Unexpected Angel: Unexpected Angel / Undercover Elf

“Then we’re not going skiing in Colorado?”

He sent his son a grudging smile. “No, we’re not going to Colorado. But you’re going to have to deal with her. I’m not going take care of her the same way I have to take care of Thurston and the horses. She’s your angel.”

Eric hit him full force against the chest, throwing himself at Alex and wrapping his arms around his father’s neck. The boy gave him an excruciating hug and beamed up at him. “Thanks, Dad. Can I go tell her?”

Alex ruffled Eric’s pale hair, a flood of parental love warming his blood, then kissed his son on the cheek. It took so little to make Eric happy. How could he think of refusing him even a bit of joy? “Crawl back under the covers and I’ll tuck you in. Then I’ll go down and tell your angel.”

Eric gave him another quick hug, then scrambled back between the sheets. As he did every night, Alex tucked the blankets around his son, then tickled his stomach. “Who loves you the most?”

“You do!” Eric cried.

Alex brushed the hair out of Eric’s eyes, then stood. But as he walked to the door, his son’s voice stopped him. “Dad? Do you ever miss Mom?”

His hand froze on the doorknob and Alex turned around. He wasn’t sure what to say. Did he miss the fighting, the constant anger that bubbled between them? Did he miss the sick feeling he got every time she went into the city, knowing she was meeting another man? No, he didn’t. But he did miss the contentment he saw in his son’s eyes whenever Renee was near. “Your mom is very talented. She had to leave so that she could be the very best actress she could. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love you just as much as I do.”

Though his question hadn’t been answered, Eric smiled, then sank back against the pillows. “Night, Dad.”

Alex released a tightly held breath as he slowly descended the stairs, wondering at how he’d managed to dodge yet another bullet. Sooner or later, Eric would demand explanations and Alex wasn’t sure what to tell him. So far, he’d always managed to evade the truth. But could he tell an outright lie to his son?

He turned into the library and stopped short. Holly sat primly on a leather wing chair staring at the dying embers of a fire in the fireplace across the room. She was like a vision from paradise and Alex found himself tongue-tied. She’d removed her coat and tossed it over the back of the chair, revealing a pretty red jacket, cinched in at her tiny waist and a slim black skirt that revealed impossibly long legs. He’d never met a woman quite as cool and sophisticated as her. But though she appeared to be all business, there was an underlying allure that was hard to ignore. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he muttered. “If you’ll just tell me where your things are, I’ll get you settled.”

She straightened at the sound of his voice then neatly crossed her legs. Alex stood beside his desk and let his gaze drift along the sweet curve of her calf. When she cleared her throat, he snapped back to reality and silently scolded himself. If Holly Bennett would be hanging around this holiday season, he’d have to prevent all future fantasizing!

“Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice, “for allowing me to stay.”

“I suppose I should be thanking you,” Alex replied. “Eric requested you be offered a guest room, but—”

“Oh, no!” Holly cried. “I have a budget. I can afford to stay at a hotel. And I’ll rent a car to get back and forth.”

“If you’ll let me finish,” Alex said. “I agreed that you can stay for the next three days. I can’t imagine you’ll need any more time than that. And you can stay in the tack house. It’s quite nice. There’re a couple of guest rooms with private baths and small kitchenettes. And you can use the pickup to get around. I can use my dad’s old truck.”

“But I’ve been hired to stay through Christmas day,” she replied. She stared down at her lap, then glanced back up at him. “I know this is a little strange, me barging into your lives. Believe me, this is not the typical job for me. But I do intend to do it right and that will take more than three days.”

“How long can it take to put up a Christmas tree and a few strings of lights?” he demanded.

She looked at him disdainfully, as if he’d just asked her to build the Queen Mary III overnight. “Actually, Mr. Marrin, the job will take quite a bit of time and attention. You have no decorations up and, from what your father tells me, you don’t have any in storage. Between the exteriors and the interiors, there are at least three days of planning to be done. And with the budget, I can do some very special things. And I’ve got baking to do and menus to plan and if you’d like to throw a party or two I’m perfectly capable of—”

He held out his hand to stop her. “Slow down, Betty Crocker.”

“Martha Stewart,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Betty Crocker is a face on a cake box. I’m really much more like Martha Stewart.” She sighed impatiently and stared at her hands.

“All right. Why don’t we just see if everything goes all right, then we’ll talk about extending your…earthly incarnation. But first, maybe you’d like to tell me who’s financing your visit.”

She shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I told you, I don’t know.”

“Don’t know, or can’t say?”

“Both,” Holly murmured.

A long silence spun out between them as Alex watched her intently. She shifted in her chair, and for a moment, he thought she might bolt. “She left two years ago,” he said, meeting her shocked gaze coolly. “Four days before Christmas. That’s what you’ve wanted to ask, isn’t it?”

“It—it’s none of my business,” Holly replied as if questioning her curiosity was nothing more than an insult. “I don’t think it’s necessary for me to become personally involved in your lives to do my job. I’m here to give your son, and you, a perfect Christmas. I’m very good at my job, Mr. Marrin, and I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”

“This is for my son,” Alex replied. “Not me. Eric misses his mother around the holidays. Things have been difficult for him. He doesn’t see much of her.”

The meaning of his words couldn’t have been clearer. He wasn’t looking for another wife and he didn’t want Holly Bennett to pretend to be Eric’s mother. He watched as she rose to her feet, her demeanor growing more distant with each passing moment. “If that’s all, then I’ll be saying good night. I’ve got a busy day in front of me tomorrow. If you’ll just point me in the direction of the tract house—”

Alex chuckled. “Tack house. It’s where we keep the saddles and bridles. We call that tack.”

“I’m going to be sleeping in a storage shed?” she asked.

“I assure you, Miss Bennett, it’s quite nice. Now, where are your things?” Alex asked.

“My things?”

“Your halo and harp? You know, all your angel accoutrements?”

“My luggage is in the car. The driver is parked at the end of the driveway.”

Alex nodded. “I’ll go get your bags and then I’ll show you to your room.”

“Mr. Marrin, I—”

“Alex,” he said, pulling the library door open for her. He placed his hand on her back as she passed, then helped her into her coat. His palms lingered on her shoulders for a few seconds, her silken hair brushing his skin. Reason told him he’d have to draw his hands away, but it had been so long since he’d touched a woman, smelled the fresh scent of a woman’s hair, fought the overwhelming longing to make love to—

Alex opened the front door and showed her out, drawing a deep breath of the crisp night air. The cold revived him, clearing his mind. Granted, she was beautiful—and thoughtful—and unquestionably single-minded. But the last thing he needed in his life was a woman and all the trouble that came along with a romantic relationship.

No, he’d keep his distance from this angel. And if he knew what was good for him, he’d put any devilish fantasies right out of his head.

“SHE’S AN ANGEL. I SWEAR!”

For a moment, Holly wasn’t sure where she was. Were the voices part of a dream? Slowly everything came back to her. She’d spent the night in Alex Marrin’s tack house. Though she’d anticipated a storage shed, her room looked more like a quaint B & B than a barn. A beautiful field-stone fireplace dominated one wall of her bedroom, while the others were paneled with warm knotty pine. Across from the iron bed was a tiny galley kitchen and a whitewashed table and just outside the door was a pretty sitting area, decorated with old harnesses and riding prints and yellowed photos of very large horses.

“She doesn’t have wings,” said an unfamiliar voice.

Holly slowly opened her eyes. When her vision focused, she found two little faces staring at her from close range. One she recognized as Eric Marrin. The other, a gap-toothed, freckle-faced boy, observed her as if she were an interesting lab specimen, pickled in formaldehyde and floating in a jar.

“Can she fly?” he said, lisping slightly through his missing front teeth.

“Jeez, Kenny, she’s not that kind of angel!” Eric said. “She’s a Christmas angel. They’re different.”

“What’s wrong with her hair?” Kenny asked.

Holding back a smile, Holly sleepily pushed up on one elbow. She looked at Eric then Kenny. “Good morning.” Kenny jumped back from the bed, a blush staining his cheeks, but Eric happily plopped down on the patchwork coverlet.

“This is my friend, Kenny. He lives down the road. We go to school together.”

Holly ran her fingers through her tangled hair and yawned. Judging by the feeble light coming through the window, it was still well before eight. The boys were dressed in jackets, both carrying backpacks. She groaned softly. Though her bed had been wonderfully cozy, her night had been plagued with strange and disjointed dreams. Unbidden images of Alex Marrin had been punctuated with a recurring nightmare that had her endlessly untangling tinsel and searching for the single bad bulb in a mile-long string of lights.

Why did Alex Marrin fascinate her so? Until yesterday evening, she’d been ready to spend her life with Stephan! Yes, Alex was incredibly handsome. Perhaps it was the rugged, salt-of-the-earth image. Or maybe it was the wounded look she saw, deep in his eyes, the wariness that seemed to pervade his lean body whenever he looked at her. He seemed to exude excitement and a little bit of danger.

“Does she have a magic wand?” Kenny asked, regarding her from beneath a scruffy wool cap.

Eric rolled his eyes. “Angels don’t have magic wands. Fairy godmothers do. And wizards.”

Holly should have explained to the boys that “Christmas angel” had been a metaphorical reference, a way to explain her place in this whole scheme as granter of wishes. She could have just as easily called herself a Christmas genie. “Why don’t you just call me Holly,” she suggested, too sleepy to make sense of her new job.

“We brought you breakfast, Holly,” Eric said, retrieving a battered cookie sheet from a nearby table and setting it on the bed. “Dad says I’m in charge of feeding you. Cap’n Crunch, Tang and toast with grape jelly. After you’re finished we’ll show you around the farm. I’ve got my own pony and a pinball machine in my bedroom.”

“Here you are!”

Holly glanced up to find Alex Marrin looming in the doorway of her room. He was dressed much as he had been the previous night, in rugged work clothes and a faded canvas jacket. But his hair was still damp from a shower and he was freshly shaven. She scrambled to pull the covers up over the gaping neck of her camisole, then felt a flush of embarrassment warm her cheeks.

“You’re late for school,” Alex said to the boys. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”

“But Holly needs a tour,” Eric said. “We always give company a tour.”

A crooked smile touched Alex’s lips and he glanced at Holly. “She’s still half asleep.” Eric gave his father a pleading look. “I’ll show her around,” he finally replied, “when I get back. Now let’s move!”

The boys called out a quick goodbye, then rushed out. Alex’s gaze met hers for a long moment and she tried to read the thoughts behind the enigmatic blue eyes. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Enjoy your breakfast.” With that, he turned and followed the kids. With a soft moan, Holly stumbled out of bed, wrapped the quilt around her shoulders and crossed to the window, watching as they walked past the house to the driveway beyond.

Of course she was fascinated with him. He was the first man to wander into the general vicinity of her boudoir in nearly a year! And though Stephan had always taken his manly duties quite seriously, he’d never set her pulse racing the way Alex Marrin did. Perhaps it had been fate that had kept her from accepting Stephan’s proposal. Perhaps, deep down inside, she knew there was a man out there who could make her feel…Holly groped for the right word. Passion?

She leaned against the windowsill and pressed her nose to the cold glass. She had never considered herself a passionate woman, the kind of woman who could toss aside all her inhibitions and give herself over to a man’s touch. But then, maybe she hadn’t been touched in just the right way.

“And you think Alex Marrin is the man to do it?” Holly shook her head, then wandered back to the bed. Sure, there was a certain irresistible charm about him. The easy masculine grace of his walk, the casual way he wore his clothes and combed his hair with his fingers. Any woman would find that attractive.

But there was more, Holly mused. When she looked at Alex Marrin, unbidden and unfamiliar desire surged up inside of her, disturbing thoughts of soft moans and tangled limbs and overwhelming need. Her stomach fluttered, but Holly knew the sensation would never be satisfied with Tang and Cap’n Crunch.

“He’s a client,” she murmured to herself. Though that wasn’t entirely true, since the mysterious benefactor was the one paying her salary. Still, she’d be better off if she kept her distance. This was strictly professional! With a soft oath, she crossed back to the bed, picked up her cereal bowl and took a big bite.

“Ugggghhh!” The sweetness of the cereal made her gag and she spit it out, wiped her tongue with the paper napkin, then guzzled down the tart and barely dissolved Tang. The toast was just as bad, cold and overloaded with jelly. Holly dropped it back on the plate and wiped her hands. “At least I won’t have to worry about those fifteen holiday pounds.”

By the time a soft knock sounded on her door, nearly twenty minutes had passed. She’d dressed, restored some order to her hair and applied a quick bit of mascara and lipstick. Holly took one last look in the mirror then called out. Slowly Alex opened the door, but he ventured only a few steps inside. “You’re not ready,” he said, taking in her choice of wardrobe, the cashmere sweater set, the wool skirt and her water-stained leather pumps.

Holly glanced down at her clothes, then back up. “I’m sorry. This is all I brought. I thought I’d go out today and get some more casual clothes.”

“Those shoes won’t do.” Alex stalked out of the room and returned a few moments later with a pair of tall rubber boots. He dropped them at her feet. “Put those on.”

Holly glanced down at the high rubber boots, encrusted with who knows what and at least six or seven sizes too big. There were probably spiders lurking inside their dark depths. She crinkled her nose and shook her head. “Thank you, but I think I’d be more comfortable in my own shoes.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. We’ll start with the barns.” Alex stepped aside and motioned her out the door.

“Actually, I don’t need to see the barns,” Holly said, grabbing her coat, “unless you’d like them to be decorated, too. I really need to start in the house. I’ve got to measure the rooms and decide on an approach. I think we should stay with more primitive, country themes. Besides, I’m really not very good with animals—dogs, cats, goats, horses.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “I think the standard decorations would be fine,” he said, striding out of the tack house. “You know, shiny balls and tinsel garland.”

She closed the door behind her and shrugged into her coat. “No! I meant real animals. They don’t like me. As a child I had a rather unfortunate encounter with a Guernsey cow.”

“This is a horse farm,” he said. “If you plan on staying until Christmas, it’ll be hard to avoid the animals.”

Resigned to her fate, Holly hurried after him, her heels sinking into the soggy snow along the path. They began with a tour of the barns, Alex showing her the indoor arena first. She stood on the bottom rung of the gate and watched as Alex’s father ran a horse in circles around the perimeter of the arena.

“Why does he have the horse on a leash?”

Again, she caught him smiling. “That’s called a lunge line,” he said. “It gives him more control. Some of our horses don’t need it.”

Their tour didn’t stop for long. He turned away from the arena and led her back to the main aisle of the barn.

“How many horses do you have?” she asked.

“We have about seventy horses on the farm,” Alex replied. “Just over forty thoroughbred broodmares, twenty-seven yearlings that we’ll sell at auction in January, a few retired stallions, a few draft horses and some saddlebreds. In the summer we can have another twenty horses that board and train here while they’re racing at Saratoga. They use the outer barns and the track.”

“That seems like a lot of horses.” Holly sighed. “Actually, one horse is one too many for me. I once had this horrible experience with a horse, the kind that pulls the carriages around Central Park. It was frightening.”

He forced a smile. “We’re really a small operation compared to some. In my grandfather’s day, we were a lot bigger. But we’ve got a good reputation and great bloodlines. Our yearlings fetch a high price at auction.”

He reached in his shirt pocket and handed Holly a few sugar cubes, then pointed to the horse in the next stall. “That’s Scirocco, grandson of Secretariat. He’s one of the old men we keep here and he’s retired from fatherhood. He’s got a sweet tooth and he likes the ladies.”

“If you don’t use him how do you get…horsey babies?”

“Foals. And that’s all done scientifically now,” Alex said. “These days, you don’t need the actual stallion, just what he has to offer.”

Holly frowned. “You mean he doesn’t get to—”

Alex shook his head. “Nope.”

With a frown, Holly held the sugar between her fingers, just out of the horse’s reach. “That seems so cruel. What about his needs?” Though she’d never liked animals and considered them smelly and unpredictable and frightening, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for the old horse—even though he did have very big teeth.

“Believe me,” he muttered. “A male doesn’t always have to follow his…instincts.” Though the discussion was clearly about a horse, Holly couldn’t help but wonder if there might be another meaning to Alex’s words.

Alex put the cube in her palm and pushed her hand nearer. The moment the horse nibbled the sugar, she snatched her fingers away. “Animals hate me,” she said nervously, her attention diverted by the gentle touch of his hand. “Dogs bark at me and cats shed. I—I won’t even tell you about my run-ins with chickens and ducks.”

“Funny, he seems to be quite taken with you,” Alex replied, capturing her gaze with his. For what seemed like an eternity, neither one of them moved. Holly wasn’t even sure her heart was still beating.

Somehow, she didn’t think Alex was talking about the horse this time, either. Uneasy with the silence, she braced her hand on the edge of the stall door and tried to appear casual and composed, as if handsome men stared at her every day of the week and she barely noticed. “If we’re through here, I think we should—ouch!”

Holly jumped back, a sharp pain shooting through her finger. But she moved so quickly that she didn’t notice the danger lurking right behind her. Her foot sank into a warm pile of horse manure. She tried to gracefully extract herself but when her heel struck the smooth floor beneath, her foot skidded out from under her. With a soft cry, she landed on her backside, right in the middle of the pile of poop.

The smell that wafted up around her made her eyes water and Holly moaned softly, not sure how to cover her embarrassment. She glanced down at her finger and found it bleeding. “He bit me!” she cried, holding out her hand.

She heard a low whinny come from the stall and saw the vicious horse watching her with a mocking eye and a smug smile, his lip curling over his huge fangs. Alex held out his hand and helped her struggle to her feet. “I’m sorry,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Scirocco can be a little aggressive when it comes to treats. And that should have been cleaned up.”

Holly winced as she tried to shake the filthy shoe off her foot. But the horse poop had seeped inside and it stubbornly clung to her toes. “Just because you haven’t had sex for a few years, doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me!” She glanced up to find Alex looking at her with an astonished expression. Holly felt her face flame. “I—I meant the horse, not you.”

“I’m sure you did.” With an impatient curse, Alex scooped her up in his arms and carried her across the barn to a low bench.

She might have protested, if she hadn’t enjoyed the feeling of his arms cradling her body. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. But before she could start to like the feeling too much, Alex dropped her to her feet, causing her knees to buckle slightly.

“Sit,” he ordered.

Holly twisted to see the damage done to her favorite coat, hoping to hide the flush that had warmed her cheeks. But standing on one foot, she almost lost her balance again. Alex grabbed the collar of her coat to steady her, then slipped it off her shoulders and tossed it over a nearby stall door. He shrugged out of his own jacket and held it out to her.

When Holly pushed her arms into the sleeves she could still feel the heat from his body in the folds of fabric. His scent drifted up around her, a mix of soap and fresh air and horses, a welcome relief from her previous parfum and a reminder of the time spent in his arms. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“Now, sit,” Alex said. He knelt down in front of her and gently removed her ruined shoe. The mess had seeped through her panty hose and stuck in between her toes. He circled her calf with his hands, then slowly ran his palms toward her ankle. But the imagined caress ended abruptly when he tore through the nylon at her calf. She sucked in a sharp breath as he skimmed her stocking down along her leg and bared her foot. “You should have worn those boots.”

“I told you animals hate me,” she reminded him, a bit breathlessly.

“I’m sure Scirocco had this all planned. He’s grown to be quite a curmudgeon in his retirement and, in truth, has a real talent for torturing our female guests.” With that, he pushed to his feet and disappeared into a small alcove nearby. She heard water running, then leaned back against the barn wall.

“They say horse poop is the best beauty treatment for the skin.”

She glanced to her right and saw Alex’s father peeking out from a nearby stall. Though he’d introduced himself the previous night, they hadn’t shared but a few words. But Holly already knew she’d found a friend in Jed Marrin. The man had a devilish sense of humor and an easygoing manner that his son seemed to lack.

“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.