Bride Under the Mistletoe: The Magic of a Family Christmas

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT did you do?”

So much for thinking that deep down inside he was a nice guy. “I didn’t do anything!”

A childish whimper floated to Wendy. Her office didn’t have a window, so when the lights went out, the room became pitch-black.

She bounced from her seat. “Harry, everything’s fine. The ice probably brought down a power line or two.”

“Damn.”

That had been Cullen.

Sliding her fingers across the edge of her desk, she began feeling her way to Harry. Instead, she bumped into Cullen’s thighs. Once again solid muscle greeted her and she jerked her hands away. It seemed fate was determined to find ways for her to touch him.

“Sorry!”

He cleared his throat. “It’s fine. I think Harry’s about two paces to your left.”

She found her way to Harry. Putting her hand on his shoulder for security, she said, “Here’s what we’ll do. It’s still light outside, so we can open the drapes in Mr. McCoy’s office.” She squeezed the little boy’s shoulder. “Is it okay for me to go and do that?”

Harry said, “Yes.”

“Okay. You stay here.” She carefully navigated past her desk, praying Cullen hadn’t moved in the thirty seconds she’d spoken with Harry.

“Don’t you have a flashlight or something?”

Cullen’s voice came from behind her, thank God.

“I’m sure there’s one in maintenance. Would you like to walk through the dark plant and then down the dark-as-night steps to the basement to get it?”

“Very funny.”

In another few seconds she found her boss’s desk and walked to the window behind it. Running her hands along the curtain, she found the pull string and opened the drapes. Pale light filtered in, but it was enough that she could see Harry and Cullen.

“If you guys want to sit in here, I’ll—”

Before she finished her sentence, Harry raced into the office. She stooped and caught him as he threw himself at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, but he hugged her fiercely.

Looking away, Cullen scrubbed his hand across his mouth. “Now, what do we do?”

“It depends on how long it takes for the electricity to come back on.” She rose and grabbed Harry’s hand. “Benny Owens works just inside the door to the plant. He has a radio. It runs on batteries. It’s a mandate of our safety manual because in an emergency, we can tune it to the local station and hear what’s going on. There are five of them in strategic locations throughout the building. Benny’s is the closest.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m the most familiar with the plant layout so I’ll go and get the radio.” She stooped in front of Harry. “Do you want to stay here with Mr. Barrington or come with me?”

He glanced at Cullen, then back at her, pulled in a big breath and said, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Wendy laughed, rose and tousled his hair. The kid certainly caught on fast. “This should only take about five minutes.”

Standing in the semi-dark room with the uncomfortable little boy who’d promised to keep an eye on him, Cullen frowned. One minute turned into two. Two turned into three. Harry began to squirm.

“Don’t worry. Your mom will be back soon.”

The little boy peered up at him. “She’s not my mom.”

“Your aunt?”

He shook his head. “She’s nothing.”

Cullen frowned. “Nothing?”

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m a frosting child.”

“A frosting child?”

“You know. Somebody else has to take care of me until portal services decides what to do with me.”

“Portal services?”

Exasperated, Harry said, “The place that puts kids in a home.”

“Oh! Social services. You’re a foster kid.”

He nodded. “Yeah. My mom died.”

Cullen’s heart stopped. Sadness filled him. Hoping he’d heard wrong, he said, “Your mom died?”

He nodded again.

Cullen bent down to talk to Harry on his own level. “Mine did, too.”

“Really?”

“A few months ago. January.” He shook his head in wonder. Time had certainly flown. “It’s been almost a year, but I still miss her.”

“I miss my mom, too.” He caught Cullen’s gaze. “She was sick though. Everybody says she’s happy now.”

Cullen nearly cursed. At the wake when people had told him his mother was in a better place, he’d believed it. But it was cruel to tell this little boy his mom preferred leaving him to staying with him.

“I’m guessing you don’t have any aunts or uncles?”

He shook his head.

Though he hesitated, half afraid of the answer, Cullen asked, “Where’s your dad?”

Harry shrugged. “He’s around somewhere.” Then he flapped his arms in exasperation, as if this is what he’d seen and heard adults do when they talked about his dad. “We’ll find him eventually.”

The kid was just a tad too observant.

The light from the window in Mr. McCoy’s office thinned as Wendy walked farther into the building, but when she reached the main corridor, emergency lights were lit. She scrambled to the door and into the plant. At Benny Owens’s workstation, she snatched the radio and quickly made her way back to Cullen and Harry.

The second she stepped into the office, Cullen caught her gaze. His normally bright eyes were soft, sincere.

“Harry was telling me about his mom.”

“Oh.” She glanced at Harry, who looked up at her with a smile. “You okay, little guy?”

Still smiling, he nodded.

Whatever had happened between the two of them, Harry was okay. He might have even gotten afraid in the dark again and Cullen had taken care of him. Surprising, but good. She turned to smile at Cullen in thanks, but when their gazes caught, that funny feeling happened in her stomach again. Only this time, her chest also tightened. It became hard to breathe. She sort of felt as if she were drowning in the deep pools of his eyes, once again overwhelmed by the strange instinct that deep down he really was a nice guy—

The church bell across the street rang twice, jolting her back to reality.

“Must be two o’clock,” she said, brightly, trying to pretend nothing had happened because nothing had happened. So they’d looked into each other’s eyes? It wasn’t a big deal.

Setting the radio on her boss’s desk, she said, “I forgot about the emergency lights. The corridors are well-lit. The plant has emergency lighting, too.”

She turned on the radio and slowly moved the dial until she found the local station. The announcer said, “The mayor is telling everybody to just sit tight—”

She glanced at Cullen. “Either I have perfect timing or this is an emergency broadcast that’s repeating.”

“To repeat…Trees and power lines are down all over town. Route 81 has been shut down due to accidents.”

Cullen cursed.

She faced him. “What?”

“That’s the only highway out of town. The only way to get to my hotel.”

“I’m sure it will be open before you want to go back.”

“Since I can’t work without a computer, I want to go back now.”

“Good point.”

They both glanced at the radio.

“I’m sorry to say, folks,” the announcer said, “the power company is warning that this is going to be an all-nighter. Get out your candles, light your fireplace, and be careful.”

The announcer stopped talking and a song floated from the radio. Wendy shifted away from the desk. Technically, she and Harry could leave. They could even bake their cookies. She had a gas stove. And a fireplace. They could roast marshmallows and sleep in sleeping bags on the living-room floor.

This could actually be the most fun day of his stay with her.

She put her hand on Harry’s shoulder, took another step back, easing toward the door.

It almost seemed wrong to leave. Almost. The truth was she didn’t know Cullen Barrington. And she was attracted to him. The first man since Greg. That left her feeling odd enough. When she added that he was a playboy, out of her reach, the man who owned the company she worked for, in front of whom she’d prefer to be on her best behavior, not walking around a dark old house with a flashlight…Well, it was for the best that she not invite him to her home. She shouldn’t feel guilty for leaving him to figure out what he’d do for the next twelve to twenty-four hours—in the dark—when she not only had light and warmth, she could also cook dinner.

While he sat in the dark? Slept on the floor with his jacket for a cover?

Damn it!

Why couldn’t her conscience just shut up long enough for her to get to her car?

“Do you want to come with us?”

His head jerked up. “Where are you going?”

“As you said, we can’t work in the dark. So Harry and I are going home. I have a gas stove and a working fireplace in the living room. Even my hot-water heater is gas. We can be without power for a week and the only thing we’ll miss is television.”

“I don’t watch television.”

“Then you should be fine.”

He growled as if annoyed with the inconvenience of humbling himself to go to the home of an employee, and she said a silent prayer that he’d be stubborn enough—or maybe independent enough—to decide he’d rather sit alone in the office, maybe reading files by the emergency lights in the corridor, than go with her.

Please, God…

He pulled in a breath. “Okay. Fine. Let me get my coat.”

CHAPTER THREE

THEY stepped out into the parking lot and Cullen motioned to the right. “That’s my rental car.”

“And it’s a fine car,” Wendy said, “but with power lines down, we can’t drive. We don’t want to become part of the problem.”

Cullen ignored her sarcasm in favor of more pressing concerns. “Part of the problem?”

“We could get halfway home, come across a tree that’s down and either have to leave our cars in the middle of the road or drive back here and walk anyway.”

She faced him. Sunlight sparkled off the thick ice on the trees surrounding the parking lot, encircling her with a glow that made her look like a shimmering angel. He shook his head to clear the haze, but there was no haze. She truly sparkled in the icy world they were caught in.

“So what do you say we skip the first few steps we know might not work, and just walk?”

Great. Maybe a little exercise would help him get himself back to normal around her. “Fine.”

“Good. You can carry Harry.”

He gaped at her. “Carry Harry?”

“It’s a ten-minute walk. And he’s a forty-pound kid. Are you telling me that rich guys are too soft to carry forty-pound kids?”

He snatched the little boy off the ground and hoisted him to his shoulder. Not that he took her bait about him being soft. He liked Harry. Who wouldn’t? The kid had suffered the kind of loss that would flatten most adults, yet he was taking it like a man. He deserved a little special treatment.

“You have a smart mouth.”

She grimaced. “Not usually.”

He didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to know that she was behaving out of character in his presence. It was confirmation that she was attracted to him, too. If they were attracted to each other and about to spend the night together that might be trouble. Of course, if she was being smart with him it could be because she didn’t like the attraction any more than he did—which should make them perfectly safe.

Occupied with his thoughts, Cullen slipped on the ice and bobbled Harry, who squealed with delight. “This is fun!”

“Always happy to oblige,” Cullen told Harry, before he leaned toward Wendy and whispered, “Italian loafers weren’t made for walking on ice.”

“It’s a very short walk. Ten minutes tops.” She pointed to the grassy strip beside the sidewalk. “But if I were you I’d walk in that.”

He stepped into the bumpier grass and found the footing a little more solid. Harry groaned. “Darn.”

With his hands on Harry’s thighs, holding him on his shoulders, Cullen shook his head. “Kids. You think the weirdest things are fun.”

Harry giggled. Cullen’s spirits unexpectedly lifted, but he told himself to settle down. He might want to make Harry’s life a little brighter, but he wasn’t here for fun and games. He had to work with Wendy Winston for the next few weeks. He had to be nice to her, but he also had to keep his distance. He didn’t want to accidentally start a relationship that would have to end when he left.

He stayed quiet the rest of the way to her home. Walking on the grass, he managed to slip only a time or two, but that provided Harry with a few laughs, and Wendy with something to talk about with Harry.

Suddenly she turned up an icy walkway to the right, and Cullen stopped.

Oh. Dear. God.

“Come on.”

Swallowing back a protest, Cullen carefully navigated the walkway and the five icy stairs to the wide front porch. They stepped inside a freezing-cold foyer with beautiful hardwood floors, a new paint job and a modern table holding a ginger-jar lamp and a stack of unopened mail.

She stripped off her coat. “As soon as I light the fireplace and turn on the oven, the downstairs will be toasty warm.” Heading for the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, “If you’re cold, don’t take off your coat until the place heats up.”

He slid Harry to the floor. The little boy immediately shucked his coat, found the hall closet and tossed it inside. Cullen grimaced. He’d look like a real wimp if he stayed in his coat, so he shrugged it off and followed Harry into the kitchen.

Wendy beamed at Harry. “Oh, you took off your own coat!”

Harry nodded. “I saw you put it in the closet before so I know what to do now.”

Cullen caught the exchange but he was too busy staring at the kitchen cabinets to comment.

Wendy winced. “I know they’re ugly.”

“My father hated them, too.”

Her pretty green eyes widened. “This was your house?Your family was the rich family that left town and neglected it?”

“That would be us.”

“And your mother is responsible for this floor?”

He shrugged. “It was the eighties. Linoleum was all the rage.”

“Yeah, but now I’m stuck with it. I should shoot at least one of you.”

Cullen heard her, but didn’t respond. Memories of conversations over breakfast with Gabby, the Barrington’s housekeeper, came tumbling back.

Are you ever going to learn to make pancakes?

No.

I like pancakes!

Little boys aren’t supposed to get everything they want. Makes them spoiled.

Gabby hadn’t been mean about it. She’d laughed. She was a fun, easygoing woman who sometimes even sat at the table and ate scrambled eggs and toast with him before she drove him to school.

“I asked if you wanted anything to drink.”

Hearing Wendy’s question, he spun to face her. Standing by the open refrigerator, she held a pitcher of something pink. “What is it?”

“Pink lemonade.”

“Got any bottled water?”

“I have tap water.”

“That’s fine.”

“Glasses are in the cupboard.” She pointed at the one by the sink. “Help yourself.”

Walking to the sink, he watched her pour a drink for Harry and one for herself then carry eggs, butter and milk to the center island after storing the lemonade. He tried to remember his mom even being in the kitchen, let alone cooking, and not one memory surfaced.

“We’re baking cookies, if you want to help.”

He turned at Wendy’s question. Her smile was forced. Her eyes not as bright as they had been. She obviously didn’t want his help and he wasn’t really in the mood to remember things that only made him a weird combination of angry and sad.

“No, if you have a book somewhere I wouldn’t mind passing the time reading.”

She relaxed. “I have a roomful of bookcases stuffed with just about anything you could want. Third door…”

“On the right. I know. It used to be a library and office. That’s why there are built-in bookcases.”

“Okay. Just open the drapes. When it starts to get dark, we’ll break out the candles and flashlights.”

“Great.”

He entered the library feeling a mix of nostalgia and disappointment. His mother had worked in this room every night and most weekends. But Wendy didn’t have a desk and leather chairs. Instead, a chaise sat by the bay window. A well-worn yellow comforter lay across the foot. The room that had been a place of work was now a place of peace and quiet. He scanned her titles, found a thriller by a favorite author, and settled in on the chaise.

After an hour, the scent of fresh-baked cookies drifted into the room. He closed the book and inhaled deeply before rising from the chaise and walking into the kitchen.

“Smells good in here.”

Green icing on the tip of his nose and flour across one cheek, Harry grinned at him from his chair beside the kitchen island. “I’m painting stained-glass windows on a church.”

Cullen laughed. “No kidding!”

Wendy looked offended. “Hey, I can get pretty fancy with my cookies.”

Glancing at the rows of already painted cookies on the far end of the island, Cullen nodded. “So I see.”

Harry nodded. “You paint one, Mr….”

“This is Mr. Barrington,” Wendy supplied.

“Since we’re kind of in close quarters and unusual circumstances I think you might as well call me Cullen.”

“Okay, Cullen!” Harry said, handing him a cookie. “You paint this one. It’s a bell.”

“I see that.”

“So paint it.”

“With frosting,” Wendy qualified. “But you should also wash your hands first.”

He was going to say no. He’d never done anything like this in his life and he was too old to start now. But just the mention of the word frosting squeezed his heart. Unable to catch every word said about him, Harry had repeated what he thought he’d heard and had called himself a frosting child. In a way he was. He was a sweet little boy left in the hands of a cold, sterile system. How could Cullen turn away the request of a child who’d just lost his mother?