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Holiday Hideout: The Thanksgiving Fix / The Christmas Set-Up / The New Year's Deal
Jill Shalvis
Julie Kenner
Vicki Lewis Thompson
One Cabin. Three Couples. Three Chances To Find Love!THE THANKSGIVING FIXFinding Mr. Right is the furthest thing from Beth Davis’s mind when the Reno professor takes Thanksgiving break at a colleague’s Lake Tahoe cabin. Until Coinneach MacDougal arrives to fix a suspicious leak. It looks like somebody’s playing matchmaker for two people sworn to stay single. But as things heat up, Beth is astonished to find she has discovered her soul mate just as she'd given up looking.THE CHRISTMAS SET-UPCompeting architects Zoe and Jason have two weeks to come up with the design to win a coveted new project. But when a snowstorm strands them together at a secluded cabin, Zoe sees her chance to show Jason how she really feels. With romance blooming under the mistletoe, can she get the gorgeous Scrooge into the true Christmas spirit?THE NEW YEAR'S DEALFive years ago, Cleo Daire and Josh Goodson said goodbye and went their separate ways. But first they made a promise. Now the ex-lovers are spending New Year’s Eve in a romantic cabin where passion takes them by surprise and long-wished-for dreams can sometimes come true.



Praise for New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Vicki Lewis Thompson
“Vicki Lewis Thompson is one of those rare, gifted writers with the ability to touch her readers’ hearts and their funny bones.”
—#1 New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Debbie Macomber
“This modern cowboy tale expertly balances sex and emotion with a touch of humor. It’s one of the hottest western romances of the year!”
—RT Book Reviews on Claimed!

Praise for New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Jill Shalvis
“Shalvis thoroughly engages readers.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Shalvis’s writing is a perfect trifecta of win: hilarious dialogue, evocative and real characters, and settings that are as much a part of the story as the hero and heroine. I’ve never been disappointed by a Shalvis book.”
—SmartBitchesTrashyBooks.com

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Julie Kenner
“[Julie Kenner has a] flair for dialogue and eccentric characterizations.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Julie Kenner’s characters and their sexual adventures will win your heart.”
—RT Book Reviews

Holiday Hideout
The Thanksgiving Fix
New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Vicki Lewis Thompson

The Christmas Set-Up
New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Jill Shalvis

The New Year’s Deal
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Julie Kenner




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Contents
The Thanksgiving Fix: Vicki Lewis Thompson
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
The Christmas Set-Up: Jill Shalvis
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
The New Year’s Deal: Julie Kenner
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
To the memory of Christopher Reeve,
who was the epitome of Superman.

The Thanksgiving Fix
New York Times and USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Vicki Lewis Thompson

PROLOGUE
Once upon a time, a middle-aged couple named Ken and Jillian Vickers rented a cozy cottage overlooking Lake Tahoe in hopes that a weekend away would revitalize their marriage. The plan worked so well that they bought the cottage. But it was far too small to accommodate their children and grandchildren, so on Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s, it sat empty.
Ken suggested renting it out for those holidays, which made financial sense to Jillian. But after several seasons, an unusual pattern emerged. Renters routinely left notes expressing their joy at either rekindling an old love or finding a new one during their stay at the cabin.
The consistent theme of the notes fascinated Ken and Jillian, both sociology professors at the University of Nevada in Reno. Perhaps the little cabin had a special effect on couples. If so, Ken and Jillian vowed to collect enough evidence to uncover its secret….

“I STILL SAY you’re taking the concept too far.” Ken Vickers paced the small kitchen. “This is a blatant matchmaking attempt, which will skew the data we’ve collected so far.”
“And I say it’s the ultimate test.” Jillian scooted under the kitchen sink. “Hand me the wrench.”
“But—”
“With this renter, we have a golden opportunity to see if the cabin’s effect is strong enough to override a renter’s preconceived objective. Beth insists she’s stopped searching for Mr. Right. I want to see what happens if we bring Mr. Right to her doorstep.” She wiggled her fingers. “Wrench, please.”
Ken sighed as he leaned down and placed it in her outstretched hand. “You don’t know that Mac is Beth’s Mr. Right.”
“Yes, I do. Besides being a terrific handyman, he’s a nice person. Beth was one of those great students you never forget. They’re perfect for each other.”
“Aside from the fact that he loves it here and her job’s in Reno.”
“So they’ll drive back and forth. It’s doable. And they’ll make beautiful babies.”
“Babies? Jillian, for God’s sake. They haven’t even met and you’re already envisioning babies?”
“You have to admit they’d make a handsome couple, Mac with his dark hair and those startling blue eyes, and Beth with her reddish-brown hair and green eyes. Their kids would be absolutely—”
“What if she doesn’t notice the leak and we end up with water damage?”
“C’mon, Ken. She manages one of the largest hotels in Reno. She’ll notice.”
“I still don’t think this is a good idea. Something could go wrong.”
“I promise you, it won’t.” Jillian loosened the pipe fitting. “Would you please turn on the water?”
With another martyred sigh, Ken complied.
“Good—we’ve got a leak. It’s just enough to get her attention. You posted Mac’s number on the refrigerator, right?”
“I did, but…I don’t know if I can just walk out of here with that pipe leaking. It goes against my instincts.”
“Not mine. She’ll be here in the next hour, and it’s starting to snow.” Jillian eased out from under the sink. “Let’s get going before the roads get too icy.”

CHAPTER ONE
AFTER UNPACKING AND TAKING a long soak in the claw-foot tub of her Lake Tahoe rental cabin, Beth Tierney put on an old sweatshirt and sweatpants along with her sock-monkey slippers. Then she settled down on the living room couch with a glass of wine, a pen and a yellow legal pad.
Before she left the cabin on Sunday, she would have a Single and Proud of It speech for her well-meaning yet interfering family when they gathered for Christmas. Never again would she face a holiday dreading that they’d try to fix her up with a marriage prospect. Pen poised, she debated how to begin.
Now that I’ve turned thirty, I— She scratched that out. No sense in calling attention to her age when that was the first thing they mentioned when they broached the subject of her singleness. As you all know, I used my Thanksgiving break to take stock of my life.
That was better. Her father was fond of telling his children to “take stock of their lives.” She’d reminded her mother of that when announcing she wasn’t going to be attending the family Thanksgiving celebration in Sacramento this year. Her two brothers and one sister—all married even though they were younger than she was—had thought hiding away in a cabin for the Thanksgiving weekend was stupid, and had called her to say so. But her mom and dad had given their blessing.
She glanced out the window where a light snow continued to fall. Good thing she’d made it before the roads got bad. Returning her attention to the yellow legal pad on her lap, she chose her next sentence carefully.
After much consideration—her dad would love that part—I’ve decided to embrace my single status. Brilliant opening. She tapped the pen against the paper, pleased with herself.
This getaway had been such a great idea. Besides writing the speech to give to her family on Christmas, she planned to spend the long weekend appreciating all the enjoyable things about being unattached. She sipped her wine and stared into the fire.
These days, being single no longer carried a stigma. The words spinster and old maid didn’t apply to an educated woman with a terrific future in business. She had a loving family, many close friends and a spacious condo.
She didn’t need a man to keep her feet warm at night. Wearing wool socks to bed was a far simpler solution.
She didn’t require a ring, a wedding and a home in suburbia to feel complete. Her life was full, and her family might as well give up the quest for a fairy-tale ending. It wasn’t going to happen.
She wasn’t bitter about that. No tragic love stories had turned her against marriage. Besides her family’s endless matchmaking attempts—which had never gone well—she’d dated some almost-right guys over the years. Two had even proposed.
But neither of those relationships had measured up. She wanted to be madly in love, of course, but she also needed to be respected as an equal partner. Her ideal man wouldn’t take himself too seriously, but he would take the nurturing part of their relationship very seriously.
For example, he would remember her birthday without being reminded. She would love to meet the man who believed that remembering birthdays and anniversaries was important. If a guy could tell her, without a cheat sheet, the birthdays of his parents and siblings, that would make her sit up and take notice.
Everyone said her expectations were too high, which meant there was a good chance no man would make the grade. She was okay with that. Some people were meant to be married, and some weren’t. She fit into category B. She was perfectly fine as she was, and she was going to give them a detailed list of all the reasons why. Maybe then her well-intentioned family would get off her back.
The fire needed tending, so she got up to add another log. Once she had it crackling nicely again, she decided she could do with some brain food to help her list along, walked over to the tiny kitchen area adjacent to the living room, and opened the refrigerator. Cheese and crackers sounded good.
She found a wooden cheeseboard on one of the shelves, and used a knife from the well-stocked drawer of kitchen utensils to slice the cheddar she’d brought. Ken and Jillian had thought of everything, but then, they would have since they spent many weekends at the cabin during the rest of the year. She rinsed off the knife and left it in the strainer.
But as she picked up the cheeseboard and started back to the couch, she heard water dripping. Returning to the kitchen, she opened the doors and examined the pipes under the sink. Near as she could tell, a pipe fitting had worked itself loose. She tried tightening it by hand and then tested it by running more water in the sink. Still dripping.
She could call the handyman whose number was posted on the refrigerator, but that seemed silly. She’d carried a toolbox in her trunk for years, a habit instilled by her dad. He always said a person should be prepared for life’s little hiccups. Handling this herself would be symbolic: Beth Tierney proves that she doesn’t need a man around.
After donning her jacket and pulling boots over her monkey slippers, she hurried outside, fetched the toolbox and ran back in. The handyman shouldn’t have to come out in this weather, anyway. He was probably some old guy who was at that moment helping his wife with the pumpkin pies or hauling in folding chairs for the extended family that would arrive tomorrow.
Beth battled a wave of nostalgia. By doing the hermit thing this year, she’d miss the carving of the turkey and the Thanksgiving Day toasts. Her mother, sister and sisters-in-law would gather in the kitchen for girl talk while her dad, brothers and brother-in-law watched football and her nieces and nephews ran around fighting over who got the wishbone.
Holidays were chaotic in her family, and she loved every minute, except…they would always, always, drag some single guy into the mix, hoping Beth would hook up with him and instead add a sour note to her holidays. If she ever expected to enjoy another holiday with her nearest and dearest, she had to put an end to their matchmaking.
After taking off her coat and boots, she chose a wrench from her toolbox and wriggled into position under the pipe. A few twists of the wrench and the dripping stopped. Scooting out from under the counter, she tested her job by running water into the sink. All fixed. Beth Tierney, single girl, had triumphed over another household emergency. Who needed men?
Although she had to admit there was one thing she did need a man for. She wasn’t ready to give up sex at the ripe old age of thirty. But a girl could have sex without expecting it to lead to white lace and promises. In fact, sex would be much more honest if both parties agreed that it wasn’t a prelude to courtship and marriage.
Putting away her wrench, she picked up the cheeseboard and returned to the couch. Maybe she’d write out that conclusion in her speech, although her sex life wasn’t exactly a subject she shared with her parents. Still, she needed a manifesto that would remind her of why she’d made this decision to give up on wedding bells. She picked up her legal pad and began to write again as the fire blazed in the hearth and snow fell outside the window.

“MOM, please DON’T FIX ME UP with someone for Thanksgiving.” Mac McFarland cradled the cell phone against his shoulder as he pulled off his boots. Once he’d finished this call, he’d build a fire and pop open a beer. Snowy weather was a perfect excuse to relax by the fire with a cold one.
“It’s not a fix-up,” his mother said. “She’s a friend of the family.”
“Since when? I’ve never heard of this Stephanie person.”
“A recent friend. Your father hired her last month as his new receptionist. There’s no harm in meeting her, Conneach.”
He cringed. Although he’d trained everyone else in his life to call him Mac, his mother insisted on using his given name, which had been a burden to him from the moment he’d realized other boys had names like Bill and Pete and Sam.
In print, his name stymied people. When he pronounced it for them, they thought he was saying cognac, and they teased him about being named after a type of brandy. Self-preservation had prompted him to change his name to Mac McFarland, and that had worked for everyone—except his mother.
“Mom, I’m sure these single women you round up are embarrassed to be paraded in front of me as if you’re trying to marry me off.”
“There’s no as if about it. I am trying to marry you off. You’re thirty-one years old. It’s time. And I don’t have to remind you that you’re the hope of the McFarlands.”
“No, you don’t have to remind me.” But she did at every opportunity. As the only son, he was supposed to guarantee that his father’s branch of the McFarland clan would continue. His younger sister had no such responsibility, and frankly, that was unfair. The whole charade was so three centuries ago.
“You intend to get married at some point, I hope?”
Mac set his boots aside and wiggled his toes inside his wool socks. “Maybe. I suppose. I’m in no rush, but someday, when I meet the right woman.”
“And how do you intend to do that? You’re either working or camping alone in the woods.”
“That’s not true. I have dates.”
“With who?”
“Like with…Kathy.”
His mother made a dismissive sound. “That was months ago, and you were never serious about her. I could tell.”
“Mom, I love you, but you have to stop pushing.”
There was a pause on the other end. “I can’t uninvite her.”
“I suppose not.” His phone beeped. “Listen, I have another call.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Yes, you’ll see me tomorrow. Bye, Mom.” He disconnected and picked up the new call, which turned out to be Jillian Vickers, one of his favorite people. He wished her a happy Thanksgiving.
“Same to you, Mac,” she said. “Hey, have you heard anything from our weekend renter, Beth Tierney?”
“No, I haven’t.” He frowned. “Why, is there a problem?”
“I’m not sure, but I would really appreciate it if you’d go over and check on her.” Noise in the background indicated Ken was mumbling something. “Last time we were there, we thought we heard a leak in the kitchen, maybe under the sink.”
“Really?” Mac sat up straighter. “You should have called me. You don’t want water damage on those oak cabinets.”
“I know, but I…I sort of forgot about it. I’m sure it’s nothing, but could you take a quick run over there and check?”
“Sure.” Mac reached for his boots. Something about this situation wasn’t adding up. Ken was a stickler for details. Jillian might have forgotten about a leak, but Ken wouldn’t have. He’d either have made sure he’d fixed it himself or phoned Mac. Still, Mac wasn’t about to refuse a request from such great customers.
“I realize I’m sending you out in the snow,” Jillian added. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Gives me a chance to try out my new snow tires.” He pulled on one boot. “I’ll give you a call after I go over there.”
“Thanks, Mac. You’re the best. Talk to you soon. Oh, and her name is Beth Tierney.” She hung up.
I know, Mac thought. You already told me that. He was halfway over to the Vickers’ cabin before he figured out what was bothering him about this errand. Instead of calling him, Jillian could have called the renter. No doubt the woman had a cell phone with her, and the rental agreement would have that listed.
Oh, well. Maybe Jillian hadn’t thought of that. No doubt she was cooking and cleaning in preparation for the big Thanksgiving dinner with her family and she was distracted. He was nearly at the cabin, anyway, and he was pleased with the way his new tires gripped the road. This really did give him the chance to test them out, so it wasn’t a wasted trip.
Anyway, if it turned out there was actually a leak, he needed to fix it before those beautiful cabinets suffered. He’d refinished them just last summer, and the image of water dripping on them made him wince.
Parking the truck in front of the cabin, he turned up his coat collar and grabbed his toolbox out of the camper shell in the back before going to the door. He smelled wood smoke, which meant she’d built a fire.
He pictured the roaring fire he would enjoy once he finished this chore. The temperature had dropped significantly in the past hour, and he was ready to go home and settle in for the night. He knocked briskly.
When the door opened, he blinked in surprise. He hadn’t thought much about who was renting the cabin, but in the back of his mind he’d wondered what sort of woman would deliberately spend Thanksgiving weekend alone in a mountain cabin. He might have expected some eccentric old lady who’d had it with the Thanksgiving Day hype and wanted an escape. He certainly hadn’t expected Beth Tierney to be young and beautiful.
Not that she was trying to be beautiful. She wore a faded UNR sweatshirt, baggy sweats, and—he couldn’t help smiling when he saw them—sock-monkey slippers. Her dark brown hair was caught up in a haphazard ponytail, and her face was bare of makeup, which only emphasized the soft green of her eyes. Any woman who could look that appealing without trying captured Mac’s attention.
“I’m Mac McFarland, the handyman,” he said. “Ken and Jillian called me about a potential leak.”
“Oh!” She glanced at the toolbox in his hand. “I’m sorry you’ve made the trip, especially in this weather. I fixed it.”
“So there was a leak?” He didn’t want to insult her by implying that she hadn’t fixed it, but he loved this cabin and he was crazy about those oak cabinets. A leak that could threaten the finish he’d painstakingly applied had to be investigated. By him.
“Yes, but I handled it. Thank you for coming by, but everything’s under control. Happy Thanksgiving.” She started to close the door.
He put his hand on the door. “I believe you…” Although he didn’t, not really. “But would you mind if I double-check the situation to see if it’s dripping again? Leaks can be tricky.”
“You don’t think I fixed it, do you?”
She seemed pretty confident, but he still wanted to look for himself. “I’m sure you did, but I promised to report back to Ken and Jillian after I checked on things.” He smiled. “It’s what they pay me for.”
She hesitated and finally shrugged. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to jeopardize your work relationship with them.”
“I’d rather not. They’re good customers.” He gave her points for being understanding.
“Okay, then.” She stepped away from the door with obvious reluctance. “I’m sure the pipes are fine, though, and I’m kind of busy right now.”
He glanced at the cozy fire, the glass of wine, the cheese and crackers, and a yellow legal pad with some things scribbled on it. “Are you a writer?”
“No.”
So much for that attempt at conversation. Damn, now he was curious. Maybe she’d recently broken up with someone and this was how she was dealing with it. He couldn’t imagine anyone giving up on a woman who looked like her, but she could have a boatload of bad habits.
As he walked into the kitchen area he noticed a toolbox sitting on the floor beside the row of cabinets. He gave her more points; no women he knew traveled with a toolbox.
And it was definitely hers, because Ken and Jillian kept whatever tools they needed hanging inside a locked closet by the back door. Ken had made the decision not to give renters access to the tool closet, which Mac thought was a wise move—not so much for fear of theft as for incompetence.
Mac took off his heavy parka and draped it over a kitchen chair. Then he crouched in front of the sink and opened the cabinet doors. They moved smoothly on their hinges, exactly as he’d intended when he’d put in all-new hardware last summer.
Nothing was dripping now. He rolled onto his back and scooted under the sink to examine the pipes and fittings. All was well. “Would you turn on the faucet for me, please?”
She walked over, her monkey slippers whispering against the wooden floor, the scent of cinnamon arriving with her. Water splashed into the stainless-steel sink, but none of it dripped from the fitting.
“Thanks, that’s good.”
The splashing stopped and she walked away again.
He waited. Still no drip. That left him with no reason to stay, no reason to satisfy his curiosity as to why this beautiful woman was here during what was, for most people, a family holiday. He certainly would be dealing with his family tomorrow—along with Stephanie, the woman his mother hoped would become the bearer of McFarland sons.
Easing out from under the sink, he sat up and leaned his arms on his knees.
Beth stood looking at him, her expression more open than it had been a few moments ago. “No leak?”
“Not that I can see.” Something else was different about her, too. Then he realized she’d taken her hair out of the ponytail. It fell to her shoulders in soft waves and he noticed tinges of red mixed with the brown. “Whatever it was, you’ve obviously taken care of it.”
“Thanks.”
He stood. “Guess I’ll let you get back to your fire. I appreciate you allowing me to come in.” He walked over to the chair where he’d hung his parka.
“It seems a shame that you drove over here for no reason.”
He picked up his coat and turned toward her. “No worries. It’s okay.”
“I don’t know if you have somewhere you need to be, but…would you like to stay for a glass of wine?”
He had no idea what had prompted that invitation after her initial chilly response, but he wasn’t opposed to her idea. At all. “I have nowhere I have to be, and that sounds great. Thanks.”
“I hope you like red.”
“Absolutely.” And this would give him a chance to stay a little longer and try to unravel the mystery that was Beth Tierney. “But I should call Jillian and let her know the leak’s not a problem.”
“Sure. While you do that, I’ll pour you some wine.”
“That’s a deal.” He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and punched in Ken and Jillian’s number.
Jillian answered on the first ring. “Mac? Did you take care of the leak?”
“No, Beth did and it’s fine now.”
“Oh. I see. So I guess you didn’t need to go out in the snowstorm, after all. Sorry about that.” Jillian sounded a little subdued.
“Guess not. You have a capable renter here.”
“Right. So you’re heading home?”
“Not quite. Beth offered me a glass of wine, so I’m taking her up on it.”
“Oh! That’s great! I mean…how nice of her.”
The puzzle began to click into place. “Jillian, what’s up?”
“Nothing, nothing. I just think you two might have some things in common. She’s Irish, too, you know.”
Turning away from the living room, Mac lowered his voice. “Did you arrange this?”
“Not exactly. Well…sort of.”
“Honestly, I’m beginning to think you’re in league with my mother.” But Jillian was a customer, so he couldn’t be too hard on her. Still, it was an under-handed trick.
“Mac, it’s harmless. I just thought you two might get along. If you don’t, no harm done.”
He glanced toward the living room where Beth sat on the couch with her wineglass on one end table and his on the other. She’d put the plate of cheese and crackers on the couch’s middle cushion. A guy would have to be dead to turn down the chance to spend time in front of a fire with a beautiful woman on a snowy night, even if it was technically a fix-up.
He angled away again, once more shielding his conversation with Jillian. “I’ll say this,” he murmured. “You have good taste. Talk to you later.” He disconnected the call and tucked the phone in his pocket.
Now to solve the mystery…

CHAPTER TWO
INVITING THE HANDYMAN TO STAY for a glass of wine hadn’t been part of Beth’s game plan. But Mac McFarland was serious eye candy, a fact she hadn’t been able to ignore, especially after he took off his coat and started to inspect the pipe. Between the faded jeans that showcased his tight buns and a blue chambray shirt that required no padding to emphasize his broad shoulders, he was outfitted like a certified hunk.
His dark, wavy hair brushed the back of his collar in a most attractive way, and his eyes were the kind of startling blue that won guys modeling and movie contracts. On top of all that, he smelled good. From the moment he’d come through the door, she’d breathed in a heady combination of pine boughs and wood smoke.
Even though she was concentrating on the joys of singlehood this weekend, that didn’t mean she couldn’t invite a guy for a drink.
She wasn’t exactly dressed for company, though. It was too late to apply makeup, but at least she’d spritzed a little of her favorite spice body mist on after her bath.
Maybe she’d share a drink with Mac and then he’d go on about his business. But if not, and his arresting blue eyes continued to fascinate her, she might try out the new ground rules she’d devised for her sex life and see what his reaction might be. Assuming he was interested in her and didn’t have some sweetie in the wings, that was.
Once he’d joined her on the couch, she picked up her wineglass and searched for an icebreaker.
He took a sip of the wine. “Good stuff. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. So…did you decide in kindergarten that you wanted to be a handyman and that was the end of that?”
He laughed. “No, I wanted to be a superhero, but sadly my superpowers never developed, so I had to settle for household maintenance instead.”
She could imagine him in spandex and a rippling cape. He had the classic square-jawed superhero look about him. “I’ll bet your customers think you’re heroic. A good maintenance man is hard to find.” As she knew from her experience as a hotel manager.
“That, as a matter of fact, is true. Just about anyone can hang out a shingle. But I learned from an expert—my dad. I worked for him all through high school and college.” He reached for a cracker and put a piece of cheese on top of it.
“But now you don’t.”
“Nope. I developed an independent streak. But at least by working on this side of the mountain, I’m not in direct competition with him.” He popped the cheese and cracker into his mouth and began to chew.
“So he’s in Reno?”
He finished chewing and swallowed. “My folks live there.” He picked up his wineglass and gestured in her direction. “Your turn.”
“I manage the High Sierras Hotel.”
He nodded. “I can see you doing that.”
“You can?” She glanced down at her sweats. “I don’t look much like a hotel manager at the moment.”
“No, but you act like someone who makes plans and carries them out, which would make for a good manager.”
She gazed at him, intrigued. “How can you tell?”
“The fire, the wine, whatever you were writing when I got here. That looked like part of a plan to me.”
“It was.” She was impressed that he was so observant and wondered what he’d think of the manifesto she was creating.
But she didn’t know him well enough to talk about it, at least not yet. When she didn’t offer to tell him her purpose in coming here, he didn’t ask. She took that as a promising sign that he respected boundaries.
He swallowed another sip of his wine. “I’d think this would be a busy week for you at the hotel.”
“It is, but my assistant is excellent and he has my cell number in case anything unexpected crops up. I can get back there fairly fast if necessary.”
Mac glanced out the window where snow continued to come down. “Or not.”
“Or not.” She smiled. “To tell the truth, I wouldn’t mind being snowed in. I’m a bit of a workaholic, and a heavy snow would force me to stay away from the hotel for the whole weekend.” She swirled her wine in the glass. “I love my work, but I have a tendency to obsess over it.”
“At least you have an assistant.” He helped himself to another cracker and piece of cheese. “I’m the whole show, and sometimes that means working 24/7. Well, not quite, but it can feel that way.”
“So why don’t you have an assistant?” She had an idea of the answer, but was curious as to whether she was right.
“Damned if I know. I should hire one, but…”
“A good maintenance man is hard to find?”
“I just think I can do the job better than anyone else. I have a bit of an ego, I guess.” He grinned at her.
Her heart rate picked up. That smile of his was killer. “So I’m lucky that you’re not rushing off to repair someone’s broken pipes or faulty light fixture tonight.”
“It could still happen. I’ve notified all my customers that I’ll be in Reno tomorrow at my folks’ house for Thanksgiving dinner, but I’ll be here until morning, and my people know that.” There was a note of pride in his voice.
She thought of his childhood ambition of becoming a superhero. He hadn’t strayed all that far from his dream, after all. “Which is why Jillian Vickers called you.”
He nodded and swallowed a mouthful of wine. “About that.” He glanced over at her. “You should probably know that Jillian loosened that fitting on purpose.”
Beth stared at him. “On purpose? But why would she… Oh, my God.” She started to laugh. “Oh, my God.” She put her wineglass on the end table so she wouldn’t spill on the couch, a real danger because she was shaking with laughter. “That’s hysterical!”
“Care to tell me why?” He sounded a little miffed.
“Because…” She gasped for breath and realized her hilarity might have offended him. “I’m sorry. It’s not hysterical that she’d try to fix me up with you. You’re gorgeous.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say—”
“It’s just that the reason I stayed away from my family’s Thanksgiving celebration in Sacramento is because I knew they’d have a blind date for me there. Then Jillian pulls this trick.” She threw both hands in the air. “I can’t get away from people trying to find me a man!”
He frowned. “And you prefer women?”
“Heavens, no!” She suppressed another fit of giggles. “I like men just fine. But I’m sick of my family trying to marry me off, which is what these blind dates are all about. My three siblings are married, and I, the eldest, am not. Apparently that bugs them.” She wiped her eyes and gazed at him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”
“No need to apologize. Actually, we’re in the same boat.”
She cleared her throat. “How’s that?”
“My mom is determined to find me a wife. In fact, she’s invited someone named Stephanie to dinner tomorrow.”
“Oh, dear. I know exactly how awkward that can be. You have my sympathies. And on top of that, Jillian’s trying to play matchmaker.” She looked at him. “You don’t have to stay, you know. I mean, first I’m dumped on you, and then tomorrow you’ll be dealing with Stephanie. I’ll bet you’d rather spend the night on your own.”
“Actually, it’s comforting to be with somebody who’s stuck with the same problem.” He polished off his wine.
“In that case, would you like a refill?”
“Sounds good.”
“All right, then.” She stood. “Be right back.”
“Do you mind if I stoke up the fire while you do that?”
She paused for a moment to absorb the fact that he’d asked instead of assuming that, as the guy, he had dominion over the fire. Interesting. “That would be very nice. Thank you.”
As she walked back into the living room with the wine bottle, she admired how good he looked tending the fire. She’d never dated a handyman before, and the idea of being with someone who was good with tools had an erotic component that she liked. Still, she couldn’t lose sight of the fact this was a fix-up, and this weekend was supposed to be about putting an end to those.
It helped that he was tired of being fixed up, too, and after all, he’d been inconvenienced by Jillian’s meddling. She glanced at the nearly empty cheese-and-crackers plate, and her natural tendency to be hospitable kicked in. He was a big guy, and big guys usually had appetites to match.
She refilled his wineglass. “I have a large frozen pizza I was going to cook for dinner. Want to share it with me?”
He looked up, fire tongs in one hand. “I hate to eat your stash of food.”
“Don’t worry. I brought plenty. I’m planning a single girl’s version of Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow— Cornish game hen, sweet potatoes and some other veggies. I’ll have leftovers to take me through the rest of the weekend.”
After positioning another log on the fire, he replaced the screen and stood. “Pizza sounds great.”
She set the wine bottle on the end table next to his glass. “Then I’ll go pop it in the oven.”
Mac followed her into the small kitchen area. “Matter of fact, your whole plan sounds great. I envy you having the guts to tell your family you weren’t going to play their silly game.”
“If I can’t do it now that I’m thirty, when can I?” She opened the freezer, took out the boxed pizza and opened it.
“You’re a very young-looking thirty, Beth.”
“You didn’t have to say that, but thanks.” She appreciated a man who knew how to give a well-placed compliment. She’d decided not to be paranoid about being thirty, but it didn’t hurt to have someone claim she didn’t look it.
“I’m thirty-one, and I haven’t been that bold. Then again, my mom keeps reminding me I’m the ‘hope of the McFarlands.’”
She turned to him. “You’re what?”
He leaned against the counter—six feet and a couple of inches of heart-stopping masculinity. He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, which stretched the material over his package. “If my father’s line is to be continued, I’m the only one to do it.”
A sudden image of how he would do it crossed her mind, and she resisted the urge to fan herself. “You’re an only child?”
“I have a younger sister, but in my father’s world-view, the son is the only one who can carry on the family name. According to my mother, my dad lives for the thought of me fathering a son.”
“I see.” She wondered if he had any idea how sexy he looked standing there talking about doing his familial duty. “Sounds sort of medieval.”
“I absolutely agree. And I’ve said that, but it doesn’t seem to make any impression.”
“At least I don’t have that kind of pressure. My two brothers and my sister are providing the next generation of Tierneys.” She ripped the plastic off the pizza. “Do you happen to know if there’s a pizza pan anywhere?”
“There should be.” He started opening doors. “I seem to remember seeing one when Jillian unloaded cabinets so I could refinish them. Yeah, here it is.” He pulled a large flat pan from a bottom cupboard.
She took the pan from him and deposited the frozen pizza on it. “You refinished the cabinets?”
“Last year. They needed it.”
Gazing around, she had new appreciation for the honey glow of the oak. “Nice job.”
“That’s the kind of work I like the most, the kind where you can see a difference after you’re finished. Wiring and plumbing are sort of fun, but they’re not as creative.”
In her preoccupation with Mac, she’d forgotten to turn on the oven, so she did that. The pizza had to thaw a little bit, anyway. “So you enjoy your work.”
“I love it. Maintaining vacation homes around the lake is my idea of paradise. I set my own schedule and the views are amazing. Sometimes I’m crazy busy, but when there’s a lull, I go camping and chill out.”
“And you’re happy.”
“Hell, yeah, I’m happy.”
“You don’t feel that you need a woman to complete the picture?”
He scrutinized her. “Is that a trick question?”
“No, it’s a serious question.”
“You mean, do I think I have to get married to be happy?”
“Right.”
“The answer is no, I don’t.”
“Hallelujah!” She punched her fist in the air. “I knew I wasn’t the only oddball out there!”
“I take it you don’t have the need to rush to the altar, either?”
“Definitely not. Hotel management is demanding, which is fine, because as a single person I can devote myself to it. But if I had to work around a husband’s expectations, I’d feel torn.”
“Depends upon the expectations.”
She gazed at him and realized she’d never felt free to discuss this with a man before. “I work very weird hours sometimes, and I couldn’t be counted on to cook and clean, let alone take care of a baby.”
“I hate to think that’s the current definition of what a wife does. I’d like to believe we’ve made some progress.”
“There are guys who would do those jobs, or would be happy to hire a cleaning lady and a nanny, and eat out a lot. But they’d still expect my attention some of the time.”
He smiled. “Yeah, that’s fair to say.”
“I just don’t know if I have that time—not to mention the energy—to give the proper amount of attention to a partner.”
He studied her. “You would if it mattered enough.”
“Then maybe it doesn’t.”
“Does your family get that?”
She shook her head. “My family is into marriage. That comes before everything else, as if a person must be coupled up to have a fulfilling life. I just don’t believe that.”
“For that matter, neither do I.”
“Then let’s get this pizza in the oven so we can sit by the fire and drink to that.” Beth slipped the pizza pan into the hot oven, set the timer and walked back into the living room where Mac was filling both their wineglasses. She felt euphoric. She’d found a man who agreed that marriage wasn’t the be-all and end-all of existence.
She picked up her glass from the end table and touched it to his. “To being single and loving it.”
He looked into her eyes. “To making our own choices.”
“Exactly. Down with blind dates.” Then she remembered he still had one to deal with and made a face. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He glanced out the window. “Something tells me the weather is going to keep me from making it to Reno tomorrow to meet Stephanie, anyway.”
“Really?”
“Well, not really. I have new snow tires and I’ll bet I could make it if I wanted to, but I don’t. My mom said she couldn’t uninvite Stephanie, so I’ve decided I just won’t be there. The roads are going to be too dangerous. I’m sure of it.”
Beth had a moment of misgiving. “I’m probably a bad influence.”
“No, you’re a good influence.” He lifted his glass in her direction. “Thanks, Beth.”
“You’re welcome.” She sipped her wine and tried to ignore the guilt whispering through her mind. What if Stephanie was perfect for him? His mother knew him well and she might have found his ideal mate.
Once they were settled on the couch, she turned to him. “Have you liked any of the women your parents have fixed you up with?”
“I’ve liked most of them. But that doesn’t mean any of them was someone I envisioned spending my life with.”
“Yeah, same here with the men my folks have brought around.”
“To start with, there has to be plenty of chemistry. You know, a certain zing.”
“Right.” She wondered if anything was zinging for him when he looked at her. She was experiencing some serious zing regarding him. But if he didn’t go to Reno, he might miss out on a fabulous meal. “Is your mom a good cook?”
“Do bears live in the woods?” He grinned as he relaxed against the cushions with his wineglass cupped in one large hand. “Yeah, she’s great.”
“So she’s a wonderful cook, which means you would be able to enjoy a feast tomorrow.”
“Granted, I’d be well fed, but I’d pay for it. Believe me, turkey with all the trimmings doesn’t taste nearly as good when you’re expected to entertain someone you’ve never met who has been carefully selected as a potential fiancée.”
Beth sighed. “I know. Believe me, I know.” She hesitated. She was only a mediocre cook at best, but what the hell. “You could come over and share my Cornish game hen, although I warn you, it won’t be anything like a full Thanksgiving dinner, and I’m no gourmet chef.”
His eyes lit up, but then he shook his head. “I don’t want to interrupt your plans. You probably had it figured out so you wouldn’t have to go shopping while you were here. I can’t believe you have enough to feed me, too. I eat a lot.”
“So what if we do use up what I have? It’s not as if we’re that far from civilization.” She gestured out the window. “Down the road a bit are a whole bunch of hotels and casinos. If those snow tires work as well as you say, you can always buy me dinner if the provisions give out here.”
“I could do that.”
She realized then what she’d said and her cheeks warmed with embarrassment. “Wait. I’m sounding pushy. I wasn’t implying that you would stick around that long, and I certainly didn’t mean to suggest you had to invite me out.” Way to go, Tierney.
“Easy, Beth.” He smiled. “You’re not being the least bit pushy, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I am worried about that. First I talk you into abandoning your mother’s turkey-day feast, and then I invite myself on a dinner date. I may be in management, but I swear I’m not a bossy person.”
“You didn’t talk me into anything. You inspired me to take my destiny into my own hands for a change. If I accept your invitation for Cornish game hen, then I’ll damn well be sure to return the favor with a dinner at a restaurant later on. For that matter, we could eat out tomorrow, if you want. The casino restaurants will be open.”
She gazed at him. “No, I think we should cook our own version of Thanksgiving dinner right here, as part of our new declaration of independence from family meddling. We’ll count all our blessings for the life we have, not the one everyone else thinks we should have.” She took a deep breath. “That is, if you want to.”
“I do. It’s a great idea.”
“I like it, too.”
And she liked him. So far, she liked him better than any man she’d met in a long time. If she were in the market for a serious relationship… But she wasn’t. That was the whole point.
She probably felt more free and at ease with Mac because she’d decided that marriage wasn’t for her. No pressure. They could discuss this issue without it being a loaded topic. “Have you ever come close to getting married?”
Mac sipped his wine and stared at the flames licking at the dry wood. “A couple of times, but then other things weren’t right about the relationship. In one case she was determined to make it on Broadway, and neither of us wanted to change our lives to accommodate the other one.”
“How about the second person?”
“She was a lot of fun, but not quite what you’d call mature. Eventually I got tired of being the only grown-up in the relationship.” He sighed. “Marriage is a big deal and I’d want to get it right. I guess maybe I’m too picky.”
“That’s what my family says about me, too.” From the corner of her eye she could see that he was looking at her instead of the fire, so she turned to face him. “But how can you not be picky when the stakes are so high?”
“That’s what I think, too. But how about you? Ever come close?”
“I’ve had two different guys propose.”
“That’s pretty damn close. I mean, usually a guy won’t ask unless he thinks you’re likely to say yes.”
Beth groaned. “I know, and I felt awful each time because I turned them down.”
“So I figured.”
“But I swear, Mac, neither of them listened when I said how much I love my job and how it monopolizes my life. One of them suggested that because I love the hospitality industry I’d make a great hostess when he had to entertain out-of-town clients. He expected me to cut back to part-time so I’d be free to do that.”
“Marriage shouldn’t be about giving up things you love to do.”
“No.”
“But there’s…” He paused to clear his throat. “There’s one small problem with the concept of a happy single life.”
“What’s that?”
He took another drink of his wine. “How does sex fit into the plan?” He glanced over at her. “Or are you saying you’re willing to give that up?”
“I’d rather not.” When she met his gaze, she felt that zing again. It scooted through her body and ignited various significant parts of it. Unless she was mistaken, the feeling was mutual.
“I don’t want to give it up, either.” After another charged moment, he broke eye contact and stared into the fire, as if realizing they might each need a moment to decide where to go from here.
Maybe she should drop the subject, which was becoming quite personal. But she found she couldn’t let it go. This was a question she’d wrestled with and never had the chance to discuss with a guy, especially a virile one like Mac. “I mean, we’re both pretty young to be celibate.”
“I know, but I’m not crazy about one-night stands, and deciding to go beyond that implies a certain level of commitment, doesn’t it?” He looked over at her, his gaze reflecting his uncertainty.
She swallowed. This discussion was heating up faster than the blaze in the fireplace. “Yes, I suppose, but the commitment can be limited.”
“Can it, really? In my experience, the more you have sex with someone, the more they start thinking of making the relationship permanent.”
“I wouldn’t.” Now, how had that popped out? She took a deep breath. “Speaking hypothetically, of course.”
“Of course.” He studied the fire some more, and drummed his fingers softly against his knee.
She hoped he hadn’t thought she was propositioning him with her remark. She hadn’t been, but if she tried to explain, it would be even more awkward.
As she tried to figure out how to reestablish the casual mood they’d enjoyed before they’d started discussing sex, he put his wineglass on the end table and stood.
“Listen, before I drink more wine or the roads get any worse, I need to make a quick trip to my cabin.”
“Uh, okay.” She waited for him to tell her why.
He retrieved his coat from the chair in the kitchen. “I’ll be right back. Keep the pizza hot.”
Still, she expected him to say what was so important that he had to take care of it immediately. “Do you have a dog?”
“No.” He headed for the door. “See you soon. My cabin isn’t far.” And then he was gone.
She stared at the closed door for a long time and tried to figure out what was going on. Most men would have come up with some excuse as to why they were leaving, even if they didn’t want to admit the real reason. Maybe he wasn’t good at making excuses, which was actually kind of refreshing.
The timer dinged, telling her the pizza was done. She switched off the oven and hoped the pizza wouldn’t dry out while he was gone. He’d said he’d be right back.
In the meantime, she could work more on her project to embrace her single status. She titled the next section of her notes “Reasons Why I Love Living Alone!!!” Setting down her wineglass, she made a long list. When she got home she’d type it up, print it and frame it to keep her focused.

CHAPTER THREE
NOT THE MOST GRACEFUL EXIT in the world, Mac thought as he drove carefully through the snowstorm to his cabin. He knew Beth had been expecting some sort of explanation, but his reasons for leaving were varied and complicated, and he wasn’t prepared to give Beth any of them, at least not until he’d thought things through.
Although the heater was on, the engine wasn’t warm enough to heat up the cab, which was fine with him. The cold air helped him think, and he needed to think. Because his gut was telling him that, after all these years of dating, all the fix-ups arranged by his parents, he’d just met the woman he was going to marry.
Which was crazy. He didn’t believe in that kind of instant recognition. He’d known her for—he consulted his watch—less than two hours.
Amazingly, that didn’t seem to matter. His strong reaction defied all logic, but the longer he was with her, the more certain he became that she was the one he could build a life with.
And yet that made no sense, considering she was the first woman he’d ever met who seriously didn’t need him. She didn’t need him to make her feel good about herself, and she certainly didn’t need him to take care of her. She might need him in a physical sense, but she’d just finished saying that having sex didn’t necessarily imply a commitment of any kind.
Parking in front of his cabin, he sat in the cab and took a few deep breaths as he tried to rationalize his crazy response to Beth. She was beautiful. True, but he’d dated beautiful women before without having this instinctive connection.
The chemistry was there, but he’d felt chemistry before. Maybe not quite this strong, but close.
He couldn’t remember ever being in such a rush to close the deal and create that ultimate physical connection with a particular woman.
Maybe it was her self-sufficiency. He enjoyed fixing things for his clients, but what a relief to find someone who didn’t expect him to fix anything. Yeah… Much to his surprise, he was drawn to her independent nature.
And, he had to admit, she presented a challenge. Maybe by stating that she was totally uninterested in finding a husband, she’d aroused a need in him to prove her wrong. He hoped to hell that wasn’t true. He took the subject of marriage too seriously to make it into a game.
Not that it mattered now. She probably thought he was a nutcase after he’d blown out of there without an explanation. But he couldn’t exactly blurt out that he’d needed some space to analyze his strong reaction to her.
And he definitely hadn’t been willing to tell her his other, more practical reason for leaving.
Their discussion about sex had been going in one direction—toward the bedroom. If Beth asked him to stay the night, he wanted to be able to say yes, and that meant being prepared.
He could be wrong. She might not ask him…but then again, he had been sent over by Jillian Vickers. Jillian knew him pretty well, and her matchmaking efforts were uncannily on target, so chances were, she knew Beth pretty well, too.
Then he remembered the sociology experiment that Ken and Jillian had going on and groaned. Of course. He and Beth were part of the study. Now, there was a spooky thought. Was everything he was feeling just the cabin mojo screwing with his mind?
No. He’d rather believe in love at first sight than magic cabins. Ken and Jillian were convinced the cabin had saved their marriage, but Mac thought it more likely that all they’d needed was a secluded spot to concentrate on each other. They could have been in the middle of the Sahara or on top of Mount Rushmore.
And their renters were discovering romance in the cabin for the same reason—it created a sense of intimacy.
But that didn’t explain his mind-set. He’d spent time with women in similar cabins, including his own, and never felt this urgent compulsion to bond.
Still, the Vickers’ cabin was a charmer. Whoever had designed it originally had made the front half open and cheery, with the living room and kitchen blending into each other, and the back half cozy and…yes…romantic, with only one bedroom and one bath opening off it.
The king-size bed was massive and rustic. Jillian had found a bedspread made out of soft velour. Mac had run his hand over it once and it felt incredible. For the bathroom, Ken had located an oversize claw-foot tub and Mac had installed it as an anniversary present.
Considering the amenities, not to mention the hot tub on the back porch, Mac could easily see why couples left feeling more loving toward each other than when they’d arrived. He’d mention all that when he explained the experiment to Beth. She deserved to know that they were guinea pigs.
For now, though, he should head over there before she wondered if he’d run off into a ditch. Leaving the engine running, he navigated around the snowdrifts on his front porch and unlocked the front door. Once inside, he walked quickly to the bathroom and took the box of condoms from the cabinet under the sink. He tucked them into his coat pocket and started to leave.
He was nearly out the door when he realized that he’d have to return with something else that would justify his trip home. Arriving at her front door with a box of condoms in hand was just not classy.
So what to take back to her? Wine would be great—if he had any, which he didn’t. A six-pack of beer wouldn’t work if she favored wine. His fruit bowl on the counter held two overripe bananas. They needed to be eaten, but showing up with a couple of brownish bananas didn’t strike the right note.
His refrigerator wasn’t much help. It contained half a loaf of wheat bread, six eggs, an open quart of milk, some leftover microwave lasagna and the beer. He’d deliberately let his food supplies dwindle because his mother always loaded him up with leftovers.
He didn’t have much in his cupboards—crackers that were probably stale by now, a few cans of soup, a can of regular coffee and some boxed macaroni and cheese. None of that cried out Hostess Gift. Instead it cried out Bachelor Who Doesn’t Cook.
He considered making up some story that he’d left his TV or his coffeepot on. But then he could have just said that as he was leaving her place. Instead, he’d dashed out as if his tail was on fire.
Turning on a light in his small living room, he glanced around. Reading material? That would be lame, as if he had to bring along his own entertainment. And then he spied his stack of board games.
She might not care for board games, but he did. He took the combination checkers/chess set and Sorry!, one of his favorites because it wasn’t rocket science. She might think he was a dork for disappearing abruptly and then returning with board games, but he’d brave it out.
The return trip was hairy, and he almost skidded off the pavement twice. Not many vehicles were on the road, which was lucky because at times he needed to go smack down the middle of it. He could see the lights of snowplows down on the main highway, but they wouldn’t get up here tonight.
That meant he could be snowed in all night with Beth, whether they wanted to be that cozy or not. If he’d guessed wrong about her interest in him, he could always take the couch. Maybe he wouldn’t have to tell his mother a little white lie about road conditions, after all.
As he pulled up in front of the Vickers’ cabin, he decided to make that call to his mother before he forgot. Particularly since forgetting was a distinct possibility once he focused on Beth. He got his mother on the first ring.
“Conneach, I’ve been thinking about you. How’s the weather up your way?”
“That’s why I’m calling, Mom. It’s blizzard conditions. I doubt seriously I’ll be able to get out of here tomorrow.”
“Oh, Conneach. What a disappointment.”
Guilt stabbed him, but he wasn’t going to back down after proclaiming to Beth that he was joining her for a feast of independence. “I’m disappointed, too, but I know you don’t want me on the road if it’s dangerous.”
“No, of course I don’t. If anything changes, come on, anyway. We’ll have plenty of food.”
“I know, but don’t count on me.”
“We could postpone until the next day. Your dad’s closing the office on Friday, which means Stephanie will be off, too.”
Mac hoped he wouldn’t go to hell for lying to his mother. He couldn’t very well tell her he’d met the woman of his dreams, even if that turned out to be the truth. “I promised a customer I’d install some new bathroom lighting on Friday, Mom. Sorry about that.”
“Then I’ll package up the leftovers and keep them until you can make it down here. What’s your food situation? Will you have enough to eat?”
“I’ll be fine. The casinos will be open, don’t forget. I can walk there if I have to.”
“All right. We’ll miss you, but you can meet Stephanie another time. Call if you get the chance, but if I don’t talk to you, Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Same to you, Mom.” He disconnected the call, picked up the board games and opened his door.
A jolt of happiness hit him at the thought of seeing Beth again. It seemed like ages since he’d left.

WHEN BETH HEARD MAC’S TRUCK pull up, she took the pizza out of the oven, found a pizza cutter and shoved it through the slightly hardened crust. The pizza was a little dried out and not terribly hot, but his trip had taken way longer than she’d expected. She was curious about what he’d gone after in such a hurry, and she hoped he’d say.
But if he didn’t, she resolved not to pry. After all, they’d just met. She couldn’t expect him to lay bare all his secrets right off the bat.
Once she had the pizza cut, she stoked the fire, thinking he’d knock on the door any second. When he didn’t, she wondered what was keeping him, but she’d be damned if she’d go to the window and peer out. She stuck the pizza pan back in the oven and poked at the fire some more.
This was exactly what she disliked about getting involved with a man. Instead of doing her own thing as she’d planned, she was hanging around waiting for him to come through the door. He’d given her no reason for his errand, and now he was sitting out in his truck while the pizza got cold.
She’d decided to take the pizza out and start eating, when his knock sounded. Annoyed at herself for allowing this situation to interrupt her plans, she walked over and opened the door.
He stood there, tall, broad-shouldered and beautiful as ever, his coat collar turned up and snow in his hair. His blue gaze was apologetic. “Sorry. Everything took longer than I thought it would. Just now I was calling my mom to cancel for tomorrow. She would have panicked if I hadn’t shown up and not told her I couldn’t make it.”
Her irritation ebbed a little. She stepped back from the door. “How did she take it?”
“Fine.” He walked in and she closed and locked the door behind him. “She’s disappointed, but she doesn’t want me driving if the roads are bad.”
She noticed he was carrying something under his arm. “What have you got there?”
“A couple of games. I thought we might—”
Her irritation returned. “Mac, I don’t want to get all up in your business, but this is getting weird. You leave abruptly with no explanation, and then you return a long time later with a couple of board games.”
“You don’t like board games?”
“That’s not the issue, and besides, Ken and Jillian have a cupboard full of games. You’ve been here a lot over the years, so you must know about the games closet. This isn’t adding up.”
He put the games on the kitchen table and blew out a breath. “Hell.”
“Look, if it’s something personal, like you have a health problem and had to go back to take your meds, you should just say so instead of making me resort to using my imagination. For all I know, you have another woman stashed at your cabin and you had to go make some excuse to her. I—”
“I don’t have another woman stashed in my cabin, and I don’t have any health problems.” He reached in his pocket. “I went back for these.”
He pulled out a box of Trojans and she stared at it, not sure how a girl was supposed to react to that.
He tucked the box back in his pocket. “I couldn’t think of a way to broach the subject that wouldn’t be awkward…and then I messed it up anyway. Look, I’m very attracted to you, and I think you might be attracted to me. When we started talking about sex, I…didn’t want to presume, but…I just thought these were good to have on hand.”
He was just too cute for words. Cute, and yummy, and adorably trustworthy. Heat unfurled within her already aroused body. But she still wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t make her sound like a woman who could hardly wait to jump into bed with him.
“But don’t think I brought these over because I expect anything, because I don’t. I’m not making assumptions, and I wasn’t even going to mention them unless…well, unless…”
“We needed one?” As juicy as she was feeling right now, she’d lay odds that they would.
“Yeah.”
“So the board games were your cover story.” She’d never encountered such an endearing combination of uncertainty and confidence in a man.
“A damn lame one, at that. I’d forgotten about the games cupboard.” He gazed at her. “Obviously I’ve screwed this up royally, and if you’d like me to head on back to my cabin, I wouldn’t blame you.”
“I don’t want you to head back.”
“Then let’s just forget you ever saw that box, okay?”
She smiled. “No chance.”
“You never know. Once you’re into a hot game of Sorry!, you could block out everything else.”
She looked more closely at the boxes on the table. “You brought Sorry!? I used to love that game. Haven’t played it in years.”
“Great! We’ll definitely play it, then.” He seemed relieved at the change in topic. “I brought checkers and chess so you wouldn’t think I’m an intellectual lightweight, but I’d really rather play Sorry!. It’s way more relaxing.”
“At the risk of having you think I’m an intellectual lightweight, I’d much rather play Sorry!, myself. Chess gives me a headache.”
“Me, too.” He took off his coat and draped it over a kitchen chair.
She considered suggesting he hang it on one of the hooks by the door beside hers, but any discussion involving the coat would be loaded with subtext because of what the pocket contained. She decided it could stay right on the back of a chair. Handy.
“The pizza smells good.”
“I’m afraid it’s not very warm anymore. I’ll turn the oven on again for a few minutes.” She started toward the stove.
“Hey, don’t bother.” He caught her arm as she walked past him.
She glanced up at him the same moment he touched her, and she came to an instant and complete stop. She even held her breath as she met his gaze and focused on the sensation of those strong fingers gripping her upper arm.
His fingers felt cold, even through her sweatshirt. Of course they would be. He’d been outside and hadn’t worn gloves. But there was nothing cold about the look in his eyes.
He let go of her almost immediately, but his breathing wasn’t quite as steady as it had been before. “I…uh, often eat cold pizza.”
“So do I, but this time we don’t have to.” She paused. “Unless you’re in a rush?”
“No.” He took a deep breath. “No. I think we should take our time.”
Her heart rate kicked up a notch. He wasn’t talking about the pizza, and they both knew it. “I’ll turn on the oven and open another bottle of wine if you’ll see to the fire.”
“Be happy to.”
Moments later they were sitting on the couch, each on their respective ends, but neither of them hugged the corners the way they had an hour ago. Beth decided to take it a step further. She pulled off her monkey slippers and curled her feet under her before picking up her wineglass.
“Great slippers.”
“Thanks. I could have bought a zip-up sock-monkey sleeper with feet, but I wasn’t ready to regress that far into my childhood.”
Mac laughed. “But you thought about getting it, didn’t you?”
“For about ten seconds, yes, I did. It looked cozy.”
“Speaking of cozy, this sure is.” He cradled his wineglass in one large hand and let out his breath in a contented sigh.
She smiled. “Yes…I can’t remember the last time I just…sat. We probably both work too hard. I hardly ever slow down enough to relax in front of a fire and talk.” She sipped her wine.
Talking was good. It could lead to other things. Kissing would be good, too. She couldn’t help stealing glances at his mouth and wondered what kissing him would be like.
“Turns out there’s something specific we need to talk about, though.”
“Like what?” Uneasiness pricked her bubble of contentment. She should have known this was all too good to be true.
“Do you know why Ken and Jillian bought this place?”
She glanced over at him. “If you’re about to tell me it’s haunted, I don’t want to hear it. I’m a real wuss when it comes to scary stuff.”
Mac swallowed a mouthful of wine and shook his head. “Nothing like that. They bought it because they rented it for a weekend and it put their marriage back on track.”
“Aw. Now, that’s sweet. I’m happy for them. But what does that have to do with us?”
He looked at her. “It seems that when they began leasing it out for the winter holidays, renters left notes saying they, too, had discovered or rediscovered love in this cabin.”
“How nice.”
“Yeah, except everyone left a note like that.”
“Everyone?” Beth scooted around and rested her back against the arm of the couch, so she was sitting cross-legged, facing him. “That’s quite a coincidence.”
“I know. So now Ken and Jillian, being sociologists, are collecting data so they can study the phenomenon.” He paused to take another sip.
“Are you saying we’re part of a sociology experiment?”
“I’m afraid so.” Angling his knee across the cushion, he shifted so that he was facing her, too. “Did you have a question on your rental agreement asking why you wanted to stay here?”
“Yes.”
“They added that to collect more data. What did you say?”
“That I wanted to spend the weekend letting go of any pressure to find a husband and joyfully embrace being single.” Her breath caught. “We’re a test, aren’t we? A test of the cabin’s influence!”
“I think we are.” He gazed at her. “So how do you feel about that?”
“It’s ridiculous. Until a couple of hours ago, you and I had never laid eyes on each other. If they think we’re going to meet and instantly fall in love in a couple of days, they’re delusional. And for the record, I don’t buy the magic-cabin angle.”
“Neither do I.”
“You know, they probably don’t buy it, either. They’re scientists. They’re not trying to prove the cabin is magic. They’re trying to prove it isn’t by throwing together two people who are perfectly happy being single.”
“Could be.”
Beth relaxed against the plump arm of the couch. “Okay, I feel better now that I’ve figured that out. I admire them both, and I’d hate to think that they’ve gone loony tunes since I was in Jillian’s class eleven years ago.”
“So that’s the connection. I wondered.”
“She and I really clicked, and so I’ve kept in touch with her over the years. Nothing elaborate, just a phone call once in a while. I’m sure other students have, too. She was that kind of teacher. But we weren’t close enough that she’d confide a marital problem.”
“Yeah, I didn’t find that out until I’d known them for a while. Ken told me after we’d each had a couple of beers.” He drained his wineglass. “I think the world of them, too. I just never figured on being part of an experiment.”
She leaned forward. “And how do you feel about the situation?”
“At first I was irritated.” He turned the glass slowly in his hand and watched as it caught the reflection of the fire. “Jillian knows how I feel about my mom fixing me up all the time, so I thought she had a lot of nerve to do it herself. But then…” He looked up and smiled at her. “Then I realized that I’d be an idiot not to take all the time I could get with such a beautiful woman, set up or not.”
“Thank you.” That smile of his packed a punch. She felt the light brush of panic as she realized how easily she could fall for him, magic cabin or not. Better nip that in the bud right now. “Luckily there’s no danger that either of us will consider this the first step toward getting engaged.”
An unreadable emotion flickered in his eyes. “That would be crazy, wouldn’t it?” He set his wineglass on the table and shifted his position on the couch, effectively bringing him closer to her.
“Yep, crazy.” But not all that unappealing. Yes, she’d have to be very careful. “For the first time in I don’t know how long, I can just relax and enjoy being with a man. And that’s special.”
“It’s special for me, too.” He smiled as he leaned toward her.
She mirrored his movements. He was almost within kissing range. She was about to close her eyes in preparation for being kissed when the smoke alarm went off.
They broke apart and she jumped up to discover the kitchen was rapidly filling with smoke from the oven. “That would be our pizza burned to a crisp.”
Moving quickly, she switched off the oven and pulled out the charred remains of the pizza while Mac opened the kitchen window and waved the smoke away from the alarm mounted on the wall.
“Stand back.” She carried the smoking pizza to the front door. “I’m putting this out in the snow.”
“Not in your bare feet.” He deftly removed the pan, pot holders and all, from her grip. “While I take this out, you can close the window.”
She hurried to do that as the smoke alarm sputtered into silence.
In seconds he was back, rubbing his arms and shivering. “News flash, it’s very cold out there.”
“I’m sorry, Mac.” She stepped closer, wondering if they’d progressed to the stage where she could hug him and warm him up. “That was our dinner, and now it’s ruined.”
“No worries.” He answered her unspoken question by drawing her slowly into his arms. “Here’s another news flash—I’m not really here for the food, anyway.”

CHAPTER FOUR
ALL THROUGH THEIR CONVERSATION on the couch, Mac had been thinking his reaction to Beth was only growing more intense the longer they were together. Meanwhile, she kept reminding him that it wouldn’t lead to anything significant.
He’d decided he’d be a better judge of that after he kissed her. Leaning across a large couch wasn’t the most graceful way to make a move, though. If either of them had lost their balance, the kiss could have gotten ugly fast.
Then the smoke alarm had screeched—a blessing in disguise because now they were upright, giving him the chance to gather her close and align his body with hers. He vastly preferred kissing a woman while employing full-on body contact.
God, she felt good, and she smelled even better; the cinnamon he’d noticed earlier blended with a scent that made his blood race. He gazed into her soft green eyes and brushed his thumbs lightly over her cheeks, which had a light dusting of freckles.
Her eyelashes fluttered and then she closed her eyes with a tiny sigh, drawing his attention to her full mouth. She wore no lipstick, but the natural pale rose of her lips turned him on far more than if she’d been wearing the kind of bright color he’d seen in commercials, the kind that was supposed to drive men wild.
Personally, he’d never agreed with that. Unadorned mouths were sexier, especially when they parted in a subtle invitation every red-blooded man understood.
His groin tightened. He wanted to press his mouth against hers, wanted to grant her unspoken wish that he slide his tongue between her lips and discover her secrets. And yet…
Her stand on commitment was clear—she was through seeking it. Only, whenever he looked at her, he saw his future. The belief was irrational and foolish, and he knew it would only set him up for heartbreak. He’d never allowed himself to be so vulnerable to a woman, to need someone who might not need him back.
Then she took the decision away from him. Gripping the back of his head in both hands, she pulled him down into…paradise.
As his protective shields slipped away, he wondered if he’d live to regret this moment. He’d take that chance. Submerging his doubts, he surrendered to the absolute perfection of her kiss.
Their mouths seemed made for each other. His brain stalled out but his instincts took over, guiding him through this wonderland of sensations. She tasted of wine and desire, freedom and adventure. Her kiss hinted at exotic delights that could be his in the warm haven of her arms.
His body responded with hot urgency. He’d intended the kiss to be a gentle exploration of the possibilities between them. Instead, she’d plunged him into a world drenched in passion, leaving him breathless and dazed.
With a soft moan, she wriggled free and stepped back, gulping for air. “You wanted…to go…slow.”
“To hell with that.” He pulled her into his arms again and recaptured her mouth. They could go slow the next round. For now, he needed her with a desperation that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. And that felt good, damn good.
He was so eager that he briefly considered backing her up to the kitchen table. He didn’t think he’d get any objection from her. She’d already started unbuttoning his shirt.
But that soft covering on the king-size bed called to him. Fortunately, the bedroom opened right off the kitchen.
He stopped kissing her long enough to reach into his coat pocket and grab the box of condoms.
Handing her the box, he swooped her up in his arms, carried her into the darkened bedroom and deposited her crossways on the bed. She lay in a shaft of light coming from the kitchen, her chest heaving. He took the box from her and tossed it aside, and then he followed her down.
He should stop long enough to take off his work boots, but he couldn’t seem to get enough of her mouth, so he made sure his feet stayed on the floor. She kissed like no other woman he’d known, as if nothing else mattered but that sweet connection.
If her mouth tasted this good, the rest of her must be even better. Between kisses, he began working her out of her clothes. Once her sweatshirt and bra were gone, he set out on a journey of discovery that took him from her lips to the fullness of her breasts.
She whimpered and arched her back as he drew her nipple into his mouth. He cupped her other breast, loving the way she fit perfectly into his hand. He reveled in the silky texture of her skin and the heady aroma of cinnamon and aroused woman.
Touching her was as natural as breathing. She was exotic and new, yet familiar, as if they’d danced this dance before and knew each other’s moves. When she moaned softly, he understood without words what she wanted. Sliding his hand inside her panties, he caressed her slick heat.
She gasped and began to quiver.
He continued to stroke her as he slowly kissed his way up from her breasts to recapture her mouth. She returned the kiss with unrestrained hunger, and when he lifted his head, she tried to draw him back down.
He resisted. “Open your eyes,” he murmured.
Her lashes fluttered upward, revealing eyes that had grown dark and stormy with need. She said his name on a sigh. “Mac…”
“I’m here.” He thrust two fingers in deeper.
“Oh, Mac…it’s so good.”
“That’s the idea.” He stroked her with a slow, steady rhythm and watched color bloom on her cheeks. Pressure built within him, pressure that would have to be dealt with soon, but he wanted to give her this first. He circled her clit with his thumb.
She moaned and lifted her hips, a silent plea in her eyes.
That was his cue to increase the pace. Her soft cries grew louder as he propelled her ever closer toward the brink. Holding her gaze, he paid special attention to her trigger point, and she arched off the bed with a wild cry of release.
As she lay trembling beside him, he leaned down and feathered kisses over her cheeks and mouth. “Happy Thanksgiving.”
Her breathless laughter seemed to fill the room with sunshine. “I do like the way you celebrate, McFarland.”
“That’s only the beginning.” Easing away from her, he sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced his work boots.
“Mighty fine beginning.”
He glanced over his shoulder and caught her smiling at him in a lazy, sensual way. “Thanks. It’s easy with someone as enthusiastic as you are.”
“I don’t want to give you a big ego, but I’m not always so…enthusiastic.”
“No?” He dropped one boot on the floor, pulled off his sock and started on the laces of the second boot. “That’s flattering.”
“That’s the truth. You’re one sexy guy.”
He paused for a moment. “Some women I know wouldn’t agree with you.” He dropped the other boot and stood to take off his shirt and jeans.
“Why in the world not?”
“For one thing, I don’t own a tux. I’ve heard women prefer seeing a guy in one of those monkey suits. I guess it’s a James Bond thing.” He finished stripping down.
“Their loss. Any woman who bases her opinion on your wardrobe isn’t worthy of you.”
Her compliment soothed a part of him he hadn’t realized needed it. “That’s nice to hear.” He started to join her on the bed.
She held up her hand. “Could you just stand there a second? It’s not every day a girl gets to ogle a man like you.”
“Now you’re being silly.” He wasn’t used to posing for anyone, and he felt a little self-conscious. “There’s nothing special about me.”
“That’s so not true. For one thing, you’re gorgeous, and for another thing, you’re a responsible guy who takes pride in his work. It’s a special combination.”
He felt his face grow warm. “I wasn’t fishing for—”
“You wouldn’t, but I wanted you to know that I feel lucky to be here with you.” Her gaze roamed over him and focused on his erect penis. She smiled. “Very lucky.”
His self-consciousness disappeared as he laughed. “That reaction is entirely your fault. You’re the sexiest woman I’ve met in ages.”
“Some men I know wouldn’t agree with you,” she said, echoing his phrase.
“I doubt that.”
“Just like women prefer monkey suits, there are men who want their woman to parade around in fishnet stockings and bustiers, and I’m not willing to jump through those hoops just because some guy has a hooker fantasy.”
“I’ve never understood that kind of thing. Who needs the hassle?”
“And that stuff is horribly uncomfortable.”
“I’ll bet. Personally, I prefer a woman in sweats. They come off really fast.” Leaning down, he demonstrated that by divested her of sweatpants and panties in one smooth motion.
She whooped with delight. “Nice move. Very superhero-like.”
“Now you’re teasing me.”
“No.” Her smile faded. “I would never tease you about your childhood dreams. No matter what you think, you’ve achieved them. You’re about as super a hero as I’ve ever run across, braving a blizzard to bring back condoms.”
He climbed onto the mattress. “And it’s time to open that box.”
“I’ll do it.” Rolling away from him, she reached for the box. “I want you to lie on this incredibly erotic bedspread and let me tend to your needs.”
“Aren’t you cold? We could get under the—”
“I’m not even slightly cold.” She pulled a condom out of the box and ripped the package open. “And if you are, you won’t be for long. Lie back.”
He stretched out on the bedspread, and lying naked on the soft material was as sinfully decadent as he’d imagined. He’d have to exercise a truckload of self-control if she was planning to— He twitched as she touched his rock-hard penis.
“Take it easy, big boy.” She began rolling the condom on. “This will be over in a second.”
“That’s what I’m worried about.” She’d called him a superhero, and he’d always imagined those guys could control their climaxes as easily as they changed the rotation of the earth. Nobody ever talked about a superhero in terms of sex, but Mac had his own ideas about the subject.
“I would love to play a little with this lovely package of yours, but from the way you’re clenching your jaw, I think I’d better not.”
“Good call.”
He sounded frantic but couldn’t help it. He was very close to detonating, and watching her put on the condom, her breasts quivering as she worked, her fingers caressing his already overstimulated penis, was almost more than he could take.
“We’ll play the next round.”
Until she’d said that, it hadn’t quite penetrated his brain that he had the whole night to enjoy this woman. And if the night went well, he’d have tomorrow, too. That was quite a lot to be thankful for.
Then she straddled him and eased slowly down on his aching Johnson, and thankful became a sea of gratitude. She took him up to the hilt, and he grabbed two handfuls of the bedspread as he battled the urge to come. She was…perfect.
She leaned forward, her gaze meeting his as she braced her hands on either side of his shoulders. “Cold?”
He struggled to breathe normally. “Not at all.”
“Good. Comfy?”
“I’m a little…tense.”
“I can tell.”
“Don’t move yet.” Her breasts tantalized him, but if he touched her, he’d go off like a rocket, so he contented himself with admiration.
The light from the kitchen outlined her in gold, giving her an angelic glow. Her face was in shadow, but he caught a lustful gleam in her eyes that hinted she was no angel. He was grateful for that, too.
She held still as he’d requested, although her breasts trembled from her rapid breathing. She might be a little tense, herself. He hoped so. He wanted to make her come again before he lost control.
She cleared her throat. “Sitting by the fire is nice, but this…is nicer.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Maybe next time we can do both.”
“Both?” His brain wasn’t functioning at all.
“Sex by the fire.”
“Oh. I’d like that.” Now, there was the understatement of the century. He desperately wanted to touch her. Focusing all his energy on not coming, he bracketed her hips with both hands and groaned at how soft her skin felt beneath his fingertips. “You’re beautiful.”
“Can I move now?”
“In a minute.” Sliding his hands over her hips to her waist, he stroked upward to cup her breasts. His climax hovered nearer as he brushed his thumbs over her nipples. “So beautiful.”
Her smooth channel contracted, squeezing his cock, and he gasped.
“Couldn’t stop myself.” She leaned closer, pushing her breasts into his palms as she dropped a featherlight kiss on his lips. “I can’t hold back anymore. I have to move.”
His heartbeat thundered in his ears. “Go for it.”
She began slowly, lifting and lowering her hips in a gentle rhythm, her breath warm on his face. He felt his control slipping as he rose to meet her next stroke and the soft bedspread moved sensuously beneath him. She moaned and increased the pace, her sleek bottom slapping his thighs in a staccato beat guaranteed to send him into orbit.
She cried out, and he abandoned all restraint, surging upward as his orgasm vibrated through him with the force of a jackhammer. The intensity of it consumed him, blocking out everything else.
But as awareness gradually returned, he discovered Beth snuggled against his chest and his arms wrapped protectively around her. She didn’t seem to mind. It was a start.
Beth rubbed her cheek against his chest. “Mmm. Your hair feels good.”
“Now, there’s a compliment I don’t get every day.”
“And I don’t give it every day. Some guys have too much chest hair and some don’t have enough. Yours is just right.”
He smiled. “That sounds like a line from ‘The Three Bears.’”
“You mean the story of Goldilocks, child vandal?” She lifted her head and propped it on her fist so she could look at him.
He laughed. “Guess so.”
“Now, I ask you, what sort of message does that send? Hey, kids, it’s okay to walk into a house uninvited, eat the food and break up the furniture before crawling into someone else’s bed.”
He combed her hair back from her face. “I take it you won’t be reading that story to your kids?”
“Not without some discussion, I won’t. Those bears should have pressed charges for breaking and entering.”
He brushed his knuckles over her soft cheek. She was exactly the sort of spirited woman he’d been looking for all his life…and she wanted nothing to do with a permanent relationship. “I certainly see your point. When you put it that way, Goldilocks isn’t quite so cute, is she?”
“Definitely not. And while we’re on the subject of damaging reading material, what about Hansel and Gretel? Their parents were going to kill them, so they ran away and got caught by a witch who planned to eat them. No wonder kids have nightmares!”
“I’m glad your kids won’t be exposed to that horrible stuff,” he said, partly to see how she’d react.
“That’s if I ever have any, which doesn’t seem likely. But if I did, I wouldn’t read them fairy tales without talking about the subtext.”
“Good for you.” He pulled her down for a quick kiss. At least she hadn’t proclaimed she’d never have kids. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a quick trip to the bathroom.”
“And I’ll bet you’re hungry.”
“Come to think of it, I am.” He hadn’t realized it until this very minute. “In fact, I’m starving. What have you got that we could cook up in a hurry?”
“Eggs.”
“Great—omelets.” He left the bed and headed for the bathroom.
“Can you make an omelet?” she called after him.
“No,” he called back. “Can you?”
“No. I thought all bachelors could whip up an omelet. They always do that in the movies.”
“Well, this isn’t a movie.”
“No kidding. Guess we’ll have to make do with scrambled. But I’m not very good at that, either.”
He chuckled. “Meet me in the kitchen in five minutes. We’ll figure this out together.” Damn, but he was having fun. Beth was good company, both in bed and out of it.
As he washed up and walked into the empty bedroom in search of his clothes, he thought about that. Without the pressure of a potential commitment, Beth was free to be totally herself. She could be as sexual as she wanted, rant about her least favorite fairy tales and admit she couldn’t make an omelet.
She was being totally honest with him. He felt a stab of guilt, because he wasn’t being totally honest with her. He’d allowed her to go on thinking they were a two-person army battling society’s preoccupation with marriage.
And at the moment he was AWOL from that army. Listening to Beth rummaging around in the cupboards, he couldn’t imagine anything nicer than sharing kitchen duties with her for the rest of his life.
But if he told her that, he’d risk destroying the easy camaraderie between them. She might even ask him to leave and he’d never see her again. He wasn’t sure he’d come away from that in one piece emotionally. What a mess. For now, he’d better keep his damn mouth shut.

CHAPTER FIVE
WRAPPED IN HER FAVORITE white terry bathrobe, her sock-monkey slippers on her feet, Beth pulled out a carton of eggs from the refrigerator. It was also her only carton of eggs. If Mac was starving, most of them would soon be cracked into a frying pan, leaving her short for future breakfasts.
But after a romp like the one they’d just had, who cared? She’d worry about the food supply later. Maybe they’d have chips and dip for breakfast. She’d brought those, too, because she hardly ever allowed herself that kind of snack, and this long weekend had been about indulging her private pleasures. Little had she known…
Sex with Mac had been beyond incredible, the kind of sex she used to dream of having back in the days when she still thought Mr. Right would show up. Maybe that had been the problem. Two people couldn’t have great sex if they were both auditioning for a future partner. Because she and Mac were free of those expectations, they could simply enjoy each other.
Opening cupboard doors, which she now appreciated even more knowing Mac’s capable hands had done the refinishing, she located a medium-size bowl and a frying pan. The frying pan was stainless steel instead of nonstick, so she was probably already in trouble. In her limited experience, eggs had a nasty habit of sticking to the bottom of frying pans.
Maybe Mac was more skilled than she was in the kitchen. The chances were good, since almost anyone would be more skilled. She’d never been drawn to cooking, and working in hotel management allowed her to eat meals prepared by the chef she’d hired.

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