Unexpected Angel

“You know, Miss Bennett, you’re the first woman we’ve had at this farm in two years. And I don’t mind saying, you’re a far sight nicer to look at than these old nags.”

“Thank you, Mr. Marrin.”

He winked. “You can call me Jed if I can call you Holly.”

“All right, Jed.”

He nodded to her foot. “Around here we call that a Stony Creek pedicure.”

A small giggle slipped from her throat and Holly stretched her leg out in front of her, turning it from side to side. “Once I tell all my friends in the city, I’m sure you’ll be able to package some of this stuff and make a million.”

“Well, we got plenty of inventory,” he said. “And I account for all of it, it seems.”

Alex returned with a bucket of soapy water, a first-aid kit, and the pair of boots she’d refused just minutes before. “Except for that little item you missed in front of Scirocco’s stall,” he said. He gave his father an irritated look and the old man winked at Holly again, then went back to his work in the stall. Holly watched him until she felt Alex’s hands cup her foot. Slowly he placed it in the bucket of warm water and began to rub.

Holly gulped nervously, wonderful sensations surging up her leg. She’d never considered the foot an erogenous zone, but with her pounding heart and her swimming head, Holly knew she’d be forced to revise her opinion. What Alex Marrin was doing to her toes was simply sinful! Biting back a moan of pleasure, she scrambled for a topic of conversation.

“How long have you lived here—on the farm?” she murmured, her voice cracking slightly.

“My whole life,” Alex said, moving his hands up to her ankle. “My great-grandfather owned this place before he turned it over to my grandfather, who turned it over to my father, who turned it over to me. It’s been in the family since the early 1900s. There used to be lots of breeders and boarders in the area, but now, we’re one of the last. Most of the thoroughbreds are raised south of the Mason-Dixon line.”

He took her foot from the bucket and dried it with a rough towel, then slipped her foot into the rubber boot. She kicked off her other shoe and the second boot followed the first.

“Now that we’ve tended to your bruised pride, let’s see about that finger.” Alex took her left hand and gently examined her finger. He pulled a bandanna from his jeans and wrapped her wound. “It’s not so bad. I’ve got antiseptic and bandages here.”

“Shouldn’t I get a shot?” she asked.

He sent a withering glare Scirocco’s way. “Don’t worry, he’s not rabid.”

He bent over her finger, his clumsy attempts to render first aid undeniably charming. Holly smiled inwardly. It felt good to have a man worry over her, even a man as indifferent and aloof as Alex Marrin. Maybe getting bitten by a horse and sitting in horse manure wasn’t such a bad trade-off for his attentions.

He carefully washed her finger with a soapy rag, then doused it with antiseptic. A bandage followed. “There,” he said. “All better.” Alex pressed his lips to her fingertip.

Holly blinked in surprise and when he glanced up, she could see he was similarly startled by his own action.

“I—I’m sorry,” Alex stammered, suddenly flustered. “I’m so used to fixing Eric’s cuts and scrapes, it’s force of habit.”

She smiled and withdrew her hand. “It does feel better.” Holly drew a shaky breath.

He nodded, his jaw suddenly tight, his eyes distant. Alex cleared his throat, clearly uneasy in her presence. “Well, I should really get back to work,” he murmured. “The house is empty. You can look around, get your bearings. Make yourself a decent breakfast.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving Holly still wrapped in his coat, her finger still throbbing and her leg still tingling from his touch. She clomped toward the door in the oversized boots, wondering if there’d ever come a time when she’d understand Alex Marrin. In the end, she decided it didn’t matter. She was here to do a job and nothing Alex did or said—including kissing her fingers or massaging her feet—would change her life in the least.

3

“SHE’S A PRETTY LITTLE thing. And don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Every time I turn around, you’re touchin’ her or starin’ at her. Last night at supper you almost tripped all over yourself helping to clear the table. You never do that when I cook.”

“Maybe if you cooked as good as she does, I would,” Alex murmured, not loud enough to reach his father two stalls away. He turned his focus back to the dandy brush he was smoothing over the coat of his favorite mare, Opal. Never mind that he’d been brushing the same spot for nearly ten minutes, caught up in an idle contemplation of the beautiful woman who’d suddenly barged into his home and his life.

How many times that day had he been tempted to wander back to the house, to casually search for a hot cup of coffee or quick snack with the real purpose of seeing her again? According to Jed, she’d spent the entire day yesterday with a tape measure and notepad in hand, scribbling down ideas. And when Jed had begun dinner preparations, she’d swooped down and changed his menu plan, whipping up a deliciously rich Beef Stroganoff to replace the pan-fried steaks his father usually managed to blacken.

That morning at breakfast, she’d blithely prepared another stunning culinary event of scrambled eggs, bacon and homemade biscuits. He’d given her the keys to the truck, expecting her to go right out and buy herself a decent pair of boots—and the ingredients for a gourmet supper that evening. But careful observation of the garage proved that she hadn’t left the house at all.

“You don’t have to act like you’re not listening,” Jed muttered, now leaning up against the stall gate. “I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

“And how’s that?” Alex asked, unable to ignore the bait.

“Like maybe not every woman in the world is trouble?” his father replied. “Like maybe it’s about time to put your problems with Renee in the past?”

Alex bit back a harsh laugh. He’d never put his problems with Renee in the past. Every day he was reminded that he’d failed at marriage and that his son was suffering for that failure. “I made a stupid decision marrying Renee. Hell, we only knew each other for a few months before I asked her to marry me.”

“That’s the way it always has been for Marrin men,” his father said. “We meet the woman of our dreams and it’s love at first sight.”

“She wasn’t the woman of my dreams,” Alex muttered. “And neither is Holly Bennett. I won’t be making the same mistake twice.”

“I don’t know. This one’s different,” Jed said. “She didn’t screech and holler when she ended up backside down in a pile of steaming horse apples. Takes a special kind of woman to maintain her composure in the presence of manure.”

“She’s a city girl. All manners and sophistication. My guess is she can handle herself no matter what might come along.”

“Your guess?” Jed scoffed. “It wouldn’t hurt you to get to know her. That little girl is working her tail off for your son. She’s up at the house right now scurrying around like a squirrel in a nut factory. I’ve never seen a body get so worked up over Christmas cookies. She’s sent me to the store twice today to fetch her ingredients. Says we’re havin’ cocoa van for dinner. I figure that’s some kind of fancy chocolate dessert shaped like a truck.”

“Coq au vin,” Alex corrected. “Chicken in wine sauce.” His stomach growled in response and he realized that he hadn’t bothered with lunch that day.

“Oh, yeah? Well, that’s even better.”

“It would do you well to remember that you’ve got work in the barn,” Alex said, tossing the dandy brush into the bucket as he grabbed the handle. “Your job doesn’t include fetching for her. She can drive herself to the store.”

She could do a whole lot more than drive, Alex mused. His thoughts drifted back to that first morning, when he’d carried her in his arms and kissed her bandaged finger. Though the gesture had been instinctive, his reaction hadn’t been. In truth, he’d wanted to draw her into his embrace and cover her mouth with his, to see if the taste of a woman was still as powerful as he remembered.

Alex cursed softly. So he’d been a long time without feminine companionship. Hell, it went deeper than that. In his whole life he’d only had a handful of women. He’d met Renee nine years ago, when they were twenty. He’d asked her to marry him three months later. Not much time for sowing wild oats, Alex mused. Maybe that’s why he found himself so attracted to Holly. She was a confident and sophisticated woman, she was beautiful, and she was in close proximity. He dropped the bucket on the concrete floor with a clatter. And that’s exactly how it had all started with the fickle Renee.

He stepped out of the stall to find his father leaning against a post, a piece of timothy clenched in his teeth, his gaze fixed on Alex. “Don’t ruin this for Eric,” Jed warned. “Be nice to her or stay away. There’s no middle ground here.”

Alex shook his head, then stalked to the door, the faint sound of Jed’s chuckle echoing through the silent barn. Of course, he’d be nice! He wasn’t some rube from upstate New York, some farm boy lacking in manners. He could certainly maintain a cordial relationship with Holly Bennett—and without lapsing into sexual longing every few minutes!

He wasn’t prepared for the assault on his senses when he walked in the door. Christmas carols piped cheerily from the stereo in the family room, filling the house with music. The scent of baking was thick in the air and he followed his nose into the kitchen. She’d started a fire in the family room fireplace and the wood snapped and popped. But it was the kitchen that stopped him short.

Every surface, from countertop to table to the top of the refrigerator, was covered with neat rows of cookies, arranged in military precision, each regiment a different variety. Holly, humming along with “Silver Bells,” popped up from in front of the oven, a cookie pan in her hand. She froze at the sight of him, their gazes locking for a brief moment, before she smiled and set the pan down. “Hi,” she murmured.

“What’s all this?” Alex asked.

“I’ve just been doing a little baking. I had your father run to the store for some staples—flour, butter, eggs, chocolate.”

Alex’s brow quirked up, amused by her penchant for understatement. “A little baking? We could keep a small third world country in cookies for a year.”

Holly glanced around the room, as if she’d just realized how many cookies she’d baked. “Right. I—I guess I did get a little carried away. But you have to have variety. One or two different cookies on a plate doesn’t look nearly as festive as ten or twelve. Here, let me show you.”

She snatched a plate from the cupboard and artfully arranged a selection of cookies. Then she ladled a fragrant liquid from the battered crockpot into a mug and dropped in a cinnamon stick. “Mulled cider,” she said. She placed the plate of cookies and the mug in front of him, then crossed her arms. “Go ahead. Try it. The cider is a perfect accompaniment for the butter cookies.”

She watched him intently and he slowly reached for a cookie.

“No!” she cried.

Alex pulled his fingers away. “No?”

“Try that one first,” Holly said. “And then that one. The pecan shortbread is an acquired taste. More of a tea cookie. Not as sweet as the others.”

He took a butter cookie filled with jam and coated with toasted coconut, then popped it into his mouth. He was prepared to offer lavish compliments, knowing that Holly would be shattered if he just swallowed it and nodded in approval. But Alex stifled a soft moan as the impossibly fresh cookie simply melted on his tongue. He had to admit that he’d never tasted anything quite so good. Cheap store-bought cookies had been the norm in the Marrin household for years and since no one bothered to close the bag, they were usually stale after the first day.

“I’m going to make some gift boxes for them,” she said, turning back to the pan of cookies on the stove. “Eric and I can use some Christmas ink stamps to decorate them and then we’ll line them with cellophane and gold foil and tie them with a pretty ribbon and—”

“Why?” Alex asked, surreptitiously snatching a handful of cookies and dropping them into his jacket pocket. “You could have bought cookies. It wouldn’t have made any difference to us.”

“That’s not the point,” Holly said, clearly stunned by his obtuse views on the matter. “You can’t give friends and relatives store-bought cookies! It’s—it’s just not done.”

“Wait a second. We’re giving all these cookies away?” He grabbed two more handfuls and managed to hide them in his pockets before she turned around.

“With all the friends and relatives that stop by over the—”

Alex cleared his throat, after downing another cookie. “Ah, there won’t be any friends,” he said, his mouth full. “No relatives, either.”

“You don’t have any company? But it’s Christmas!” Holly cried. “Everyone has company at Christmas!”

He shrugged. “We live a pretty quiet life here.”

“But—but—what are we going to do with all these cookies?” She studied the countertop, then smiled. “What about the feed store? And Eric’s teachers? And his bus driver?”

He grinned, then snatched up another handful of the pretty little butter cookies with jam in the center. “And we can have cookies for supper. And they’re great for breakfast. And lunch. For a guy who usually eats toast two out of three meals, cookies are like gourmet fare.”

“Speaking of dinner,” Holly said. “I was hoping to take Eric out shopping tonight after we eat. We need to buy decorations for the house. I thought we’d start at Dalton’s and look for Christmas tree ornaments. Would that be all right?”

Alex circled the counter, examining another variety of cookie. Holly watched him, her wavy hair tumbled around her face, streaks of flour caught in the strands and smudged on her cheeks. He stood next to her and looked down into her eyes. Lord, she was pretty. “As long as he finishes his homework, he can go,” Alex murmured, his gaze skimming over her features.

“I—I used to make these cookies with my mother,” Holly explained, turning back to her work. “Every Christmas. I know all these recipes by heart.” She picked up a frosted Christmas tree and took a delicate bite. “The taste brings back so many memories.” A wistful look crossed her face. “It’s funny the things you remember from childhood. ”

Alex sighed. “Maybe that’s why Eric wrote the letter. He’s looking for a few memories.” He drew a deep breath. “I should thank you,” he said.

She glanced up, her eyes questioning. “For what?”

“For all this. For taking the time.” He reached out and gently wiped the smudge of flour from her face, letting his thumb brush across her silken skin. But he couldn’t bring himself to break the contact, an undeniable attraction drawing them ever closer. Alex bent near, wanting, needing to kiss her.

“Holy cow! Look at this!”

Alex jumped back, startled by the sound of his son’s voice. Nervously he raked his hand through his hair, then forced a smile. He expected Eric to be staring at them both, wondering why his father had been contemplating kissing the Christmas angel. But his son’s attention had been captured by the cookies. Kenny stood at his side, his own eyes wide with anticipation.

Alex glanced back at Holly and found the color high in her cheeks. Had his son not come in at that very moment, he knew he would have swept her into his arms. How would he have explained such a sight to Eric? Good grief, the last thing he wanted to do was confuse Eric with adult matters. Holly Bennett was here for only two weeks. He had no intention of making her a permanent fixture at Stony Creek Farm.

“I need to get back to the barn,” he murmured, grabbing his mug of cider. He circled around the counter, then ruffled Eric’s hair. “Holly is going to take you shopping tonight, Scout. You can go as soon as you get your homework done.”

“Wait!” Holly cried. “You can’t leave yet. We need to discuss all my plans.”

“Dad!” Eric groaned. “You have to discuss her plans!”

“With just two weeks, we’ll have to adhere to a strict schedule,” Holly began. “And I’ll need you to approve my ideas for the interior and exteriors. And as I said before, I’ve decided to use a rustic theme, which is something I’ve—”

“I’m sure anything you suggest will be fine,” Alex said. “If Eric likes it, I will, too.”

He hurried out, anxious to put some space between them. The door clicked shut behind him and he started back toward the barn, ready for a few more hours of hard work. But halfway there, he found himself craving another cookie. He reached in his pocket and found a pretty checkerboard cookie, then popped it into his mouth. But it didn’t satisfy him. Alex raked his fingers through his hair. Maybe it was the baker and not the baked goods he was really craving. Unfortunately that was a craving he’d have to learn to ignore.

HOLLY STARED OUT the frosty window of the pickup truck as it bumped along the road leading to downtown Schuyler Falls. Snowflakes, caught in the headlights, danced on the road in front of them. On her right, Eric sat, his eyes wide with excitement, his little body squirming against the seat belt. She’d never met a child quite so sweet and kind as Eric Marrin. His enthusiasm for the season seemed to spill over on to her, making her look forward to every minute leading up to Christmas Eve.

She risked a glance to her left, at Alex, who sat behind the wheel of the truck, silent, stoic, his strong, capable hands wrapped around the wheel, keeping the truck safe on the slick road. Holly hadn’t planned to invite Alex along. After their encounter in the kitchen that afternoon, any contact with him was fraught with peril. Instead of thinking about cookie recipes and menu plans, she always seemed to lapse into a contemplation of Alex’s broad shoulders or his stunning features or his long, muscular legs. Or his lips, those hard, chiseled, tempting lips. Even now, she couldn’t help but sneak a few long looks at him under cover of the dim interior of the truck.

She shouldn’t have invited him, but once she learned the truck didn’t have an automatic transmission, she’d had no choice. He’d agreed grudgingly, grumbling that he’d never finish all his work in the barn after an evening wasted with shopping. But she knew enough to require only a ride to and from Dalton’s. Taking a man—especially a man as stubborn and moody as Alex—through the front doors of a department store could be a disaster of biblical proportions. Men just didn’t appreciate the sheer joy of a good retail experience.

“How about some music?” Holly suggested, reaching over to flip on the radio. A blare of Aerosmith split the air behind her head and she jumped, pressing her hand to her chest. A tiny smile quirked the corners of his mouth at her reaction. She quickly found some Christmas music and, before long, she was humming softly along with Miss Piggy and the Muppets in a rousing rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Both Eric and Alex stared at her as if she’d suddenly gone mad.

“You know, in times past, Christmas was celebrated over a twelve-day period,” Holly said. “This Christmas carol is nearly three hundred years old and it’s steeped in tradition. Back then, people gave gifts on each of the twelve days.”

“You don’t say,” Alex muttered.

“Twelve days of gifts?” Eric gasped.

“I’ve been thinking of decorating the living room with a Twelve Days’ theme.” She stole a glance at Alex, hoping that he’d offer at least one opinion on her decorating ideas. Was he completely bereft of Christmas spirit? And good taste?

“Can we get reindeer?” Eric asked. “Big plastic reindeer with lights inside like Kenny has at his house? Dad, you could put them up on the roof.”

Holly winced inwardly. Reindeer were fine for shopping malls but a bit too tacky for such a pretty setting as Stony Creek Farm. “Perhaps we could find something a little less—”

“Now there’s an idea I like,” Alex said, barely able to suppress a teasing grin. “The more stuff on the roof, the better. And we’ve got all that space on the lawn, too. And along the driveway and around the barns. We could make it look just like…Vegas in the Adirondacks!”

“Yeah!” Eric cried. “Just like Vegas!” He leaned over to look at his father. “What’s Vegas?”

“It’s a place where bad Christmas decorators go to die,” Holly said, shooting Alex an impatient glare. She turned to Eric. “I don’t think we’re going to find plastic reindeer at Dalton’s.”

“Dalton’s has everything,” Eric said. “Raymond has lights on his tree that look like bugs! You get lots of ’em and it looks like the tree is crawlin’ with bugs. His mom got them at Dalton’s. Can we get some of those lights?”

Holly swallowed hard. “Bugs?”

“Oh, I think a bug tree would be perfect,” Alex said. “How does the song go? Twelve crickets chirping, eleven spiders crawling, ten worms a-wiggling.”

Holly glanced over at him and caught him staring at her, his eyes bright, his jaw twitching with humor. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with my plans.” Their gazes locked for a moment and Holly felt her breath catch in her throat. Though at first his expression seemed benign, when she looked into his eyes she saw something there, intense, magnetic, almost predatory. She quickly looked away, hoping that he couldn’t see the flush heating her cheeks.

“Eric wants the bugs,” he said with a grin.

He really was a handsome man when he smiled. Strong and vital, and oh-so sexy. At times so serious and then downright silly. What woman in her right mind would choose to leave a man like Alex Marrin?

“I can work with bugs,” she murmured, outvoted two to one. “I’m flexible.” Though Holly preferred to do things her own way to insure that everything fit in with an overall theme, she’d done a few bizarre themes in the past. A trout fishing tree for a dyed-in-the-wool sportsman and a tree decorated with little plastic internal organs for a doctor’s home. She gnawed on her lower lip. Horses probably had bugs of some sort, horse cooties. She could work it in.

As she mulled over her plans, her gaze dropped to her leg, to the spot where it pressed against Alex’s thigh in the cramped confines of the truck. Even through her coat, she could feel his warmth, warmth that slowly seeped through her bloodstream until the chill had been banished from her fingers and toes. How easy it would be to reach over and run her palm along the faded fabric of his jeans, to feel the hard muscle and warm flesh beneath. To let it slide higher and higher until—

She gulped convulsively. “We’ll have to have two trees,” Holly said. “A very nice formal tree in the living room and a…a bug tree in the family room. And the library could use a tree, too.”

“Cool,” Eric said. “We never had three trees before! Santa’s gonna love our house.”

Holly turned to Alex but his gaze was fixed on the street ahead. The pretty homes had given way to businesses as they approached the town square. A few minutes later, the truck pulled up in front of Dalton’s Department Store. “I’ll pick you up in three hours,” Alex said. He reached behind Holly and gave Eric’s head a tousle. “Be good for Miss Bennett, Scout. Stay right with her and don’t wander off.”

He turned his attention to Holly and she wondered when he’d remove his arm from around her shoulders. He was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cold cheek. She let her head tip back slightly, amazed at how perfectly her nape felt in the crook of his arm. “Maybe you could buy some new clothes,” he suggested. “And a sturdy pair of boots while you’re at it.”

He pulled his arm out from around her shoulders. Holly forced a smile, then slid across the seat and hopped out of the truck right after Eric. Before she could say another word to Alex, Eric grabbed her hand and dragged her to the wide glass windows, pushing through the crowds that had gathered there.

“Look at the trains!” he cried, pressing his face against the glass like the rest of the kids lining the windows. He drew her to the next window. “And these bears play in a band! See how they move?”