of-holiday-magic/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.