About the Authors

MAUREEN CHILD writes for the Mills & Boon Desire line and can’t imagine a better job. A seven-time finalist for a prestigious Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, Maureen is an author of more than one hundred romance novels. Her books regularly appear on bestseller lists and have won several awards, including a Prism Award, a National Readers’ Choice Award, a Colorado Romance Writers Award of Excellence and a Golden Quill Award. She is a native Californian but has recently moved to the mountains of Utah.

ELIZABETH BEVARLY is a New York Times bestselling, RITA® Award nominated author of more than seventy novels and novellas who recently celebrated the twenty-fifth anniversary of signing her first book contract—with Mills & Boon! Her novels have been translated into more than two dozen languages and published in more than three dozen countries, and someday she hopes to visit all the places her books have. Until then, she writes full-time in her native Louisville, Kentucky, usually on a futon between two cats. She loves reading and movies and discovering British TV shows on Netflix. And also fiddling around with soup recipes. And going to farmers’ markets with her husband. And texting with her son, who’s at college in Washington, DC. Visit her website at www.elizabethbevarly.com or find her on Facebook at the Elizabeth Bevarly Reader Page.

USA TODAY bestselling author ANNA DEPALO is a Harvard graduate and former intellectual-property attorney who lives with her husband, son and daughter in her native New York. She writes sexy, humorous books that have been published in more than twenty countries and has won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, the Golden Leaf and the Book Buyers Best Award. For the latest news, sign up for her newsletter at www.annadepalo.com.

A Cinderella Story

Maid Under the Mistletoe

Maureen Child

My Fair Billionaire

Elizabeth Bevarly

Second Chance with the CEO

Anna DePalo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08173-3

A CINDERELLA STORY

Maid Under The Mistletoe © 2016 Maureen Child My Fair Billionaire © 2014 Elizabeth Bevarly Second Chance With The CEO © 2016 Anna DePalo

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Maid Under the Mistletoe

Back Cover Text

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

My Fair Billionaire

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Epilogue

Second Chance with the CEO

Back Cover Text

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Maid Under the Mistletoe

Maureen Child

An upstairs-downstairs affair for Christmas...only from USA TODAY bestselling author Maureen Child!

Single mom Joy Curran needs this temporary holiday housekeeping job working for a reclusive billionaire. But her sexy, aloof boss pulls at Joy’s heartstrings—and her long-denied desires—in unexpected ways...

Sam Henry never got over the loss of his wife and son, and he’s shut himself off from happiness, love...and the holidays. But Joy and her sweet daughter bring laughter into his life. And living with his new maid ignites a passion he can’t ignore. After one glorious night in Joy’s arms, will this beauty be the Christmas miracle that changes the beast forever?

To all the mums who are out there right now,

making magic

One

Sam Henry hated December.

The days were too short, making the nights seem an eternity. It was cold and dark—and then there was the incessant Christmas badgering. Lights, trees, carols and an ever-increasing barrage of commercials urging you to shop, spend, buy. And every reminder of the holiday season ate at the edges of his soul and heart like drops of acid.

He scowled at the roaring fire in the hearth, slapped one hand on the mantel and rubbed his fingers over the polished edge of the wood. With his gaze locked on the flames, he told himself that if he could, he’d wipe the month of December from the calendar.

“You can’t stick your head in the snow and pretend Christmas isn’t happening.”

Sam flicked a glance at the woman in the open doorway. His housekeeper/cook/nag, Kaye Porter, stood there glaring at him through narrowed blue eyes. Hands at her wide hips, her gray-streaked black hair pulled back into a single thick braid that hung down over one shoulder, she shook her head. “There’s not enough snow to do it anyway, and whether you like it or not, Christmas is coming.”

“I don’t and it’s only coming if I acknowledge it,” Sam told her.

“Well, you’re going to have to pay attention because I’m out of here tomorrow.”

“I’ll give you a raise if you cancel your trip,” he said, willing to bargain to avoid the hassle of losing the woman who ran his house so he didn’t have to.

A short bark of laughter shot from her throat. “Not a chance. My friend Ruthie and I do this every year, as you well know. We’ve got our rooms booked and there’s no way we’re canceling.”

He’d known that—he just hadn’t wanted to think about it. Another reason to hate December. Every year, Kaye and Ruthie took a month-long vacation. A cruise to the Bahamas, then a stay at a splashy beachside hotel, followed by another cruise home. Kaye liked to say it was her therapy to get her through the rest of the year living with a crank like himself.

“If you love Christmas so much, why do you run to a beach every year?”

She sighed heavily. “Christmas is everywhere, you know. Even in hot, sandy places! We buy little trees, decorate them for our rooms. And the hotel lights up all the palm trees...” She sighed again, but this time, it was with delight. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Fine.” He pushed away from the hearth, tucked both hands into the pockets of his jeans and stared at her. Every year he tried to talk her out of leaving and every year he lost. Surrendering to the inevitable, he asked, “You need a ride to the airport?”

A small smile curved her mouth at the offer. “No, but thanks. Ruthie’s going to pick me up at the crack of dawn tomorrow. She’ll leave her car there so when we come back we don’t have to worry about taking one of those damn shuttles.”

“Okay then.” He took a breath and muttered, “Have a great time.”

“The enthusiasm in that suggestion is just one of the reasons I need this trip.” One dark eyebrow lifted. “You worry me, Sam. All locked away on this mountain hardly talking to anyone but me—”

She kept going, but Sam tuned out. He’d heard it all before. Kaye was determined to see him “start living” again. Didn’t seem to matter that he had no interest in that. While she talked, he glanced around the main room of what Kaye liked to call his personal prison.

It was a log home, the wood the color of warm honey, with lots of glass to spotlight the view that was breathtaking from every room. Pine forest surrounded the house, and a wide, private lake stretched out beyond a narrow slice of beach. He had a huge garage and several outbuildings, including a custom-designed workshop where Sam wished he was right at that moment.

This house, this sanctuary, was just what he’d been looking for when he’d come to Idaho five years ago. It was isolated, with a small town—Franklin—just fifteen minutes away when he needed supplies. A big city, with the airport and all manner of other distractions, was just an hour from there, not that he ever went. What he needed, he had Kaye pick up in Franklin and only rarely went to town himself.

The whole point of moving here had been to find quiet. Peace. Solitude. Hell, he could go weeks and never talk to anyone but Kaye. Thoughts of her brought him back to the conversation at hand.

“...Anyway,” she was saying, “my friend Joy will be here about ten tomorrow morning to fill in for me while I’m gone.”

He nodded. At least Kaye had done what she always did, arranged for one of her friends to come and stay for the month she’d be gone. Sam wouldn’t have to worry about cooking, cleaning or pretty much anything but keeping his distance from whatever busybody she’d found this year.

He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not going to catch this one rifling through my desk, right?”

Kaye winced. “I will admit that having Betty come last year was a bad idea...”

“Yeah,” he agreed. She’d seemed nice enough, but the woman had poked her head into everything she could find. Within a week, Sam had sent her home and had spent the following three weeks eating grilled cheese sandwiches, canned soup and frozen pizza. “I’d say so.”

“She’s the curious sort.”

“She’s nosy.”

“Yes, well.” Kaye cleared her throat. “That was my mistake, I know. But my friend Joy isn’t a snoop. I think you’ll like her.”

“Not necessary,” he assured her. He didn’t want to like Joy. Hell, he didn’t want to talk to her if he could avoid it.

“Of course not.” Kaye shook her head again and gave him the kind of look teachers used to reserve for the kid acting up in class. “Wouldn’t want to be human or anything. Might set a nasty precedent.”

“Kaye...”

The woman had worked for him since he’d moved to Idaho five years ago. And since then, she’d muscled her way much deeper into his life than he’d planned on allowing. Not only did she take care of the house, but she looked after him despite the fact that he didn’t want her to. But Kaye was a force of nature, and it seemed her friends were a lot like her.

“Never mind. Anyway, to what I was saying, Joy already knows that you’re cranky and want to be left alone—”

He frowned at her. “Thanks.”

“Am I wrong?” When he didn’t answer, she nodded. “She’s a good cook and runs her own business on the internet.”

“You told me all of this already,” he pointed out. Though she hadn’t said what kind of business the amazing Joy ran. Still, how many different things could a woman in her fifties or sixties do online? Give knitting lessons? Run a babysitting service? Dog sitting? Hell, his own mother sold handmade dresses online, so there was just no telling.

“I know, I know.” Kaye waved away his interruption. “She’ll stay out of your way because she needs this time here. The contractor says they won’t have the fire damage at her house repaired until January, so being able to stay and work here was a godsend.”

“You told me this, too,” he reminded her. In fact, he’d heard more than enough about Joy the Wonder Friend. According to Kaye, she was smart, clever, a hard worker, had a wonderful sense of humor and did apparently everything just short of walking on water. “But how did the fire in her house start again? Is she a closet arsonist? A terrible cook who set fire to the stove?”

“Of course not!” Kaye sniffed audibly and stiffened as if someone had shoved a pole down the back of her sweatshirt. “I told you, there was a short in the wiring. The house she’s renting is just ancient and something was bound to go at some point. The owner of the house is having all the wiring redone, though, so it should be safe now.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” he said. And relieved he didn’t have to worry that Kaye’s friend was so old she’d forgotten to turn off an oven or something.

“I’m only trying to tell you—” she broke off to give him a small smile of understanding “—like I do every year, that you’ll survive the month of December just like you do every year.”

He ground his teeth together at the flash of sympathy that stirred and then vanished from her eyes. This was the problem with people getting to know too much about him. They felt as if they had the right to offer comfort where none was wanted—or needed. Sam liked Kaye fine, but there were parts of his life that were closed off. For a reason.

He’d get through the holidays his way. Which meant ignoring the forced cheer and the never-ending lineup of “feel good” holiday-themed movies where the hard-hearted hero does a turnaround and opens himself to love and the spirit of Christmas.

Hearts should never be open. Left them too vulnerable to being shattered.

And he’d never set himself up for that kind of pain again.

* * *

Early the following day Kaye was off on her vacation, and a few hours later Sam was swamped by the empty silence. He reminded himself that it was how he liked his life best. No one bothering him. No one talking at him. One of the reasons he and Kaye got along so well was that she respected his need to be left the hell alone. So now that he was by himself in the big house, why did he feel an itch along his spine?

“It’s December,” he muttered aloud. That was enough to explain the sense of discomfort that clung to him.

Hell, every year, this one damn month made life damn near unlivable. He pushed a hand through his hair, then scraped that hand across the stubble on his jaw. He couldn’t settle. Hadn’t even spent any time out in his workshop, and usually being out there eased his mind and kept him too busy to think about—

He put the brakes on that thought fast because he couldn’t risk opening doors that were better off sealed shut.

Scowling, he stared out the front window at the cold, dark day. The steel-gray clouds hung low enough that it looked as though they were actually skimming across the tops of the pines. The lake, in summer a brilliant sapphire blue, stretched out in front of him like a sheet of frozen pewter. The whole damn world seemed bleak and bitter, which only fed into what he felt every damn minute.

Memories rose up in the back of his mind, but he squelched them flat, as he always did. He’d worked too hard for too damn long to get beyond his past, to live and breathe—and hell, survive—to lose it all now. He’d beaten back his demons, and damned if he’d release them long enough to take a bite out of him now.

Resolve set firmly, Sam frowned again when an old blue four-door sedan barreled along his drive, kicking up gravel as it came to a stop in front of the house. For a second, he thought it must be Kaye’s friend Joy arriving. Then the driver stepped out of the car and that thought went out the window.

The driver was too young, for one thing. Every other friend Kaye had enlisted to help out had been her age or older. This woman was in her late twenties, he figured, gaze locked on her as she turned her face to stare up at the house. One look at her and Sam felt a punch of lust that stole his breath. Everything in him fisted tightly as he continued to watch her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she stood on the drive studying his house. Hell, she was like a ray of sunlight in the gray.

Her short curly hair was bright blond and flew about her face in the sharp wind that slapped rosy color into her cheeks. Her blue eyes swept the exterior of the house even as she moved around the car to the rear passenger side. Her black jeans hugged long legs, and her hiking boots looked scarred and well-worn. The cardinal-red parka she wore over a cream-colored sweater was a burst of color in a black-and-white world.

She was beautiful and moved with a kind of easy grace that made a man’s gaze follow her every movement. And even while he admitted that silently, Sam resented it. He wasn’t interested in women. Didn’t want to feel what she was making him feel. What he had to do was find out why the hell she was there and get her gone as fast as possible.

She had to be lost. His drive wasn’t that easy to find—purposely. He rarely got visitors, and those were mainly his family when he couldn’t stave off his parents or sister any longer.

Well, if she’d lost her way, he’d go out and give her directions to town, and then she’d be gone and he could get back to—whatever.

“Damn.” The single word slipped from his throat as she opened the car’s back door and a little girl jumped out. The eager anticipation stamped on the child’s face was like a dagger to the heart for Sam. He took a breath that fought its way into his chest and forced himself to look away from the kid. He didn’t do kids. Not for a long time now. Their voices. Their laughter. They were too small. Too vulnerable.

Too breakable.

What felt like darkness opened up in the center of his chest. Turning his back on the window, he left the room and headed for the front door. The faster he got rid of the gorgeous woman and her child, the better.

* * *

“It’s a fairy castle, Mommy!”

Joy Curran glanced at the rearview mirror and smiled at the excitement shining on her daughter’s face. At five years old, Holly was crazy about princesses, fairies and everyday magic she seemed to find wherever she looked.

Still smiling, Joy shifted her gaze from her daughter to the big house in front of her. Through the windshield, she scanned the front of the place and had to agree with Holly on this one. It did look like a castle.

Two stories, it spread across the land, pine trees spearing up all around it like sentries prepared to stand in defense. The smooth, glassy logs were the color of warm honey, and the wide, tall windows gave glimpses of the interior. A wraparound porch held chairs and gliders that invited visitors to sit and get comfortable. The house faced a private lake where a long dock jutted out into the water that was frozen over for winter. There was a wide deck studded with furniture draped in tarps for winter and a brick fire pit.

It would probably take her a half hour to look at everything, and it was way too cold to simply sit in her car and take it all in. So instead, she turned the engine off, then walked around to get Holly out of her car seat. While the little girl jumped up and down in excitement, pigtails flying, Joy grabbed her purse and headed for the front door. The cold wrapped itself around them and Joy shivered. There hadn’t been much snow so far this winter, but the cold sliced right down to the bone. All around her, the pines were green but the grass was brown, dotted with shrinking patches of snow. Holly kept hoping to make snow angels and snowmen, but so far, Mother Nature wasn’t cooperating.

The palatial house looked as if it had grown right out of the woods surrounding it. The place was gorgeous, but a little intimidating. And from everything she’d heard, so was the man who lived here. Oh, Kaye was crazy about him, but then Kaye took in stray dogs, cats, wounded birds and any lonely soul she happened across. But there was plenty of speculation about Sam Henry in town.

Joy knew he used to be a painter, and she’d actually seen a few of his paintings online. Judging by the art he created, she would have guessed him to be warm, optimistic and, well, nice. According to Kaye, though, the man was quiet, reclusive to the point of being a hermit, and she thought he was lonely at the bottom of it. But to Joy’s way of thinking, if you didn’t want to be lonely, you got out and met people. Heck, it was so rare to see Sam Henry in town, spotting him was the equivalent of a Bigfoot sighting. She’d caught only the occasional rare glimpse of the man herself.

But none of that mattered at the moment, Joy told herself. She and Holly needed a place to stay for the month, and this housesitting/cooking/cleaning job had turned up at just the right time. Taking Holly’s hand, she headed for the front door, the little girl skipping alongside her, chattering about princesses and castles the whole way.

For just a second, Joy envied her little girl’s simpler outlook on life. For Holly, this was an adventure in a magical castle. For Joy, it was moving into a big, secluded house with a secretive and, according to Kaye, cranky man. Okay, now she was making it sound like she was living in a Gothic novel. Kaye lived here year-round, right? And had for years. Surely Joy could survive a month. Determined now to get off on the right foot, she plastered a smile on her face, climbed up to the wide front porch and knocked on the double doors.

She was still smiling a moment later when the door was thrown open and she looked up into a pair of suspicious brown eyes. An instant snap of attraction slapped at Joy, surprising her with its force. His black hair was long, hitting past the collar of his dark red shirt, and the thick mass lifted slightly as another cold wind trickled past. His jaws were shadowed by whiskers and his mouth was a grim straight line. He was tall, with broad shoulders, narrow hips and long legs currently encased in worn, faded denim that stacked on the tops of a pair of weathered brown cowboy boots.

If it wasn’t for the narrowed eyes and the grim expression on his face, he would have been the star of any number of Joy’s personal fantasies. Then he spoke and the already tattered remnants of said fantasy drifted away.

“This is private property,” he said in a voice that was more of a growl. “If you’re looking for town, go back to the main road and turn left. Stay on the road and you’ll get there in about twenty minutes.”

Well, this was starting off well.

“Thanks,” she said, desperately trying to hang on to the smile curving her mouth as well as her optimistic attitude. “But I’m not lost. I’ve just come from town.”

If anything, his frown deepened. “Then why’re you here?”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Joy said, half tugging Holly behind her. Not that she was afraid of him—but why subject her little girl to a man who looked like he’d rather slam the door in their faces than let them in?

“I repeat,” he said, “who are you?”

“I’m Joy. Kaye’s friend?” It came out as a question though she hadn’t meant it as one.

“You’re kidding.” His eyes went wide as his gaze swept her up and down in a fast yet thorough examination.

She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. But when his features remained stiff and cold, she went for insulted.

“Is there a problem?” she asked. “Kaye told me you’d be expecting me and—”

“You’re not old.”

She blinked at him. “Thank you for noticing, though I’ve got to say, if Kaye ever hears you call her ‘old,’ it won’t be pretty.”

“That’s not—” He stopped and started again. “I was expecting a woman Kaye’s age,” he continued. “Not someone like you. Or,” he added with a brief glance at Holly, “a child.”

Why hadn’t Kaye told him about Holly? For a split second, Joy worried over that and wondered if he’d try to back out of their deal now. But an instant later she assured herself that no matter what happened, she was going to hold him to his word. She needed to be here and she wasn’t about to leave.

She took a breath and ignored the cool chill in his eyes. “Well, that’s a lovely welcome, thanks. Look, it’s cold out here. If you don’t mind, I’d like to come in and get settled.”

He shook his head, opened his mouth to speak, but Holly cut him off.

“Are you the prince?” She stepped out from behind her mother, tipped her head back and studied him.

“The what?”

Joy tensed. She didn’t want to stop Holly from talking—wasn’t entirely sure she could—but she was more than willing to intervene if the quietly hostile man said something she didn’t like.

“The prince,” Holly repeated, the tiny lisp that defined her voice tugging at Joy’s heart. “Princes live in castles.”

Joy caught the barest glimmer of a smile brush across his face before it was gone again. Somehow, though, that ghost of real emotion made her feel better.

“No,” he said and his voice was softer than it had been. “I’m not a prince.”

Joy could have said something to that, and judging by the glance he shot her, he half expected her to. But irritating him further wasn’t going to get her and Holly into the house and out of the cold.

“But he looks like a prince, doesn’t he, Mommy?”

A prince with a lousy attitude. A dark prince, maybe.

“Sure, honey,” she said with a smile for the little girl shifting from foot to foot in her eagerness to get inside the “castle.”

Turning back to the man who still stood like an immovable object in the doorway, Joy said reasonably, “Look, I’m sorry we aren’t what you were expecting. But here we are. Kaye told you about the fire at our house, right?”

“The firemen came and let me sit in the big truck with the lights going and it was really bright and blinking.”

“Is that right?” That vanishing smile of his came and went again in a blink.

“And it smelled really bad,” Holly put in, tugging her hand free so she could pinch her own nose.

“It did,” Joy agreed, running one hand over the back of Holly’s head. “And,” she continued, “it did enough damage that we can’t stay there while they’re fixing it—” She broke off and said, “Can we finish this inside? It’s cold out here.”

For a second, she wasn’t sure he’d agree, but then he nodded, moved back and opened the wide, heavy door. Heat rushed forward to greet them, and Joy nearly sighed in pleasure. She gave a quick look around at the entry hall. The gleaming, honey-colored logs shone in the overhead light. The entry floor was made up of huge square tiles in mottled earth tones. Probably way easier to clean up melting snow from tile floors instead of wood, she told herself and let her gaze quickly move over what she could see of the rest of the house.

It seemed even bigger on the inside, which was hard to believe, and with the lights on against the dark of winter, the whole place practically glowed. A long hallway led off to the back of the house, and on the right was a stairway leading to the second floor. Near the front door, there was a handmade coat tree boasting a half-dozen brass hooks and a padded bench attached.

Shrugging out of her parka, Joy hung it on one of the hooks, then turned and pulled Holly’s jacket off as well, hanging it alongside hers. The warmth of the house surrounded her and all Joy could think was, she really wanted to stay. She and Holly needed a place and this house with its soft glow was...welcoming, in spite of its owner.

She glanced at the man watching her, and one look told her that he really wanted her gone. But she wasn’t going to allow that.

The house was gigantic, plenty of room for her and Holly to live and still stay out of Sam Henry’s way. There was enough land around the house so that her little girl could play. One man to cook and clean for, which would leave her plenty of time to work on her laptop. And oh, if he made them leave, she and her daughter would end up staying in a hotel in town for a month. Just the thought of trying to keep a five-year-old happy when she was trapped in a small, single room for weeks made Joy tired.

“Okay, we’re inside,” he said. “Let’s talk.”

“Right. It’s a beautiful house.” She walked past him, forcing the man to follow her as she walked to the first doorway and peeked in. A great room—that really lived up to the name.

Floor-to-ceiling windows provided a sweeping view of the frozen lake, a wide lawn and a battalion of pines that looked to be scraping the underside of the low-hanging gray clouds. There was a massive hearth on one wall, where a wood fire burned merrily. A big-screen TV took up most of another wall, and there were brown leather couches and chairs sprinkled around the room, sitting on brightly colored area rugs. Handcrafted wood tables held lamps and books, with more books tucked onto shelves lining yet another wall.

“I love reading, too, and what a terrific spot for it,” Joy said, watching Holly as the girl wandered the room, then headed straight to the windows where she peered out, both hands flat against the glass.

“Yeah, it works for me.” He came up beside her, crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Anyway...”

“You won’t even know we’re here,” Joy spoke up quickly. “And it’ll be a pleasure to take care of this place. Kaye loves working here, so I’m sure Holly and I will be just as happy.”

“Yeah, but—”

She ignored his frown and the interruption. On a roll, she had no intention of stopping. “I’m going to take a look around. You don’t have to worry about giving me a tour. I’ll find my own way—”

“About that—”

Irritation flashed across his features and Joy almost felt sorry for him. Not sorry enough to stop, though. “What time do you want dinner tonight?”

Before he could answer, she said, “How about six? If that works for you, we’ll keep it that way for the month. Otherwise, we can change it.”

“I didn’t agree—”

“Kaye said Holly and I should use her suite of rooms off the kitchen, so we’ll just go get settled in and you can get back to what you were doing when we got here.” A bright smile on her face, she called, “Holly, come with me now.” She looked at him. “Once I’ve got our things put away, I’ll look through your supplies and get dinner started, if it’s all right with you.” And even if it isn’t, she added silently.

“Talking too fast to be interrupted doesn’t mean this is settled,” he told her flatly.

The grim slash of his mouth matched the iciness in his tone. But Joy wasn’t going to give up easily. “There’s nothing to settle. We agreed to be here for the month and that’s what we’re going to do.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think this is going to work out.”

“You can’t know that, and I think you’re wrong,” she said, stiffening her spine as she faced him down. She needed this job. This place. For one month. And she wouldn’t let him take it from her. Keeping her voice low so Holly wouldn’t overhear, she said, “I’m holding you to the deal we made.”

“We didn’t make a deal.”

“You did with Kaye.”

“Kaye’s not here.”

“Which is why we are.” One point to me. Joy grinned and met his gaze, deliberately glaring right into those shuttered brown eyes of his.

“Are there fairies in the woods?” Holly wondered aloud.

“I don’t know, honey,” Joy said.

“No,” Sam told her.

Holly’s face fell and Joy gave him a stony glare. He could be as nasty and unfriendly with her as he wanted to be. But he wouldn’t be mean to her daughter. “He means he’s never seen any fairies, sweetie.”

“Oh.” The little girl’s smile lit up her face. “Me either. But maybe I can sometime, Mommy says.”

With a single look, Joy silently dared the man to pop her daughter’s balloon again. But he didn’t.

“Then you’ll have to look harder, won’t you?” he said instead, then lifted his gaze to Joy’s. With what looked like regret glittering in his eyes, he added, “You’ll have a whole month to look for them.”

Two

A few hours in the workshop didn’t improve Sam’s mood. Not a big surprise. How the hell could he clear his mind when it was full of images of Joy Curran and her daughter?

As her name floated through his mind again, Sam deliberately pushed it away, though he knew damn well she’d be sliding back in. Slowly, methodically, he ran the hand sander across the top of the table he was currently building. The satin feel of the wood beneath his hands fed the artist inside him as nothing else could.

It had been six years since he’d picked up a paintbrush, faced a blank canvas and brought the images in his mind to life. And even now, that loss tore at him and his fingers wanted to curl around a slim wand of walnut and surround himself with the familiar scents of turpentine and linseed oil. He wouldn’t—but the desire was always there, humming through his blood, through his dreams.

But though he couldn’t paint, he also couldn’t simply sit in the big house staring out windows, either.

So he’d turned his need for creativity, for creation, toward the woodworking that had always been a hobby. In this workshop, he built tables, chairs, small whimsical backyard lawn ornaments, and lost himself in the doing. He didn’t have to think. Didn’t have to remember.

Yet, today, his mind continuously drifted from the project at hand to the main house, where the woman was. It had been a long time since he’d had an attractive woman around for longer than an evening. And the prospect of Joy being in his house for the next month didn’t make Sam happy. But damned if he could think of a way out of it. Sure, he could toss her and the girl out, but then what?

Memories of last December when he’d been on his own and damn near starved to death rushed into his brain. He didn’t want to repeat that, but could he stand having a kid around all the time?

That thought brought him up short. He dropped the block sander onto the table, turned and looked out the nearest window to the house. The lights in the kitchen were on and he caught a quick glimpse of Joy moving through the room. Joy. Even her name went against everything he’d become. She was too much, he thought. Too beautiful. Too cheerful. Too tempting.

Well, hell. Recognizing the temptation she represented was only half the issue. Resisting her and what she made him want was the other half. She’d be right there, in his house, for a month. And he was still feeling that buzz of desire that had pumped into him from the moment he first saw her getting out of her car. He didn’t want that buzz but couldn’t ignore it, either.

When his cell phone rang, he dug it out of his pocket and looked at the screen. His mother. “Perfect. This day just keeps getting better.”

Sam thought about not answering it, but he knew that Catherine Henry wouldn’t be put off for long. She’d simply keep calling until he answered. Might as well get it over with.

“Hi, Mom.”

“There’s my favorite son,” she said.

“Your only son,” he pointed out.

“Hence the favorite,” his mother countered. “You didn’t want to answer, did you?”

He smiled to himself. The woman was practically psychic. Leaning one hip against the workbench, he said, “I did, though, didn’t I?”

“Only because you knew I’d harangue you.”

He rolled his eyes and started sanding again, slowly, carefully moving along the grain. “What’s up, Mom?”

“Kaye texted me to say she was off on her trip,” his mother said. “And I wanted to see if Joy and Holly arrived all right.”

He stopped, dropped the sander and stared out at the house where the woman and her daughter were busily taking over. “You knew?”

“Well, of course I knew,” Catherine said with a laugh. “Kaye keeps me up to date on what’s happening there since my favorite son tends to be a hermit and uncommunicative.”

He took a deep breath and told himself that temper would be wasted on his mother. It would roll right on by, so there was no point in it. “You should have warned me.”

“About what? Joy? Kaye tells me she’s wonderful.”

“About her daughter,” he ground out, reminding himself to keep it calm and cool. He felt a sting of betrayal because his mother should have understood how having a child around would affect him.

There was a long pause before his mother said, “Honey, you can’t avoid all children for the rest of your life.”

He flinched at the direct hit. “I didn’t say I was.”

“Sweetie, you didn’t have to. I know it’s hard, but Holly isn’t Eli.”

He winced at the sound of the name he never allowed himself to so much as think. His hand tightened around the phone as if it were a lifeline. “I know that.”

“Good.” Her voice was brisk again, with that clipped tone that told him she was arranging everything in her mind. “Now that that’s settled, you be nice. Kaye and I think you and Joy will get along very well.”

He went completely still. “Is that right?”

“Joy’s very independent and according to Kaye, she’s friendly, outgoing—just what you need, sweetie. Someone to wake you up again.”

Sam smelled a setup. Every instinct he possessed jumped up and shouted a warning even though it was too late to avoid what was already happening. Scraping one hand down his face, he shook his head and told himself he should have been expecting this. For years now, his mother had been nagging at him to move on. To accept the pain and to pick up the threads of his life.

She wanted him happy, and he understood that. What she didn’t understand was that he’d already lost his shot at happiness. “I’m not interested, Mom.”

“Sure you are, you just don’t know it,” his mother said in her crisp, no-nonsense tone. “And it’s not like I’ve booked a church or expect you to sweep Joy off her feet, for heaven’s sake. But would it kill you to be nice? Honestly, sweetie, you’ve become a hermit, and that’s just not healthy.”

Sam sighed heavily as his anger drained away. He didn’t like knowing that his family was worried about him. The last few years had been hard. On everyone. And he knew they’d all feel better about him if he could just pick up the threads of his life and get back to some sort of “normal.” But a magical wave of his hands wasn’t going to accomplish that.

The best he could do was try to convince his mother to leave him be. To let him deal with his own past in his own way. The chances of that, though, were slim. That was the burden of family. When you tried to keep them at bay for their own sake, they simply refused to go. Evidence: she and Kaye trying to play matchmaker.

But just because they thought they were setting him up with Joy didn’t mean he had to go along. Which he wouldn’t. Sure, he remembered that instant attraction he’d felt for Joy. That slam of heat, lust, that let him know he was alive even when he hated to acknowledge it. But it didn’t change anything. He didn’t want another woman in his life. Not even one with hair like sunlight and eyes the color of a summer sky.

And he for damn sure didn’t want another child in his life.

What he had to do, then, was to make it through December, then let his world settle back into place. When nothing happened between him and Joy, his mother and Kaye would have to give up on the whole Cupid thing. A relief for all of them.

“Sam?” His mother’s voice prompted a reaction from him. “Have you slipped into a coma? Do I need to call someone?”

He laughed in spite of everything then told himself to focus. When dealing with Catherine Henry, a smart man paid attention. “No. I’m here.”

“Well, good. I wondered.” Another long pause before she said, “Just do me a favor, honey, and don’t scare Joy off. If she’s willing to put up with you for a month, she must really need the job.”

Insulting, but true. Wryly, he said, “Thanks, Mom.”

“You know what I mean.” Laughing a little, she added, “That didn’t come out right, but still. Hermits are not attractive, Sam. They grow their beards and stop taking showers and mutter under their breath all the time.”

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, then caught himself and sighed.

“It’s already started,” his mother said. “But seriously. People in those mountains are going to start telling their kids scary stories about the weird man who never leaves his house.”

“I’m not weird,” he argued. And he didn’t have a beard. Just whiskers he hadn’t felt like shaving in a few days. As far as muttering went, that usually happened only when his mother called.

“Not yet, but if things don’t change, it’s coming.”

Scowling now, he turned away from the view of the house and stared unseeing at the wall opposite him. “Mom, you mean well. I know that.”

“I do, sweetie, and you’ve got to—”

He cut her off, because really, it was the only way. “I’m already doing what I have to do, Mom. I’ve had enough change in my life already, thanks.”

Then she was quiet for a few seconds as if she was remembering the pain of that major change. “I know. Sweetie, I know. I just don’t want you to lose the rest of your life, okay?”

Sam wondered if it was all mothers or just his who refused to see the truth when it was right in front of them. He had nothing left to lose. How the hell could he have a life when he’d already lost everything that mattered? Was he supposed to forget? To pretend none of it had happened? How could he when every empty day reminded him of what was missing?

But saying any of that to his mother was a waste of time. She wouldn’t get it. Couldn’t possibly understand what it cost him every morning just to open his eyes and move through the day. They tried, he told himself. His whole family tried to be there for him, but the bottom line was, he was alone in this. Always would be.

And that thought told Sam he’d reached the end of his patience. “Okay, look, Mom, good talking to you, but I’ve got a project to finish.”

“All right then. Just, think about what I said, okay?”

Hard not to when she said it every time she talked to him.

“Sure.” A moment later he hung up and stuffed the phone back into his pocket. He shouldn’t have answered it. Should have turned the damn thing off and forced her to leave a message. Then he wouldn’t feel twisted up inside over things that could never be put right. It was better his way. Better to bury those memories, that pain, so deeply that they couldn’t nibble away at him every waking moment.

A glance at the clock on the wall told him it was six and time for the dinner Joy had promised. Well, he was in no mood for company. He came and went when he liked and just because his temporary housekeeper made dinner didn’t mean he had to show up. He scowled, then deliberately, he picked up the sander again and turned his focus to the wood. Sanding over the last coat of stain and varnish was meticulous work. He could laser in on the task at hand and hope it would be enough to ease the tension rippling through him.

It was late by the time he finally forced himself to stop working for the day. Darkness was absolute as he closed up the shop and headed for the house. He paused in the cold to glance up at the cloud-covered sky and wondered when the snow would start. Then he shifted his gaze to the house where a single light burned softly against the dark. He’d avoided the house until he was sure the woman and her daughter would be locked away in Kaye’s rooms. For a second, he felt a sting of guilt for blowing off whatever dinner it was she’d made. Then again, he hadn’t asked her to cook, had he? Hell, he hadn’t even wanted her to stay. Yet somehow, she was.

Tomorrow, he told himself, he’d deal with her and lay out a few rules. If she was going to stay then she had to understand that it was the house she was supposed to take care of. Not him. Except for cooking—which he would eat whenever he damn well pleased—he didn’t want to see her. For now, he wanted a shower and a sandwich. He was prepared for a can of soup and some grilled cheese.

Later, Sam told himself he should have known better. He opened the kitchen door and stopped in the doorway. Joy was sitting at the table with a glass of wine in front of her and turned her head to look at him when he walked in. “You’re late.”

That niggle of guilt popped up again and was just as quickly squashed. He closed and locked the door behind him. “I don’t punch a clock.”

“I don’t expect you to. But when we say dinner’s at six, it’d be nice if you showed up.” She shrugged. “Maybe it’s just me, but most people would call that ‘polite.’”

The light over the stove was the only illumination and in the dimness, he saw her eyes, locked on him, the soft blond curls falling about her face. Most women he knew would have been furious with him for missing a dinner after he’d agreed to be there. But she wasn’t angry, and that made him feel the twinge of guilt even deeper than he might have otherwise. But at the bottom of it, he didn’t answer to her and it was just as well she learned that early on.

“Yeah,” he said, “I got involved with a project and forgot the time.” A polite lie that would go down better than admitting I was avoiding you. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix myself something.”

“No you won’t.” She got up and walked to the oven. “I’ve kept it on warm. Why don’t you wash up and have dinner?”

He wanted to say no. But damned if whatever she’d made didn’t smell amazing. His stomach overruled his head and Sam surrendered. He washed his hands at the sink then sat down opposite her spot at the table.

“Did you want a glass of your wine?” she asked. “It’s really good.”

One eyebrow lifted. Wryly, he said, “Glad you approve.”

“Oh, I like wine,” she said, disregarding his tone. “Nothing better than ending your day with a glass and just relaxing before bed.”

Bed. Not a word he should be thinking about when she was so close and looking so...edible. “Yeah. I’ll get a beer.”

“I’ll get it,” she said, as she set a plate of pasta in a thick red meat sauce in front of him.

The scent of it wafted to him and Sam nearly groaned. “What is that?”

“Baked mostaccioli with mozzarella and parmesan in my grandmother’s meat sauce.” She opened the fridge, grabbed a beer then walked back to the table. Handing it to him, she sat down, picked up her wineglass and had a sip.

“It smells great,” he said grudgingly.

“Tastes even better,” she assured him. Drawing one knee up, she propped her foot on her chair and looked at him. “Just so you know, I won’t be waiting on you every night. I mean getting you a beer and stuff.”

He snorted. “I’ll make a note.”

Then Sam took a bite and sighed. Whatever else Joy Curran was, the woman could cook. Whatever they had to talk about could wait, he thought, while he concentrated on the unexpected prize of a really great meal. So he said nothing else for a few bites, but finally sat back, took a drink of his beer and looked at her.

“Good?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Great.”

She smiled and her face just—lit up. Sam’s breath caught in his chest as he looked at her. That flash of something hot, something staggering, hit him again and he desperately tried to fight it off. Even while that strong buzz swept through him, remnants of the phone call with his mother rose up in his mind and he wondered if Joy had been in on whatever his mother and Kaye had cooking between them.

Made sense, didn’t it? Young, pretty woman. Single mother. Why not try to find a rich husband?

Speculatively, he looked at her and saw sharp blue eyes without the slightest hint of guile. So maybe she wasn’t in on it. He’d reserve judgment. For now. But whether she was or not, he had to set down some rules. If they were going to be living together for the next month, better that they both knew where they stood.

And, as he took another bite of her spectacular pasta, he admitted that he was going to let her stay—if only for the sake of his stomach.

“Okay,” he said in between bites, “you can stay for the month.”

She grinned at him and took another sip of her wine to celebrate. “That’s great, thanks. Although, I wasn’t really going to leave.”

Amused, he picked up his beer. “Is that right?”

“It is.” She nodded sharply. “You should know that I’m pretty stubborn when I want something, and I really wanted to stay here for the month.”

He leaned back in his chair. The pale wash of the stove light reached across the room to spill across her, making that blond hair shine and her eyes gleam with amusement and determination. The house was quiet, and the darkness crouched just outside the window made the light and warmth inside seem almost intimate. Not a word he wanted to think about at the moment.

“Can you imagine trying to keep a five-year-old entertained in a tiny hotel room for a month?” She shivered and shook her head. “Besides being a living nightmare for me, it wouldn’t be fair to Holly. Kids need room to run. Play.”

He remembered. A succession of images flashed across his mind before he could stop them. As if the memories had been crouched in a corner, just waiting for the chance to escape, he saw pictures of another child. Running. Laughing. Brown eyes shining as he looked over his shoulder and—

Sam’s grip on the beer bottle tightened until a part of him wondered why it didn’t simply shatter in his hand. The images in his mind blurred, as if fingers of fog were reaching for them, dragging them back into the past where they belonged. Taking a slow, deep breath, he lifted the beer for a sip and swallowed the pain with it.

“Besides,” she continued while he was still being dogged by memories, “this kitchen is amazing.” Shaking her head, she looked around the massive room, and he knew what she was seeing. Pale oak cabinets, dark blue granite counters with flecks of what looked like abalone shells in them. Stainless steel appliances and sink and an island big enough to float to Ireland on. And the only things Sam ever really used on his own were the double-wide fridge and the microwave.

“Cooking in here was a treat. There’s so much space.” Joy took another sip of wine. “Our house is so tiny, the kitchen just a smudge on the floor plan. Holly and I can’t be in there together without knocking each other down. Plus there’s the ancient plumbing and the cabinet doors that don’t close all the way...but it’s just a rental. One of these days, we’ll get our own house. Nothing like this one of course, but a little bigger with a terrific kitchen and a table like this one where Holly can sit and do her homework while I make dinner—”

Briskly, he got back to business. It was either that or let her go far enough to sketch out her dream kitchen. “Okay, I get it. You need to be here, and for food like this, I’m willing to go along.”

She laughed shortly.

He paid zero attention to the musical sound of that laugh or how it made her eyes sparkle in the low light. “So here’s the deal. You can stay the month like we agreed.”

“But?” she asked. “I hear a but in there.”

“But.” He nodded at her. “We steer clear of each other and you keep your daughter out of my way.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Not a fan of kids, are you?”

“Not for a long time.”

“Holly won’t bother you,” she said, lifting her wineglass for another sip.

“All right. Good. Then we’ll get along fine.” He finished off the pasta, savoring that last bite before taking one more pull on his beer. “You cook and clean. I spend most of my days out in the workshop, so we probably won’t see much of each other anyway.”

She studied him for several long seconds before a small smile curved her mouth and a tiny dimple appeared in her right cheek. “You’re sort of mysterious, aren’t you?”

Once again, she’d caught him off guard. And why did she look so pleased when he’d basically told her he didn’t want her kid around and didn’t particularly want to spend any time with her, either?

“No mystery. I just like my privacy is all.”

“Privacy’s one thing,” she mused, tipping her head to one side to study him. “Hiding out’s another.”

“Who says I’m hiding?”

“Kaye.”

He rolled his eyes. Kaye talked to his mother. To Joy. Who the hell wasn’t she talking to? “Kaye doesn’t know everything.”

“She comes close, though,” Joy said. “She worries about you. For the record, she says you’re lonely, but private. Nice, but shut down.”

He shifted in the chair, suddenly uncomfortable with the way she was watching him. As if she could look inside him and dig out all of his secrets.

“She wouldn’t tell me why you’ve locked yourself away up here on the mountain—”

“That’s something,” he muttered, then remembered his mother’s warning about hermits and muttering. Scowling, he took another drink of his beer.

“People do wonder, though,” she mused. “Why you keep to yourself so much. Why you almost never go into town. I mean, it’s beautiful here, but don’t you miss talking to people?”

“Not a bit,” he told her, hoping that statement would get her to back off.

“I really would.”

“Big surprise,” he muttered and then inwardly winced. Hell, he’d talked more in the last ten minutes than he had in the last year. Still, for some reason, he felt the need to defend himself and the way he lived. “I have Kaye to talk to if I desperately need conversation—which I don’t. And I do get into town now and then.” Practically never, though, he thought.

Hell, why should he go into Franklin and put up with being stared at and whispered over when he could order whatever he wanted online and have it shipped overnight? If nothing else, the twenty-first century was perfect for a man who wanted to be left the hell alone.

“Yeah, that doesn’t happen often,” she was saying. “There was actually a pool in town last summer—people were taking bets on if you’d come in at all before fall.”

Stunned, he stared at her. “They were betting on me?”

“You’re surprised?” Joy laughed and the sound of it filled the kitchen. “It’s a tiny mountain town with not a lot going on, except for the flood of tourists. Of course they’re going to place bets on the local hermit.”

“I’m starting to resent that word.” Sam hadn’t really considered that he might be the subject of so much speculation, and he didn’t much care for it. What was he supposed to do now? Go into town more often? Or less?

“Oh,” she said, waving one hand at him, “don’t look so grumpy about it. If it makes you feel better, when you came into Franklin and picked up those new tools at the hardware store, at the end of August, Jim Bowers won nearly two hundred dollars.”

“Good for him,” Sam muttered, not sure how he felt about all of this. He’d moved to this small mountain town for the solitude. For the fact that no one would give a damn about him. And after five years here, he found out the town was paying close enough attention to him to actually lay money on his comings and goings. Shaking his head, he asked only, “Who’s Jim Bowers?”

“He and his wife own the bakery.”

“There’s a bakery in Franklin?”

She sighed, shaking her head slowly. “It’s so sad that you didn’t know that.”

A short laugh shot from his throat, surprising them both.

“You should do that more often,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“Smile. Laugh. Lose the etched-in-stone-grumble expression.”

“Do you have an opinion on everything?” he asked.

“Don’t you?” she countered.

Yeah, he did. And his considered opinion on this particular situation was that he might have made a mistake in letting Joy and her daughter stay here for the next month.

But damned if he could regret it at the moment.

Three

By the following morning, Joy had decided the man needed to be pushed into getting outside himself. Sitting in the kitchen with him the night before had been interesting and more revealing than he would have liked, she was sure. Though he had a gruff, cold exterior, Joy had seen enough in his eyes to convince her that the real man was hidden somewhere beneath that hard shell he carried around with him.

She had known he’d been trying to avoid seeing her again by staying late in his workshop. Which was why she’d been waiting for him in the kitchen. Joy had always believed that it was better to face a problem head-on rather than dance around it and hope it would get better. So she’d been prepared to argue and bargain with him to make sure she and Holly could stay for the month.

And she’d known the moment he tasted her baked mostaccioli that arguments would not be necessary. He might not want her there, but her cooking had won him over. Clearly, he didn’t like it, but he’d put up with her for a month if it meant he wouldn’t starve. Joy could live with that.

What she might not be able to live with was her body’s response to being near him. She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t felt anything remotely like awareness since splitting with Holly’s father before the little girl was born. And she wasn’t looking for it now. She had a good life, a growing business and a daughter who made her heart sing. Who could ask for more than that?

But the man...intrigued her. She could admit, at least to herself, that sitting with him in the shadow-filled night had made her feel things she’d be better off forgetting. It wasn’t her fault, of course. Just look at the man. Tall, dark and crabby. What woman wouldn’t have a few fantasies about a man who looked like he did? Okay, normally she wouldn’t enjoy the surly attitude—God knew she’d had enough “bad boys” in her life. But the shadows of old pain in his eyes told Joy that Sam hadn’t always been so closed off.

So there was interest even when she knew there shouldn’t be. His cold detachment was annoying, but the haunted look in his eyes drew her in. Made her want to comfort. Care. Dangerous feelings to have.

“Mommy, is it gonna snow today?”

Grateful for that sweet voice pulling her out of her circling thoughts, Joy walked to the kitchen table, bent down and kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

“I don’t think so, baby. Eat your pancakes now. And then we’ll take a walk down to the lake.”

“And skate?” Holly’s eyes went bright with excitement at the idea. She forked up a bite of pancake and chewed quickly, eager now to get outside.

“We’ll see if the lake’s frozen enough, all right?” She’d brought their ice skates along since she’d known about the lake. And though she was no future competitor, Holly loved skating almost as much as she loved fairy princesses.

Humming, Holly nodded to herself and kept eating, pausing now and then for a sip of her milk. Her heels thumped against the chair rungs and sounded like a steady heartbeat in the quiet morning. Her little girl couldn’t have been contained in a hotel room for a month. She had enough energy for three healthy kids and needed the room to run and play.

This house, this place, with its wide yard and homey warmth, was just what she needed. Simple as that. As for what Sam Henry made Joy feel? That would remain her own little secret.

“Hi, Sam!” Holly called out. “Mommy made pancakes. We’re cellbrating.”

“Celebrating,” Joy corrected automatically, before she turned to look at the man standing in the open doorway. And darn it, she felt that buzz of awareness again the minute her gaze hit his. So tall, she thought with approval. He wore faded jeans and the scarred boots again, but today he wore a long-sleeved green thermal shirt with a gray flannel shirt over it. His too-long hair framed his face, and his eyes still carried the secrets that she’d seen in them the night before. They stared at each other as the seconds ticked past, and Joy wondered what he was thinking.

Probably trying to figure out the best way to get her and Holly to leave, she thought.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. She turned to the coffeemaker and poured him a cup. “Black?”

He accepted it. “How’d you guess?”

She smiled. “You look like the no-frills kind of man to me. Just can’t imagine you ordering a half-caf, vanilla bean cappuccino.”

He snorted, but took a long drink and sighed at the rush of caffeine in his system. Joy could appreciate that, since she usually got up a half hour before Holly just so she could have the time to enjoy that first, blissful cup of coffee.

“What’re you celebrating?” he asked.

Joy flushed a little. “Staying here in the ‘castle.’”

Holly’s heels continued to thump as she hummed her way through breakfast. “We’re having pancakes and then we’re going skating on the lake and—”

“I said we’ll see,” Joy reminded her.

“Stay away from the lake.”

Joy looked at him. His voice was low, brusque, and his tone brooked no argument. All trace of amusement was gone from eyes that looked as deep and dark as the night itself. “What?”

“The lake,” he said, making an obvious effort to soften the hard note in his voice. “It’s not solid enough. Too dangerous for either of you to be on it.”

“Are you sure?” Joy asked, glancing out the kitchen window at the frigid world beyond the glass. Sure, it hadn’t snowed much so far, but it had been below freezing every night for the last couple of weeks, so the lake should be frozen over completely by now.

“No point in taking the chance, is there? If it stays this cold, maybe you could try it in a week or two...”

Well, she thought, at least he’d accepted that she and Holly would still be there in two weeks. That was a step in the right direction, anyway. His gaze fixed on hers, deliberately avoiding looking at Holly, though the little girl was practically vibrating with barely concealed excitement. In his eyes, Joy saw real worry and a shadow of something darker, something older.

“Okay,” she said, going with her instinct to ease whatever it was that was driving him. Reaching out, she laid one hand on his forearm and felt the tension gripping him before he slowly, deliberately pulled away. “Okay. No skating today.”

“Moooommmmmyyyyy...”

How her daughter managed to put ten or more syllables into a single word was beyond her.

“We’ll skate another day, okay, sweetie? How about today we take a walk in the forest and look for pinecones?” She kept her gaze locked on Sam’s, so she actually saw relief flash across his eyes. What was it in his past that had him still tied into knots?

“Can we paint ’em for Christmas?”

“Sure we can, baby. We’ll go after we clean the kitchen, so eat up.” Then to Sam, she said, “How about some pancakes?”

“No, thanks.” He turned to go.

“One cup of coffee and that’s it?”

He looked back at her. “You’re here to take care of the house. Not me.”

“Not true. I’m also here to cook. For you.” She smiled a little. “You should try the pancakes. They’re really good, even if I do say so myself.”

“Mommy makes the best pancakes,” Holly tossed in.

“I’m sure she does,” he said, still not looking at the girl.

Joy frowned and wondered why he disliked kids so much, but she didn’t ask.

“Look, while you’re here, don’t worry about breakfast for me. I don’t usually bother and if I change my mind I can take care of it myself.”

“You’re a very stubborn man, aren’t you?”

He took another sip of coffee. “I’ve got a project to finish and I’m going out to get started on it.”

“Well, you can at least take a muffin.” Joy walked to the counter and picked a muffin—one of the batch she’d made just an hour ago—out of a ceramic blue bowl.

He sighed. “If I do, will you let me go?”

“If I do, will you come back?”

“I live here.”

Joy smiled again and handed it over to him. “Then you are released. Go. Fly free.”

His mouth twitched and he shook his head. “People think I’m weird.”

“I don’t.” She said it quickly and wasn’t sure why she had until she saw a quick gleam of pleasure in his eyes.

“Be sure to tell Kaye,” he said, and left, still shaking his head.

“’Bye, Sam!” Holly’s voice followed him and Joy was pretty sure he quickened his steps as if trying to outrun it.

* * *

Three hours later, Sam was still wishing he’d eaten those damn pancakes. He remembered the scent of them in the air, and his stomach rumbled in complaint. Pouring another cup of coffee from his workshop pot, he stared down at the small pile of blueberry muffin crumbs and wished he had another one. Damn it.

Wasn’t it enough that Joy’s face kept surfacing in his mind? Did she have to be such a good cook, too? And who asked her to make him breakfast? Kaye never did. Usually he made do with coffee and a power bar of some kind, and that was fine. Always had been anyway. But now he still had the lingering taste of that muffin in his mouth, and his stomach was still whining over missing out on pancakes.

But to eat them, he’d have had to take a seat at the table beside a chattering little girl. And all that sunshine and sweet innocence was just too much for Sam to take. He took a gulp of hot coffee and let the blistering liquid burn its way to the pit of his sadly empty stomach. And as hungry as he was, at least he’d completed his project. He leaned back against the workbench, crossed his feet at the ankles, stared at the finished table and gave himself a silent pat on the back.

In the overhead shop light, the wood gleamed and shone like a mirror in the sun. Every slender grain of the wood was displayed beautifully under the fresh coat of varnish, and the finish was smooth as glass. The thick pedestal was gnarled and twisted, yet it, too, had been methodically sanded until all the rough edges were gone as if they’d never been.

Taking a deadfall tree limb and turning it into the graceful pedestal of a table had taken some time, but it had been worth it. The piece was truly one of a kind, and he knew the people he’d made it for would approve. It was satisfying, seeing something in your head and creating it in the physical world. He used to do that with paint and canvas, bringing imaginary places to life, making them real.

Sam frowned at the memories, because remembering the passion he’d had for painting, the rush of starting something new and pushing himself to make it all perfect, was something he couldn’t know now. Maybe he never would again. And that thought opened up a black pit at the bottom of his soul. But there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing that could ease that need, that bone-deep craving.

At least he had this, he told himself. Woodworking had given him, if not completion, then satisfaction. It filled his days and helped to ease the pain of missing the passion that had once driven his life. But then, he thought, once upon a time, his entire world had been different. The shame was, he hadn’t really appreciated what he’d had while he had it. At least, he told himself, not enough to keep it.

He was still leaning against the workbench, studying the table, when a soft voice with a slight lisp asked, “Is it a fairy table?”

He swiveled his head to the child in the doorway. Her blond hair was in pigtails, she wore blue jeans, tiny pink-and-white sneakers with princesses stamped all over them and a pink parka that made her look impossibly small.

He went completely still even while his heart raced, and his mind searched for a way out of there. Her appearance, on top of old memories that continued to dog him, hit him so hard he could barely take a breath. Sam looked into blue eyes the exact shade of her mother’s and told himself that it was damned cowardly to be spooked by a kid. He had his reasons, but it was lowering to admit, even to himself, that his first instinct when faced with a child was to bolt.

Since she was still watching him, waiting for an answer, Sam took another sip of coffee in the hopes of steadying himself. “No. It’s just a table.”

“It looks like a tree.” Moving warily, she edged a little farther into the workshop and let the door close behind her, shutting out the cold.

“It used to be,” he said shortly.

“Did you make it?”

“Yes.” She was looking up at him with those big blue eyes, and Sam was still trying to breathe. But his “issues” weren’t her fault. He was being an ass, and even he could tell. He had no reason to be so short with the girl. How was she supposed to know that he didn’t do kids anymore?

“Can I touch it?” she asked, giving him a winsome smile that made Sam wonder if females were born knowing how to do it.

“No,” he said again and once more, he heard the sharp brusqueness in his tone and winced.

“Are you crabby?” She tilted her head to one side and looked up at him in all seriousness.

“What?”

Gloomy sunlight spilled through the windows that allowed views of the pines, the lake and the leaden sky that loomed threateningly over it all. The little girl, much like her mother, looked like a ray of sunlight in the gray, and he suddenly wished that she were anywhere but there. Her innocence, her easy smile and curiosity were too hard to take. Yet, her fearlessness at facing down an irritable man made her, to Sam’s mind, braver than him.

“Mommy says when I’m crabby I need a nap.” She nodded solemnly. “Maybe you need a nap, too.”

Sam sighed. Also, like her mother, a bad mood wasn’t going to chase her off. Accepting the inevitable, that he wouldn’t be able to get rid of her by giving her one-word, bit-off answers, he said, “I don’t need a nap, I’m just busy.”

She walked into the workshop, less tentative now. Clearly oblivious to the fact that he didn’t want her there, she wandered the shop, looking over the benches with tools, the stacks of reclaimed wood and the three tree trunks he had lined up along a wall. He should tell her to go back to the house. Wasn’t it part of their bargain that the girl wouldn’t bother him?

Hell.

“You don’t look busy.”

“Well, I am.”

“Doing what?”

Sam sighed. Irritating, but that was a good question. Now that he’d finished the table, he needed to start something else. It wasn’t only his hands he needed to keep busy. It was his mind. If he wasn’t focusing on something, his thoughts would invariably track over to memories. Of another child who’d also had unending questions and bright, curious eyes. Sam cut that thought off and turned his attention to the tiny girl still exploring his workshop. Why hadn’t he told her to leave? Why hadn’t he taken her back to the house and told Joy to keep her away from him? Hell, why was he just standing there like a glowering statue?

“What’s this do?”

The slight lisp brought a reluctant smile even as he moved toward her. She’d stopped in front of a vise that probably looked both interesting and scary to a kid.

“It’s a wood vise,” he said. “It holds a piece of wood steady so I can work on it.”

She chewed her bottom lip and thought about it for a minute. “Like if I put my doll between my knees so I can brush her hair.”

“Yeah,” he said grudgingly. Smart kid. “It’s sort of like that. Shouldn’t you be with your mom?”

“She’s cleaning and she said I could play in the yard if I stayed in the yard so I am but I wish it would snow and we could make angels and snowballs and a big snowman and—”

Amazed, Sam could only stare in awe as the little girl talked without seeming to breathe. Thoughts and words tumbled out of her in a rush that tangled together and yet somehow made sense.

Desperate now to stop the flood of high-pitched sounds, he asked, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

She laughed and shook her head so hard her pigtails flew back and forth across her eyes. “I go to pre-K cuz I’m too little for Big-K cuz my birthday comes too late cuz it’s the day after Christmas and I can probably get a puppy if I ask Santa and Mommy’s gonna get me a fairy doll for my birthday cuz Christmas is for the puppy and he’ll be all white like a snowball and he’ll play with me and lick me like Lizzie’s puppy does when I get to play there and—”

So...instead of halting the rush of words and noise, he’d simply given her more to talk about. Sam took another long gulp of his coffee and hoped the caffeine would give him enough clarity to follow the kid’s twisty thought patterns.

She picked up a scrap piece of wood and turned it over in her tiny hands.

“What can we make out of this?” she asked, holding it up to him, an interested gleam in her eye and an eager smile on her face.

Well, hell. He had nothing else to work on. It wasn’t as though he was being drawn to the kid or anything. All he was doing was killing time. Keeping busy. Frowning to himself, Sam took the piece of wood from her and said, “If you’re staying, take your jacket off and put it over there.”

Her smile widened, her eyes sparkled and she hurried to do just what he told her. Shaking his head, Sam asked himself what he was doing. He should be dragging her back to the house. Telling her mother to keep the kid away from him. Instead, he was getting deeper.

“I wanna make a fairy house!”

He winced a little at the high pitch of that tiny voice and told himself that this didn’t matter. He could back off again later.

* * *

Joy looked through the window of Sam’s workshop and watched her daughter work alongside the man who had insisted he wanted nothing to do with her. Her heart filled when Holly turned a wide, delighted smile on the man. Then a twinge of guilt pinged inside her. Her little girl was happy and well-adjusted, but she was lacking a male role model in her life. God knew her father hadn’t been interested in the job.

She’d told herself at the time that Holly would be better off without him than with a man who clearly didn’t want to be a father. Yet here was another man who had claimed to want nothing to do with kids—her daughter in particular—and instead of complaining about her presence, he was working with her. Showing the little girl how to build...something. And Holly was loving it.

The little girl knelt on a stool at the workbench, following Sam’s orders, and though she couldn’t see what they were working on from her vantage point, Joy didn’t think it mattered. Her daughter’s happiness was evident, and whether he knew it or not, after only one day around Holly, Sam was opening up. She wondered what kind of man that opening would release.

The wind whipped past her, bringing the scent of snow, and Joy shivered deeper into her parka before walking into the warmth of the shop. With the blast of cold air announcing her presence, both Sam and Holly turned to look at her. One of them grinned. One of them scowled.

Of course.

“Mommy! Come and see, come and see!”

There was no invitation in Sam’s eyes, but Joy ignored that and went to them anyway.

“It’s a fairy house!” Holly squealed it, and Joy couldn’t help but laugh. Everything these days was fairy. Fairy princesses. Fairy houses.

“We’re gonna put it outside and the fairies can come and live in it and I can watch from the windows.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“Sam says if I get too close to the fairies I’ll scare ’em away,” Holly continued, with an earnest look on her face. “But I wouldn’t. I would be really quiet and they wouldn’t see me or anything...”

“Sam says?” she repeated to the man standing there pretending he was somewhere else.

“Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “If she watches through the window, she won’t be out in the forest or—I don’t know.”

He was embarrassed. She could see it. And for some reason, knowing that touched her heart. The man who didn’t want a child anywhere near him just spent two hours helping a little girl build a house for fairies. There was so much more to him than the face he showed to the world. And the more Joy discovered, the more she wanted to know.

Oh, boy.

“It’s beautiful, baby.” And it was. Small, but sturdy, it was made from mismatched pieces of wood and the roof was scalloped by layering what looked like Popsicle sticks.

“I glued it and everything, but Sam helped and he says I can put stuff in it for the fairies like cookies and stuff that they’ll like and I can watch them...”

He shrugged. “She wanted to make something. I had some scrap wood. That’s all.”

“Thank you.”

Impatience flashed across his face. “Not a big deal. And not going to be happening all the time, either,” he added as a warning.

“Got it,” Joy said, nodding. If he wanted to cling to that grumpy, don’t-like-people attitude, she wouldn’t fight him on it. Especially since she now knew it was all a front.

Joy took a moment to look around the big room. Plenty of windows would let in sunlight should the clouds ever drift away. A wide, concrete floor, scrupulously swept clean. Every kind of tool imaginable hung on the pegboards that covered most of two walls. There were stacks of lumber, most of it looking ragged and old—reclaimed wood—and there were deadfall tree trunks waiting for who knew what to be done to them.

Then she spotted the table and was amazed she hadn’t noticed it immediately. Walking toward it, she sighed with pleasure as she examined it carefully, from the shining surface to the twisted tree limb base. “This is gorgeous,” she whispered and whipped her head around to look at him. “You made this?”

He scowled again. Seemed to be his go-to expression. “Yeah.”

“It’s amazing, really.”

“It’s also still wet, so be careful. The varnish has to cure for a couple of days yet.”

“I’m not touching.”

“I didn’t either, Mommy, did I, Sam?”

“Almost but not quite,” he said.

Joy’s fingers itched to stroke that smooth, sleek tabletop, so she curled her hands into fists to resist the urge. “I’ve seen some of your things in the gallery in town, and I loved them, too, by the way. But this.” She shook her head and felt a real tug of possessiveness. “This I love.”

“Thanks.”

She thought the shadows in his eyes lightened a bit, but a second later, they were back so she couldn’t be sure. “What are you working on next?”

“Like mother like daughter,” he muttered.

“Curious?” she asked. “You bet. What are you going to do with those tree trunks?” The smallest of them was three feet around and two feet high.

“Work on them when I get a minute to myself.” That leave-me-alone tone was back, and Joy decided not to push her luck any further. She’d gotten more than a few words out of him today and maybe they’d reached his limit.

“He’s not mad, Mommy, he’s just crabby.”

Joy laughed.

Holly patted Sam’s arm. “You could sing to him like you sing to me when I’m crabby and need a nap.”

The look on Sam’s face was priceless. Like he was torn between laughter and shouting and couldn’t decide which way to go.

“What’s that old saying?” Joy asked. “Out of the mouths of babes...”

Sam rolled his eyes and frowned. “That’s it. Everybody out.”

Still laughing, Joy said, “Come on, Holly, let’s have some lunch. I made soup. Seemed like a good, cold day for it.”

“You made soup?” he asked.

“Uh-huh. Beef and barley.” She helped Holly get her jacket on, then zipped it closed against the cold wind. “Oh, and I made some beer bread, too.”

“You made bread.” He said it with a tinge of disbelief, and Joy couldn’t blame him. Kaye didn’t really believe in baking from scratch. Said it seemed like a waste when someone went to all the trouble to bake for her and package the bread in those nice plastic bags.

“Just beer bread. It’s quick. Anyway,” she said with a grin, “if you want lunch after your nap, I’ll leave it on the stove for you.”

“Funny.”

Still smiling to herself, Joy took Holly’s hand and led her out of the shop. She felt him watching her as they left and told herself that the heat swamping her was caused by her parka. And even she didn’t believe it.

Four

Late at night, the big house was quiet, but not scary at all.

That thought made Joy smile to herself. She had assumed that a place this huge, with so many windows opening out onto darkness, would feel sort of like a horror movie. Intrepid heroine wandering the halls of spooky house, alone, with nothing but a flashlight—until the battery dies.

She shook her head and laughed at her own imagination. Instead of scary, the house felt like a safe haven against the night outside. Maybe it was the warmth of the honey-toned logs or maybe it was something else entirely. But one thing she was sure of was that she already loved it. Big, but not imposing, it was a happy house. Or would be if its owner wasn’t frowning constantly.

But he’d smiled with Holly, Joy reminded herself as she headed down the long hallway toward the great room. He might have wished to be anywhere else, but he had been patient and kind to her little girl, and for Joy, nothing could have touched her more.

Her steps were quiet, her thoughts less so. She hadn’t seen much of Sam since leaving him in the workshop. He’d deliberately kept his distance and Joy hadn’t pushed. He’d had dinner, alone, in the dining room, then he’d disappeared again, barricading himself in the great room. She hadn’t bothered him, had given him his space, and even now wouldn’t be sneaking around his house if she didn’t need something to read.

Holly was long since tucked in and Joy simply couldn’t concentrate on the television, so she wanted to lose herself in a book. Keep her brain too busy to think about Sam. Wondering what his secrets were. Wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Wondering what the heck she was doing.

She threw a glance at the staircase and the upper floor, where the bedrooms were—where Sam was—and told herself to not think about it. Joy had spent the day cleaning the upstairs, though she had to admit that the man was so tidy, there wasn’t much to straighten up.

But vacuuming and dusting gave her the chance to see where he slept, how he lived. His bedroom was huge, offering a wide view of the lake and the army of pine trees that surrounded it. His bed was big enough for a family of four to sleep comfortably, and the room was decorated in soothing shades of slate blue and forest green. The attached bath had had her sighing in imagined pleasure.

A sea of pale green marble, from the floors to the counters, to the gigantic shower and the soaker whirlpool tub that sat in front of a bay window with a view of the treetops. He lived well, but so solitarily it broke her heart. There were no pieces of him in the room. No photos, no art on the wall, nothing to point to this being his home. As beautiful as it all was, it was still impersonal, as if even after living there for five years he hadn’t left his own impression on the place.

He made her curious. Gorgeous recluse with a sexuality that made her want to drool whenever he was nearby. Of course, the logical explanation for her zip of reaction every time she saw the man was her self-imposed Man Fast. It had been so long since she’d been on a date, been kissed...heck, been touched, that her body was clearly having a breakdown. A shame that she seemed to be enjoying it so much.

Sighing a little, she turned, slipped into the great room, then came to a dead stop. Sam sat in one of the leather chairs in front of the stone fireplace, where flames danced across wood and tossed flickering shadows around the room.

Joy thought about leaving before he saw her. Yes, cowardly, but understandable, considering where her imaginings had been only a second or two ago. But even as she considered sneaking out, Sam turned his head and pinned her with a long, steady look.

“What do you need?”

Not exactly friendly, but not a snarl, either. Progress? She’d take it.

“A book.” With little choice, Joy walked into the room and took a quick look around. This room was gorgeous during the day, but at night, with flickering shadows floating around...amazing. Really, was there anything prettier than firelight? When she shifted her gaze back to him, she realized the glow from the fire shining in his dark brown eyes was nearly hypnotic. Which was a silly thought to have, so she pushed it away fast. “Would you mind if I borrow a book? TV is just so boring and—”

He held up one hand to cut her off. “Help yourself.”

“Ever gracious,” she said with a quick grin. When he didn’t return it, she said, “Okay, thanks.”

She walked closer, surreptitiously sliding her gaze over him. His booted feet were crossed at the ankle, propped on the stone edge of the hearth. He was staring into the fire as if looking for something. The flickering light danced across his features, and she recognized the scowl that she was beginning to think was etched into his bones. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” He didn’t look at her. Never took his gaze from the wavering flames.

“Okay. You’ve got a lot of books.” She looked through a short stack of hardbacks on the table closest to him. A mix of mysteries, sci-fi and thrillers, mostly. Her favorites, too.

“Yeah. Pick one.”

“I’m looking,” she assured him, but didn’t hurry as he clearly wanted her to. Funny, but the gruffer and shorter he became, the more intrigued she was.

Joy had seen him with Holly. She knew there were smiles inside him and a softness under the cold, hard facade. Yet he seemed determined to shut everyone out.

“Ew,” she said as she quickly set one book aside. “Don’t like horror. Too scary. I can’t even watch scary movies. I get too involved.”

“Yeah.”

She smiled to herself at the one-word answer. He hadn’t told her to get out, so she’d just keep talking and see what happened. “I tried, once. Went to the movies with a friend and got so scared and so tense I had to go sit in the lobby for a half hour.”

She caught him give her a quick look. Interest. It was a start.

“I didn’t go back into the theater until I convinced an usher to tell me who else died so I could relax.”

He snorted.

Joy smiled, but didn’t let him see it. “So I finally went back in to sit with my friend, and even though I knew how it would end, I still kept my hands over my eyes through the rest of the movie.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But,” she said, moving over to the next stack of books, “that doesn’t mean I’m just a romantic comedy kind of girl. I like adventure movies, too. Where lots of things blow up.”

“Is that right?”

Just a murmur, but he wasn’t ignoring her.

“And the Avengers movies? Love those. But maybe it’s just Robert Downey Jr. I like.” She paused. “What about you? Do you like those movies?”

“Haven’t seen them.”

“Seriously?” She picked up a mystery she’d never read but instead of leaving with the book, she sat down in the chair beside his. “I think you’re the first person I’ve ever met who hasn’t seen those movies.”

He spared her one long look. “I don’t get out much.”

“And isn’t that a shame?”

“If I thought so,” he told her, “I’d go out more.”

Joy laughed at the logic. “Okay, you’re right. Still. Heard of DVDs? Netflix?”

“You’re just going to keep talking, aren’t you?”

“Probably.” She settled into her chair as if getting comfy for a long visit.

He shook his head and shifted his gaze back to the fire as if that little discouragement would send her on her way.

“But back to movies,” she said, leaning toward him over the arm of her chair. “This time of year I like all the Christmas ones. The gushier the better.”

“Gushy.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “You know, the happy cry ones. Heck, I even tear up when the Grinch’s heart grows at the end of that little cartoon.” She sighed. “But to be fair, I’ve been known to get teary at a heart-tugging commercial at Christmastime.”

“Yeah, I don’t do Christmas.”

“I noticed,” she said, tipping her head to one side to study him. If anything, his features had tightened, his eyes had grown darker. Just the mention of the holiday had been enough to close him up tight. And still, she couldn’t resist trying to reach him.

“When we’re at home,” she said, “Holly and I put up the Christmas decorations the day after Thanksgiving. You have to have a little restraint, don’t you think? I mean this year, I actually saw Christmas wreaths for sale in September. That’s going a little far for me and I love Christmas.”

He swiveled a look at her. “If you don’t mind, I don’t really feel like talking.”

“Oh, you don’t have to. I like talking.”

“No kidding.”

She smiled and thought she saw a flicker of a response in his eyes, but if she had, it wasn’t much of one because it faded away fast. “You can’t get to know people unless you talk to them.”

He scraped one hand across his face. “Yeah, maybe I don’t want to get to know people.”

“I think you do, you just don’t want to want it.”

“What?”

“I saw you today with Holly.”

He shifted in his chair and frowned into the fire. “A one-time thing.”

“So you said,” Joy agreed, getting more comfortable in the chair, letting him know she wasn’t going anywhere. “But I have to tell you how excited Holly was. She couldn’t stop talking about the fairy house she built with you.” A smile curved Joy’s mouth. “She fell asleep in the middle of telling me about the fairy family that will move into it.”

Surprisingly, the frown on his face deepened, as if hearing that he’d given a child happiness made him angry.

“It was a small thing, but it meant a lot to her. And to me. I wanted you to know that.”

“Fine. You told me.”

Outside, the wind kicked up, sliding beneath the eaves of the house with a sighing moan that sounded otherworldly. She glanced toward the front window at the night beyond, then turned back to the man with darkness in his eyes. She wondered what he was thinking, what he was seeing as he stared into the flames. Leaning toward him, she locked her hands around her up-drawn knees and said, “That wide front window is a perfect place for a Christmas tree, you know. The glass would reflect all the lights...”

His gaze shot to hers. “I already told you, I don’t do Christmas.”

“Sure, I get it,” she said, though she really didn’t. “But if you don’t want to, Holly and I will take care of decorating and—”

He stood up, grabbed a fireplace poker and determinedly stabbed at the logs, causing sparks to fly and sizzle on their wild flight up the chimney. When he was finished, he turned a cold look on her and said, “No tree. No decorations. No Christmas.”

“Wow. Speak of the Grinch.”

He blew out a breath and glared at her, but it just didn’t work. It was too late for him to try to convince her that he was an ogre or something. Joy had seen him with Holly. His patience. His kindness. Even though he hadn’t wanted to be around the girl, he’d given her the gift of his time. Joy’d had a glimpse of the man behind the mask now and wouldn’t be fooled again. Crabby? Yes. Mean? No.

“You’re not here to celebrate the holidays,” he reminded her in a voice just short of a growl. “You’re here to take care of the house.”

“I know. But, if you change your mind, I’m an excellent multitasker.” She got to her feet and held on to the book she’d chosen from the stack. Staring up into his eyes, she said, “I’ll do my job, but just so you know? You don’t scare me, Sam, so you might as well quit trying so hard.”

* * *

Every night, she came to the great room. Every night, Sam told himself not to be there. And every night, he was sitting by the fire, waiting for her.

Not like he was talking to her. But apparently nothing stopped her from talking. Not even his seeming disinterest in her presence. He’d heard about her business, about the house fire that had brought her to his place and about every moment of Holly’s life up until this point. Her voice in the dark was both frustrating and seductive. Firelight created a cocoon of shadows and light, making it seem as if the two of them were alone in the world. Sam’s days stretched out interminably, but the nights with Joy flew past, ending long before he wanted them to.

And that was an irritation, as well. Sam had been here for five years and in that time he hadn’t wanted company. Hadn’t wanted anyone around. Hell, he put up with Kaye because the woman kept his house running and meals on the table—but she also kept her distance. Usually. Now, here he was, sitting in the dark, waiting, hoping Joy would show up in the great room and shatter the solitude he’d fought so hard for.

But the days were different. During the day, Joy stayed out of his way and made sure her daughter did the same. They were like ghosts in the house. Once in a while, he would catch a little girl’s laughter, quickly silenced. Everything was clean, sheets on his bed changed, meals appeared in the dining room, but Joy herself was not to be seen. How she managed it, he wasn’t sure.

Why it bothered him was even more of a mystery.

Hell, he hadn’t wanted them to stay in the first place. Yet now that he wasn’t being bothered, wasn’t seeing either of them, he found himself always on guard. Expecting one or both of them to jump out from behind a door every time he walked through a room. Which was stupid, but kept him on edge. Something he didn’t like.

Hell, he hadn’t even managed to get started on his next project yet because thoughts of Joy and Holly kept him from concentrating on anything else. Today, he had the place to himself because Joy and Holly had gone into Franklin. He knew that because there’d been a sticky note on the table beside his blueberry muffin and travel mug of coffee that Joy routinely left out in the dining room every morning.

Strange. The first morning they were here, it was him avoiding having breakfast with them. Now, it seemed that Joy was perfectly happy shuffling him off without even seeing him. Why that bothered him, Sam didn’t even ask himself. There was no damn answer anyway.

So now, instead of working, he found himself glancing out the window repeatedly, watching for Joy’s beat-up car to pull into the drive. All right, fine, it wasn’t a broken-down heap, but her car was too old and, he thought, too unreliable for driving in the kind of snow they could get this high up the mountain. Frowning, he noted the fitful flurries of snowflakes drifting from the sky. Hardly a storm, more like the skies were teasing them with just enough snow to make things cold and slick.

So naturally, Sam’s mind went to the road into town and the possible ice patches that dotted it. If Joy hit one of them, lost control of the car...his hands fisted. He should have driven them. But he hadn’t really known they were going anywhere until it was too late. And that was because he wasn’t spending any time with her except for those late-night sessions in the library.

Maybe if he’d opened his mouth the night before, she might have told him about this trip into town and he could have offered to drive them. Or at the very least, she could have driven his truck. Then he wouldn’t be standing here wondering if her damn car had spun out.

Why the hell was he watching? Why did he care if she was safe or not? Why did he even bother to ask himself why? He knew damn well that his own past was feeding the sense of disquiet that clung to him. So despite resenting his own need to do it, he stayed where he was, watching. Waiting.

Which was why he was in place to see Ken Taylor when he arrived. Taylor and his wife, Emma, ran the gallery/gift shop in Franklin that mostly catered to tourists who came up the mountain for snow skiing in winter and boating on the lake in summer. Their shop, Crafty, sold local artisans’ work—everything from paintings to jewelry to candles to the hand-made furniture and decor that Sam made.

Grateful for the distraction, Sam shrugged into his black leather jacket and headed out of the workshop into the cold bite of the wind and swirl of snowflakes. Tugging the collar up around his neck, Sam squinted into the wind and walked over to meet the man as he climbed out of his truck.

“Hey, Sam.” Ken held out one hand and Sam shook it.

“Thanks for coming out to get the table,” Sam said. “Appreciate it.”

“Hey, you keep building them, I’ll drive up the mountain to pick them up.” Ken grinned. About forty, he had pulled his black hair into a ponytail at the base of his neck. He wore a heavy brown coat over a flannel shirt, blue jeans and black work boots. He opened the gate at the back of his truck, then grinned at Sam. “One of these times, though, you should come into town yourself so you can see the reactions of the people who buy your stuff.” Shaking his head, he mused, “I mean, they all but applaud when we bring in new stock.”

“Good to know,” Sam said. It was odd, he thought, that he’d taken what had once been a hobby—woodworking—and turned it into an outlet for the creativity that had been choked off years ago. He liked knowing that his work was appreciated.

Once upon a time, he’d been lauded in magazines and newspapers. Reporters had badgered him for interviews, and one or two of his paintings actually hung in European palaces. He’d been the darling of the art world, and he’d enjoyed it all. He’d poured his heart and soul into his work and drank in the adulation as his due. Sam had so loved his work, he’d buried himself in it to the detriment of everything else. His life outside the art world had drifted past without him even realizing it.

Sam hadn’t paid attention to what should have been most important, and before he could learn his lesson and make changes, he’d lost it and all he had left was the art. The paintings. The name he’d carved for himself. Left alone, it was only when he had been broken that he realized how empty it all was. How much he’d sacrificed for the glory.

So he wasn’t interested in applause. Not anymore.

“No thanks,” he said, forcing a smile in spite of his dark thoughts. He couldn’t explain why he didn’t want to meet prospective customers, why he didn’t care about hearing praise, so he said, “I figure being the hermit on the mountain probably adds to the mystique. Why ruin that by showing up in town?”

Ken looked at him, as if he were trying to figure him out, but a second later, shook his head. “Up to you, man. But anytime you change your mind, Emma would love to have you as the star of our next Meet the Artist night.”

Sam laughed shortly. “Well, that sounds hideous.”

Ken laughed, too. “I’ll admit that it really is. Emma drives me nuts planning the snacks to get from Nibbles, putting out press releases, and the last time, she even bought some radio ads in Boise...” He trailed off and sighed. “And the artist managed to insult almost everyone in town. Don’t understand these artsy types, but I’m happy enough to sell their stuff.” He stopped, winced. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Sam assured him. “Believe me.” He’d known plenty of the kind of artists Ken was describing. Those who so believed in their own press no one could stand to be around them.

“But, Emma loves doing it, of course, and I have to give it to her, we do big business on those nights.”

Imagining being in the center of a crowd hungering to be close to an artist, to ask him questions, hang on everything he said, talk about the “art”... It all gave Sam cold chills and he realized just how far he’d come from the man he’d once been. “Yeah, like I said, awful.”

“I even have to wear a suit. What’s up with that?” Ken shook his head glumly and followed after Sam when he headed for the workshop door. “The only thing I like about it is the food, really. Nibbles has so many great things. My favorite’s those tiny grilled cheese sandwiches. I can eat a dozen of ’em and still come back for more...”

Sam was hardly listening. He’d done so many of those “artist meets the public” nights years ago that he had zero interest in hearing about them now. His life, his world, had changed so much since then, he couldn’t even imagine being a part of that scene anymore.

Ken was still talking. “Speaking of food, I saw Joy and Holly at the restaurant as I was leaving town.”

Sam turned to look at him.

Ken shrugged. “Deb Casey and her husband, Sean, own Nibbles, and Deb and Joy are tight. She was probably in there visiting since they haven’t seen each other in a while. How’s it going with the two of them living here?”

“It’s fine.” What the hell else could he say? That Joy was driving him crazy? That he missed Holly coming into the workshop? That as much as he didn’t want them there, he didn’t want them gone even more? Made him sound like a lunatic. Hell, maybe he was.

Sam walked up to the table and drew off the heavy tarp he’d had protecting the finished table. Watery gray light washed through the windows and seemed to make the tabletop shine.

“Whoa.” Ken’s voice went soft and awe-filled. “Man, you’ve got some kind of talent. This piece is amazing. We’re going to have customers outbidding each other trying to get it.” He bent down, examined the twisted, gnarled branch pedestal, then stood again to admire the flash of the wood grain beneath the layers of varnish. “Dude, you could be in an art gallery with this kind of work.”

Sam stiffened. He’d been in enough art galleries for a lifetime, he thought, and had no desire to do it again. That life had ultimately brought him nothing but pain, and it was best left buried in the past.

“Your shop works for me,” he finally said.

Ken glanced at him. The steady look in his eyes told Sam that he was wondering about him. But that was nothing new. Everyone in the town of Franklin had no doubt been wondering about him since he first arrived and holed up in this house on the mountain. He had no answers to give any of them, because the man he used to be was a man even Sam didn’t know anymore. And that’s just the way he liked it.

“Well, maybe one day you’ll explain to me what’s behind you hiding out up here.” Ken gave him a slap on the back. “Until then, though, I’d be a fool to complain when you’re creating things like this for me to sell—and I’m no fool.”

Sam liked Ken. The man was the closest thing to a friend Sam had had in years. And still, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Ken about the past. About the mess he’d made of his life before finding this house on the mountain. So Sam concentrated instead on securing a tarp over the table and making sure it was tied down against the wind and dampness of the snow and rain. Ken helped him cover that with another tarp, wrapping this one all the way down and under the foot of the pedestal. Double protection since Sam really hated the idea of having the finish on the table ruined before it even made it into the shop. It took both of them to carry the table to the truck and secure it with bungee cords in the bed. Once it was done, Sam stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nodded to Ken as the man climbed behind the wheel.

“Y’know, I’m going to say this—just like I do every time I come out here—even knowing you’ll say ‘no, thanks.’”

Sam gave him a half smile, because he was ready for what was coming next. How could he not be? As Ken said, he made the suggestion every time he was here.

“Why don’t you come into town some night?” the other man asked, forearm braced on the car door. “We’ll get a couple beers, tell some lies...”

“No, thanks,” Sam said and almost laughed at the knowing smile creasing Ken’s face. If, for the first time, he was almost tempted to take the man up on it, he’d keep that to himself.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ken nodded and gave him a rueful smile. “But if you change your mind...”

“I’ll let you know. Thanks for coming out to pick up the table.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as we sell it.”

“I trust you,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I wish that was true,” Ken told him with another long, thoughtful look.

“It is.”

“About the work, sure, I get that,” Ken said. “But I want you to know, you can trust me beyond that, too. Whether you actually do or not.”

Sam had known Ken and Emma for four years, and if he was looking for friendships, he couldn’t do any better and he knew it. But getting close to people—be it Ken or Joy—meant allowing them close enough to know about his past. And the fewer people who knew, the less pity he had to deal with. So he’d be alone.

“Appreciate it.” He slapped the side of the truck and took a step back.

“I’ll see you, then.”

Ken drove off and when the roar of his engine died away, Sam was left in the cold with only the sigh of the wind through the trees for company. Just the way he liked it.

Right?

Five

“Oh, God, look at her with that puppy,” Joy said on a sigh.

Her heart filled and ached as she watched Holly laughing at the black Lab puppy jumping at her legs. How could one little girl mean so much? Joy wondered.

When she’d first found herself pregnant, Joy remembered the rush of pleasure, excitement that she’d felt. It hadn’t mattered to her that she was single and not exactly financially stable. All she’d been able to think was, she would finally have her own family. Her child.

Joy had been living in Boise back then, starting up her virtual assistant business and working with several of the small businesses in town. One of those was Mike’s Bikes, a custom motorcycle shop owned by Mike Davis.

Mike was charming, handsome and had the whole bad-boy thing going for him, and Joy fell hard and fast. Swept off her feet, she gave herself up to her first real love affair and thought it would be forever. It lasted until the day she told Mike she was pregnant, expecting to see the same happiness in him that she was feeling. Mike, though, had no interest in being anyone’s father—or husband, if it came to that. He told her they were through. She was a good time for a while, but the good time was over. He signed a paper relinquishing all future rights to the child he’d created and Joy walked away.

When she was a kid, she’d come to Franklin with a foster family for a long weekend in the woods and she’d never forgotten it. So when she needed a fresh start for her and her baby, Joy had come here, to this tiny mountain town. And here is where she’d made friends, built her family and, at long last, had finally felt as though she belonged.

And of all the things she’d been gifted with since moving here, Deb Casey, her best friend, was at the top of the list.

Deb Casey walked to Joy and looked out the window at the two little girls rolling around on the winter brown grass with a fat black puppy. Their laughter and the puppy’s yips of excitement brought a quick smile. “She’s as crazy about that puppy as my Lizzie.”

“I know.” Joy sighed a little and leaned on her friend’s kitchen counter. “Holly’s telling everyone she’s getting a puppy of her own for Christmas.”

“A white one,” Deb supplied.

Rolling her eyes, Joy shook her head. “I’ve even been into Boise looking for a white puppy, and no one has any. I guess I’m going to have to start preparing her for the fact that Santa can’t always bring you what you want.”

“Oh, I hate that.” Deb turned back to the wide kitchen island and the tray of tiny brownies she was finishing off with swirls of white chocolate icing. “You’ve still got a few weeks till Christmas. You might find one.”

“I’ll keep looking, sure. But,” Joy said, resigned, “she might have to wait.”

“Because kids wait so well,” Deb said with a snort of laughter.

“You’re not helping.”

“Have a brownie. That’s the kind of help you need.”

“Sold.” Joy leaned in and grabbed one of the tiny brownies that was no more than two bites of chocolate heaven.

The brownies, along with miniature lemon meringue pies, tiny chocolate chip cookies and miniscule Napoleons, would be filling the glass cases at Nibbles by this afternoon. The restaurant had been open for only a couple of years, but it had been a hit from the first day. Who wouldn’t love going for lunch where you could try four or five different types of sandwiches—none of them bigger than a bite or two? Gourmet flavors, a fun atmosphere and desserts that could bring a grown woman to tears of joy, Nibbles had it all.

“Oh, God, this should be illegal,” Joy said around a mouthful of amazing brownie.

“Ah, then I couldn’t sell them.” Deb swirled white chocolate on a few more of the brownies. “So, how’s it going up there with the Old Man of the Mountain?”

“He’s not old.”

“No kidding.” Deb grinned. “I saw him sneaking into the gallery last summer, and I couldn’t believe it. It was like catching a glimpse of a unicorn. A gorgeous unicorn, I’ve got to say.”

Joy took another brownie and bit into it. Gorgeous covered it. Of course, there was also intriguing, desirable, fascinating, and as yummy as this brownie. “Yeah, he is.”

“Still.” Deb looked up at Joy. “Could he be more antisocial? I mean, I get why and all, but aren’t you going nuts up there with no one to talk to?”

“I talk to him,” Joy argued.

“Yes, but does he talk back?”

“Not really, though in his defense, I do talk a lot.” Joy shrugged. “Maybe it’s hard for him to get a word in.”

“Not that hard for me.”

“We’re women. Nothing’s that hard for us.”

“Okay, granted.” Deb smiled, put the frosting back down and planted both hands on the counter. “But what’s really going on with you? I notice you’re awful quick to defend him. Your protective streak is coming out.”

That was the only problem with a best friend, Joy thought. Sometimes they saw too much. Deb knew that Joy hadn’t dated anyone in years. That she hadn’t had any interest in sparking a relationship—since her last one had ended so memorably. So of course she would pick up on the fact that Joy was suddenly very interested in one particular man.

“It’s nothing.”

“Sure,” Deb said with a snort of derision. “I believe that.”

“Fine, it’s something,” Joy admitted. “I’m not sure what, though.”

“But he’s so not the kind of guy I would expect you to be interested in. He’s so—cold.”

Oh, there was plenty of heat inside Sam Henry. He just kept it all tamped down. Maybe that’s what drew her to him, Joy thought. The mystery of him. Most men were fairly transparent, but Sam had hidden depths that practically demanded she unearth them. She couldn’t get the image of the shadows in his eyes out of her mind. She wanted to know why he was so shut down. Wanted to know how to open him up.

Smiling now, she said, “Holly keeps telling me he’s not mean, he’s just crabby.”

Deb laughed. “Is he?”

“Oh, definitely. But I don’t know why.”

“I might.”

“What?”

Deb sighed heavily. “Okay, I admit that when you went to stay up there, I was a little worried that maybe he was some crazed weirdo with a closet full of women’s bones or something.”

“I keep telling you, stop watching those horror movies.”

Deb grinned. “Can’t. Love ’em.” She picked up the frosting bag as if she needed to be doing something while she told the story. “Anyway, I spent a lot of time online, researching the local hermit and—”

“What?” And why hadn’t Joy done the same thing? Well, she knew why. It had felt like a major intrusion on his privacy. She’d wanted to get him to actually tell her about himself. Yet here she was now, ready to pump Deb for the information she herself hadn’t wanted to look for.

“You know he used to be a painter.”

“Yes, that much I knew.” Joy took a seat at one of the counter stools and kept her gaze fixed on Deb’s blue eyes.

“He was famous. I mean famous.” She paused for emphasis. “Then about five years ago, he just stopped painting entirely. Walked away from his career and the fame and fortune and moved to the mountains to hide out.”

“You’re not telling me anything I didn’t know so far.”

“I’m getting there.” Sighing, Deb said softly, “His wife and three-year-old son died in a car wreck five years ago.”

Joy felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. The air left her lungs as sympathetic pain tore at her. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to imagine that kind of hell. That kind of devastation. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah, I know,” Deb said with a wince. Laying down the pastry bag, she added, “When I found out, I felt so bad for him.”

Joy did, too. She couldn’t even conceive the level of pain Sam had experienced. Even the thought of such a loss was shattering. Remembering the darkness in his eyes, Joy’s heart hurt for him and ached to somehow ease the grief that even five years later still held him in a tight fist. Now at least she could understand a little better why he’d closed himself off from the world.

He’d hidden himself away on a mountaintop to escape the pain that was stalking him. She saw it in his eyes every time she looked at him. Those shadows that were a part of him were really just reflections of the pain that was in his heart. Of course he was still feeling the soul-crushing pain of losing his family. God, just the thought of losing Holly was enough to bring her to her knees.

Instinctively, she moved to Deb’s kitchen window and looked out at two little girls playing with a puppy. Her gaze locked on her daughter, Joy had to blink a sheen of tears from her eyes. So small. So innocent. To have that...magic winked out like a blown-out match? She couldn’t imagine it. Didn’t want to try.

“God, this explains so much,” she whispered.

Deb walked to her side. “It does. But Joy, before you start riding to the rescue, think about it. It’s been five years since he lost his family, and as far as I know, he’s never talked about it. I don’t think anyone in town even knows about his past.”

“Probably not,” she said, “unless they took the time to do an internet search on him.”

Deb winced again. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. Sort of feels like intruding on his privacy, now that I know.”

“No, I’m glad you did. Glad you told me,” Joy said, with a firm shake of her head. “I just wish I’d thought of doing it myself. Heck, I’m on the internet all the time, just working.”

“That’s why it didn’t occur to you,” Deb told her. “The internet is work for you. For the rest of us, it’s a vast pool of unsubstantiated information.”

She had a point. “Well, then I’m glad I came by today to get your updates for your website.”

As a virtual assistant, Joy designed and managed websites for most of the shops in town, plus the medical clinic, plus she worked for a few mystery authors who lived all over the country. It was the perfect job for her, since she was very good at computer programming and it allowed her to work at home and be with Holly instead of sending the little girl out to day care.

But, because she spent so much time online for her job, she rarely took the time to browse sites for fun. Which was why it hadn’t even occurred to her to look up Sam Henry.

Heart heavy, Joy looked through the window and watched as Holly fell back onto the dry grass, laughing as the puppy lunged up to lavish kisses on her face. Holly. God, Joy thought, now she knew why Sam had demanded she keep her daughter away from him. Seeing another child so close to the age of his lost son must be like a knife to the heart.

And yet...she remembered how kind he’d been with Holly in the workshop that first day. How he’d helped her, how Holly had helped him.

Sam hadn’t thrown Holly out. He’d spent time with her. Made her feel important and gave her the satisfaction of building something. He had closed himself off, true, but there was clearly a part of him looking for a way out.

She just had to help him find it.

Except for her nightly monologues in the great room, Joy had been giving him the space he claimed to want. But now she thought maybe it wasn’t space he needed...but less of it. He’d been alone too long, she thought. He’d wrapped himself up in his pain and had been that way so long now, it probably felt normal to him. So, Joy told herself, if he wouldn’t go into the world, then the world would just have to go to him.

“You’re a born nurturer,” Deb whispered, shaking her head.

Joy looked at her.

“I can see it on your face. You’re going to try to ‘save’ him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, honey,” Deb said, “you didn’t have to.”

“It’s annoying to be read so easily.”

“Only because I love you.” Deb smiled. “But Joy, before you jump feetfirst into this, maybe you should consider that Sam might not want to be saved.”

She was sure Deb was right. He didn’t want to come out of the darkness. It had become his world. His, in a weird way, comfort zone. That didn’t make it right.

“Even if he doesn’t want it,” Joy murmured, “he needs it.”

“What exactly are you thinking?” Deb asked.

Too many things, Joy realized. Protecting Holly, reaching Sam, preparing for Christmas, keeping up with all of the holiday work she had to do for her clients... Oh, whom was she kidding? At the moment, Sam was uppermost in her mind. She was going to drag him back into the land of the living, and she had the distinct feeling he was going to put up a fight.

“I’m thinking that maybe I’m in way over my head.”

Deb sighed a little. “How deep is the pool?”

“Pretty deep,” Joy mused, thinking about her reaction to him, the late-night talks in the great room where it was just the two of them and the haunted look in his eyes that pulled at her.

Deb bumped her hip against Joy’s. “I see that look in your eyes. You’re already attached.”

She was. Pointless to deny it, especially to Deb of all people, since she could read Joy so easily.

“Yes,” she said and heard the worry in her own voice, “but like I said, it’s pretty deep waters.”

“I’m not worried,” Deb told her with a grin. “You’re a good swimmer.”

* * *

That night, things were different.

When Sam came to dinner in the dining room, Joy and Holly were already seated, waiting for him. Since every other night, the two of them were in the kitchen, he looked thrown for a second. She gave him a smile even as Holly called out, “Hi, Sam!”

If anything, he looked warier than just a moment before. “What’s this?”

“It’s called a communal meal,” Joy told him, serving up a bowl of stew with dumplings. She set the bowl down at his usual seat, poured them both a glass of wine, then checked to make sure Holly was settled beside her.

“Mommy made dumplings. They’re really good,” the little girl said.

“I’m sure.” Reluctantly, he took a seat then looked at Joy. “This is not part of our agreement.”

He looked, she thought, as if he were cornered. Well, good, because he was. Dragging him out of the darkness was going to be a step-by-step journey—and it started now.

“Actually...” she told him, spooning up a bite of her own stew, then sighing dramatically at the taste. Okay, yes she was a good cook, but she was putting it on for his benefit. And it was working. She saw him glance at the steaming bowl in front of his chair, even though he hadn’t taken a bite yet. “...our agreement was that I clean and cook. We never agreed to not eat together.”

“It was implied,” he said tightly.

“Huh.” She tipped her head to one side and studied the ceiling briefly as if looking for an answer there. “I didn’t get that implication at all. But why don’t you eat your dinner and we can talk about it.”

“It’s good, Sam,” Holly said again, reaching for her glass of milk.

He took a breath and exhaled on a sigh. “Fine. But this doesn’t mean anything.”

“Of course not,” Joy said, hiding the smile blossoming inside her. “You’re still the crabby man we all know. No worries about your reputation.”

His lips twitched as he tasted the stew. She waited for his reaction and didn’t have to wait long. “It’s good.”

“Told ya!” Holly’s voice was a crow of pleasure.

“Yeah,” he said, flicking the girl an amused glance. “You did.”

Joy saw that quick look and smiled inside at the warmth of it.

“When we went to town today I played with Lizzie’s puppy,” Holly said, taking another bite and wolfing it down so she could keep talking. “He licked me in the face again and I laughed and Lizzie and me ran and he chased us and he made Lizzie fall but she didn’t cry...”

Joy smiled at her daughter, loving how the girl could launch into a conversation that didn’t need a partner, commas or periods. She was so thrilled by life, so eager to experience everything, just watching her made Joy’s life better in every possible way. From the corner of her eye, she stole a look at Sam and saw the flicker of pain in his eyes. It had to be hard for him to listen to a child’s laughter and have to grieve for the loss of his own child. But he couldn’t avoid children forever. He’d end up a miserable old man, and that would be a waste, she told herself.

“And when I get my puppy, Lizzie can come and play with it, too, and it will chase us and mine will be white cuz Lizzie’s is black and it would be fun to have puppies like that...”

“She’s really counting on that puppy,” Joy murmured.

“So?” Sam dipped into his stew steadily as if he was hurrying to finish so he could escape the dining room—and their company.

Deliberately, Joy refilled his bowl over his complaints.

“So, there aren’t any white puppies to be had,” she whispered, her own voice covered by the rattle of Holly’s excited chatter.

“Santa’s going to bring him, remember, Mommy?” Holly asked, proving that her hearing was not affected by the rush of words tumbling from her own mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Joy said with a wince at Sam’s smirk. “But you know, sometimes Santa can’t bring everything you want—”

“If you’re not a good girl,” Holly said, nodding sharply. “But I am a good girl, right, Mommy?”

“Right, baby.” She was really stuck now. Joy was going to have to go into Boise and look for a puppy or she was going to have a heartbroken daughter on Christmas morning, and that she couldn’t allow.

Too many of Joy’s childhood Christmases had been empty, lonely. She never wanted Holly to feel the kind of disappointment Joy had known all too often.

“I told Lizzie about the fairy house we made, Sam, and she said she has fairies at her house, but I don’t think so cuz you need lots of trees for fairies and there’s not any at Lizzie’s...”

“The kid never shuts up,” Sam said, awe in his voice.

“She’s excited.” Joy shrugged. “Christmas is coming.”

His features froze over and Joy could have kicked herself. Sure, she planned on waking him up to life, but she couldn’t just toss him into the middle of a fire, could she? She had to ease him closer to the warmth a little at a time.

“Yeah.”

“I know you said no decorations or—”

His gaze snapped to hers, cold. Hard. “That’s right.”

“In the great room,” she continued as if he hadn’t said a word, as if she hadn’t gotten a quick chill from the ice in his eyes, “but Holly and I are here for the whole month and a little girl needs Christmas. So we’ll keep the decorations to a minimum.”

His mouth worked as if he wanted to argue and couldn’t find a way to do it without being a complete jerk. “Fine.”

She reached out and gave his forearm a quick pat. Even with removing her hand almost instantly, that swift buzz of something amazing tingled her fingers. Joy took a breath, smiled and said, “Don’t worry, we won’t be too happy around you, either. Wouldn’t want you upset by the holiday spirit.”

He shot her a wry look. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Joy grinned at him. “You have to be careful or you could catch some stray laugh and maybe even try to join in only to have your face break.”

Holly laughed. “Mommy, that’s silly. Faces can’t break, can they, Sam?”

His brown eyes were lit with suppressed laughter, and Joy considered that a win for her. “You’re right, Holly. Faces can’t break.”

“Just freeze?” Joy asked, her lips curving.

“Yeah. I’m good at freezing,” he said, gaze meeting hers in a steady stare.

“That’s cuz it’s cold,” Holly said, then added, “Can I be done now, Mommy?”

Joy tore her gaze from his long enough to check that her daughter had eaten most of her dinner. “Yes, sweetie. Why don’t you go get the pinecones we found today and put them on the kitchen counter? We’ll paint them after I clean up.”

“Okay!” The little girl scooted off the chair, ran around the table and stopped beside Sam. “You wanna paint with me? We got glitter, too, to put on the pinecones and we get to use glue to stick it.”

Joy watched him, saw his eyes soften, then saw him take a deliberate, emotional step back. Her heart hurt, remembering what she now knew about his past. And with the sound of her daughter’s high-pitched, excited voice ringing in the room, Joy wondered again how he’d survived such a tremendous loss. But even as she thought it, Joy realized that he was like a survivor of a disaster.

He’d lived through it but he wasn’t living. He was still existing in that half world of shock and pain, and it looked to her as though he’d been there so long he didn’t have a clue how to get out. And that’s where Joy came in. She wouldn’t leave him in the dark. Couldn’t watch him let his life slide past.

“No, thanks.” Sam gave the little girl a tight smile. “You go ahead. I’ve got some things I’ve got to do.”

Well, at least he didn’t say anything about hating Christmas. “Go ahead, sweetie. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay, Mommy. ’Bye, Sam!” Holly waved, turned and raced toward the kitchen, eager to get started on those pinecones.

When they were alone again, Joy looked at the man opposite her and smiled. “Thanks for not popping her Christmas balloon.”

He scowled at her and pushed his empty bowl to one side. “I’m not a monster.”

“No,” she said, thoughtfully. “You’re not.”

He ignored that. “Look, I agreed to you and Holly doing Christmas stuff in your part of the house. Just don’t try to drag me into it. Deal?”

She held out one hand and left it there until he took it in his and gave it a firm shake. Of course, she had no intention of keeping to that “deal.” Instead, she was going to wake him up whether he liked it or not. By the time she was finished, Joy assured herself, he’d be roasting chestnuts in the fireplace and stringing lights on a Christmas tree.

His eyes met hers and in those dark depths she saw...everything. A tingling buzz shot up her arm and ricocheted around in the center of her chest like a Ping-Pong ball in a box. Her heartbeat quickened and her mouth went dry. Those eyes of his gazed into hers, and Joy took a breath and held it. Finally, he let go of her hand and took a single step back as if to keep a measure of safe distance between them.

“Well,” she said when she was sure her voice would work again, “I’m going to straighten out the kitchen then paint pinecones with my daughter.”

“Right.” He scrubbed one hand across his face. “I’ll be in the great room.”

She stood up, gathered the bowls together and said, “Earlier today, Holly and I made some Christmas cookies. I’ll bring you a few with your coffee.”

“Not necessary—”

She held up one hand. “You can call them winter cookies if it makes you feel better.”

He choked off a laugh, shook his head and started out of the room. Before he left, he turned to look back at her. “You don’t stop, do you?”

“Nope.” He took another step and paused when she asked, “The real question is, do you want me to?”

He didn’t speak, just gave her a long look out of thoughtful, chocolate-brown eyes, then left the room. Joy smiled to herself, because that nonanswer told her everything she wanted to know.

Six

Sam used to hate the night.

The quiet. The feeling of being alone in the world. The seemingly endless hours of darkness. It had given him too much time to think. To remember. To torture himself with what-might-have-beens. He couldn’t sleep because memories became dreams that jolted him awake—or worse, lulled him into believing the last several years had never really happened. Then waking up became the misery, and so the cycle went.

Until nearly a week ago. Until Joy.

He had a fire blazing in the hearth as he waited for her. Night was now something he looked forward to. Being with her, hearing her voice, her laughter, had become the best part of his days. He enjoyed her quick mind, and her sense of humor—even when it was directed at him. He liked hearing her talk about what was happening in town, even though he didn’t know any of the people she told him about. He liked seeing her with her daughter, watching the love between them, even though it was like a knife to his heart.

Sam hadn’t expected this, hadn’t thought he wanted it. He rubbed his palms together, remembering the flash of heat that enveloped him when he’d taken her hand to seal their latest deal. He could see the flash in her eyes that told him she’d felt the same damn thing. And with the desire gripping him, guilt speared through Sam, as well. Everything he’d lost swam in his mind, reminding him that feeling, wanting, was a steep and slippery road to loss.

He stared into the fire, listened to the hiss and snap of flame on wood, and for the first time in years, he tried to bring those long-abandoned memories to the surface. Watching the play of light and shadow, the dance of flames, Sam fought to draw his dead wife’s face into his mind. But the memory was indistinct, as if a fog had settled between them, making it almost impossible for him to remember just the exact shade of her brown eyes. The way her mouth curved in a smile. The fall of her hair and the set of her jaw when she was angry.

It was all...hazy, and as he battled to remember Dani, it was Joy’s face that swam to the surface of his mind. The sound of her laughter. The scent of her. And he wanted to know the taste of her. What the hell was happening to him and why was he allowing it? Sam told himself to leave. To not be there when Joy came into the room. But as much as he knew he should, he also knew he wouldn’t.

“I brought more cookies.”

He turned in his chair to look at her, and even from across the room, he felt that now-familiar punch of awareness. Of heat. And he knew it was too late to leave.

At her smile, one eyebrow lifted and he asked, “More reindeer and Santas?”

That smile widened until it sparkled in her eyes. She walked toward him, carrying a tray that held the plate of cookies and two glasses of golden wine.

“This time we have snowmen and wreaths and—” she paused “—winter trees.”

He shook his head and sighed. It seemed she was determined to shove Christmas down his throat whether he liked it or not. “You’re relentless.”

Why did he like that about her?

“That’s been said before,” she told him and took her usual seat in the chair beside his. Setting the tray down on the table between them, she took a cookie then lifted her glass for a sip of wine.

“Really. Cookies and wine.”

“Separately, they’re both good,” she said, waving her cookie at the plate, challenging him to join her. “Together, they’re amazing.”

The cookies were good, Sam thought, reaching out to pick one up and bite in. All he’d had to do was close his eyes so he wasn’t faced with iced, sprinkled Santas and they were just cookies. “Good.”

“Thanks.” She sat back in the chair. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“What?”

“Talking to me.” She folded her legs up beneath her, took another sip of her wine and continued. “We’ve been sitting in this room together for five nights now and usually, the only voice I hear is my own.”

He frowned, took the wine and drank. Gave him an excuse for not addressing that remark. Of course, it was true, but that wasn’t the point. He hadn’t asked her to join him every night, had he? When she only looked at him, waiting, he finally said, “Didn’t seem to bother you any.”

“Oh, I don’t mind talking to myself—”

“No kidding.”

She grinned. “But it’s more fun talking to other people.”

Sam told himself not to notice how her hair shined golden in the firelight. How her eyes gleamed and her mouth curved as if she were always caught on the verge of a smile. His gaze dropped to the plain blue shirt she wore and how the buttons pulled across her chest. Her jeans were faded and soft, clinging to her legs as she curled up and got comfortable. Red polish decorated her toes. Why that gave him a quick, hot jolt, he couldn’t have said.

Everything in him wanted to pull her out of that chair, wrap his arms around her and take her tantalizing mouth in a kiss that would sear both of them. And why, he asked himself, did he suddenly feel like a cheating husband? Because since Dani, no other woman had pulled at him like this. And even as he wanted Joy, he hated that he wanted her. The cookie turned to chalk in his mouth and he took a sip of wine to wash it down.

“Okay, someone just had a dark thought,” she mused.

“Stay out of my head,” Sam said, slanting her a look.

Feeling desire didn’t mean that he welcomed it. Life had been—not easier—but more clear before Joy walked into his house. He’d known who he was then. A widower. A father without a child. And he’d wrapped himself up in memories designed to keep him separate from a world he wasn’t interested in anyway.

Yet now, after less than a week, he could feel those layers of insulation peeling away and he wasn’t sure how to stop it or even if he wanted to. The shredding of his cloak of invisibility was painful and still he couldn’t stop it.

Dinner with Joy and Holly had tripped him up, too, and he had a feeling she’d known it would. If he’d been smart, he would have walked out of the room as soon as he’d seen them at the table. But one look into Joy’s and Holly’s eyes had ended that idea before it could begin. So instead of having his solitary meal, he’d been part of a unit—and for a few minutes, he’d enjoyed it. Listening to Holly’s excited chatter, sharing knowing looks with Joy. Then, of course, he remembered that Joy and Holly weren’t his. And that was what he had to keep in mind.

Taking another drink of the icy wine, he shifted his gaze to the fire. Safer to look into the flames than to stare at the deep blue of her eyes. “Yeah,” he said, finally responding to her last statement, “I don’t really talk to people anymore.”

“No kidding.” She threw his earlier words back at him, and Sam nodded at the jab.

“Kaye tends to steer clear of me most of the time.”

“Kaye doesn’t like talking to people, either,” Joy said, laughing. “You two are a match made in heaven.”

“There’s a thought,” he muttered.

She laughed again, and the sound of it filled every empty corner of the room. It was both balm and torture to hear it, to know he wanted to hear it. How was it possible that she’d made such an impact on him in such a short time? He hadn’t even noticed her worming her way past his defenses until it was impossible to block her.

“So,” she asked suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts, “any idea where I can find a puppy?”

“No,” he said shortly, then decided there was no reason to bark at her because he was having trouble dealing with her. He looked at her. “I don’t know people around here.”

“See, you should,” she said, tipping her head to one side to look at him. “You’ve lived here five years, Sam.”

“I didn’t move here for friends.” He came to the mountains to find the peace that still eluded him.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t make some.” Sighing, she turned her head to the flames. “If you did know people, you could help me on the puppy situation.” Shaking her head, she added, “I’ve got her princess dolls and a fairy princess dress and the other small things she asked for. The puppy worries me.”

He didn’t want to think about children’s Christmas dreams. Sam remembered another child dictating letters to Santa and waking to the splendor of Christmas morning. And through the pain he also recalled how he and his wife had worked to make those dreams come true for their little boy. So, though he hated it, he said, “You could get her a stuffed puppy with a note that Santa will bring her the real thing as soon as the puppy’s ready for a new home.”

She tipped her head to one side and studied him, a wide smile on her face. God, when she smiled, her eyes shone and something inside him fisted into knots.

“A note from Santa himself? That’s a good idea. I think Holly would love that he’s going to make a special trip just for her.” Clearly getting into it, she continued, “I could make up a certificate or something. You know—” she deepened her voice for dramatic effect “—this is to certify that Holly Curran will be receiving a puppy from Santa as soon as the puppy is ready for a home.” Wrinkling her brow, she added thoughtfully, “Maybe I could draw a Christmas border on the paper and we could frame it for her—you know, with Santa’s signature—and hang it in her bedroom. It could become an heirloom, something she passes down to her kids.”

He shrugged, as if it meant nothing, but in his head, he could see Holly’s excitement at a special visit from Santa after Christmas. But once December was done, he wouldn’t be seeing Joy or Holly again, so he wouldn’t know how the Santa promise went, would he? Frowning to himself, he tried to ignore the ripple of regret that swept through him.

“Okay, I am not responsible for your latest frown.”

“What?” He turned his head to look at her again.

She laughed shortly. “Nothing. So, what’d you work on today?”

“Seriously?” Usually she just launched into a monologue.

“Well, you’re actually speaking tonight,” she said with a shrug, “so I thought I’d ask a question that wasn’t rhetorical.”

“Right.” Shaking his head, he said, “I’m starting a new project.”

“Another table?”

“No.”

“Talking,” she acknowledged, “but still far from chatty.”

“Men are not chatty.”

“Some men you can’t shut up,” she argued. “If it’s not a table you’re working on, what is it?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“You know, in theory, a job like that sounds wonderful.” She took a sip of wine. “But I do better with a schedule all laid out in front of me. I like knowing that website updates are due on Monday and newsletters have to go out on Tuesday, like that.”

“I don’t like schedules.”

She watched him carefully, and his internal radar went on alert. When a woman got that particular look in her eye—curiosity—it never ended well for a man.

“Well,” she said softly, “if you haven’t decided on a project yet, you could give me some help with the Santa certificate.”

“What do you mean?” He heard the wariness in his own voice.

“I mean, you could draw Christmassy things around the borders, make it look beautiful.” She paused and when she spoke again, the words came so softly they were almost lost in the hiss and snap of the fire in front of them. “You used to paint.”

And in spite of those flames less than three feet from him, Sam went cold right down to the bone. “I used to.”

She nodded. “I saw some of your paintings online. They were beautiful.”

He took a long drink of wine, hoping to ease the hard knot lodged in his throat. It didn’t help. She’d looked him up online. Seen his paintings. Had she seen the rest, as well? Newspaper articles on the accident? Pictures of his dead wife and son? Pictures of him at their funeral, desperate, grieving, throwing a punch at a photographer? God he hated that private pain was treated as public entertainment.

“That was a long time ago,” he spoke and silently congratulated himself on squeezing the words from a dry, tight throat.

“Almost six years.”

He snapped a hard look at her. “Yeah. I know. What is it you’re looking for here? Digging for information? Pointless. The world already knows the whole story.”

“Talking,” she told him. “Not digging.”

“Well,” he said, pushing to his feet, “I’m done talking.”

“Big surprise,” Joy said, shaking her head slowly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Damn it, had he really just been thinking that spending time with her was a good thing? He looked down into those summer-blue eyes and saw irritation sparking there. Well, what the hell did she have to be mad about? It wasn’t her life being picked over.

“It means, I knew you wouldn’t want to talk about any of this.”

“Yet, you brought it up anyway.” Hell, Kaye knew the whole story about Sam’s life and the tragedy he’d survived, but at least she never threw it at him. “What the hell? Did some reporter call you asking for a behind-the-scenes exclusive? Haven’t they done enough articles on me yet? Or maybe you want to write a tell-all book, is that it?”

“Wow.” That irritation in her eyes sparked from mild to barely suppressed fury in an instant. “You really think I would do that? To you? I would never sell out a friend.”

“Oh,” he snapped, refusing to be moved by the statement, “we’re friends now?”

“We could be, if you would stop looking at everyone around you like a potential enemy.”

“I told you I didn’t come here for friends,” he reminded her. Damn it, the fire was heating the air. That had to be why breathing was so hard. Why his chest felt tight.

“You’ve made that clear.” Joy took a breath that he couldn’t seem to manage, and he watched as the fury in her eyes softened to a glimmer. “Look, I only said something because it seemed ridiculous to pretend I didn’t know who you were.”

He rubbed the heel of his hand at the center of his chest, trying to ease the ball of ice lodged there. “Fine. Don’t pretend. Just ignore it.”

“What good will that do?” She set her wine down on the table and stood up to face him. “I’m sorry but—”

“Don’t. God, don’t say you’re sorry. I’ve had more than enough of that, thanks. I don’t want your sympathy.” He pushed one hand through his hair and felt the heat of the fire on his back.

This place had been his refuge. He’d buried his past back east and come here to get away from not only the press, but also the constant barrage of memories assaulting him at every familiar scene. He’d left his family because their pity had been thick enough to choke him. He’d left himself behind when he came to the mountains. The man he’d once been. The man who’d been so wrapped up in creating beauty that he hadn’t noticed the beauty in his own life until it had been snatched away.

“Well, you’ve got it anyway,” Joy told him and reached out to lay one hand on his forearm.

Her touch fired everything in him, heat erupting with a rush that jolted his body to life in a way he hadn’t experienced in too many long, empty years. And he resented the hell out of it.

He pulled away from her, and his voice dripped ice as he said, “Whatever it is you’re after, you should know I don’t want another woman in my life. Another child. Another loss.”

Her gaze never left his, and those big blue pools of sympathy and irritation threatened to drown him.

“Everybody loses, Sam,” she said quietly. “Houses, jobs, people they love. You can’t insulate yourself from that. Protect yourself from pain. It’s how you respond to the losses you experience that defines who you are.”

He sneered at her. She had no idea. “And you don’t like how I responded? Is that it? Well, get in line.”

“Loss doesn’t go away just because you’re hiding from it.”

Darkness beyond the windows seemed to creep closer, as if it were finding a way to slip right inside him. This room with its bright wood and soft lights and fire-lit shadows felt as if it were the last stand against the dark, and the light was losing.

Sam took a deep breath, looked down at her and said tightly, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Her head tipped to one side and blond curls fell against her neck. “You think you’re the only one with pain?”

Of course not. But his own was too deep, too ingrained to allow him to give a flying damn what someone else might be suffering. “Just drop it. I’m done with this.”

“Oh no. This you don’t get to ignore. You think I don’t know loss?” She moved in closer, tipped her head back and sent a steely-blue stare into his eyes. “My parents died when I was eight. I grew up in foster homes because I wasn’t young enough or cute enough to be adopted.”

“Damn it, Joy—” He’d seen pain reflected in his own eyes often enough to recognize the ghosts of it in hers. And he felt like the bastard he was for practically insisting that she dredge up her own past to do battle with his.

“As a foster kid I was never ‘real’ in any of the families I lived with. Always the outsider. Never fitting in. I didn’t have friends, either, so I went out and made some.”

“Good for you.”

“Not finished. I had to build everything I have for myself by myself. I wanted to belong. I wanted family, you know?”

He started to speak, but she held up one hand for silence, and damned if it didn’t work on him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as he watched her dip into the past to defend her present.

“I met Holly’s father when I was designing his website. He was exciting and he loved me, and I thought it was forever—it lasted until I told him about Holly.”

And though Sam felt bad, hearing it, watching it, knowing she’d had a tough time of it, he couldn’t help but ask, “Yeah? Did he die? Did he take Holly away from you, so that you knew you’d never see her again?”

She huffed out a breath. “No, but—”

“Then you don’t know,” Sam interrupted, not caring now if he sounded like an unfeeling jerk. He wouldn’t feel bad for the child she’d once been. She was the one who had dragged the ugly past into the present. “You can’t possibly know, and I’m not going to stand here defending myself and my choices to you.”

“Great,” she said, nodding sharply as her temper once again rose to meet his. “So you’ll just keep hiding yourself away until the rest of your life slides past?”

Sam snapped, throwing both hands high. “Why the hell do you care if I do?”

“Because I saw you with Holly,” Joy said, moving in on him again, flavoring every breath he took with the scent of summer flowers that clung to her. “I saw your kindness. She needed that. Needs a male role model in her life and—”

“Oh, stop. Role models. For God’s sake, I’m no one’s father figure.”

“Really?” She jammed both hands on her hips. “Better to shut yourself down? Pretend you’re alone on a rock somewhere?”

“For me, yeah.”

“You’re lying.”

“You don’t know me.”

“You’d like to think so,” Joy said. “But you’re not that hard to read, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re here to run the house, not psychoanalyze me.”

“Multitasker, remember?” She smiled and he resented her for it. Resented knowing that he wanted her in spite of the tempers spiking between them. Hell, maybe because of it. He hated knowing that maybe she had a point. He really hated realizing that whatever secrets he thought he’d been keeping were no more private than the closest computer with an internet connection.

And man, it bugged him that she could go from anger to smiles in a blink.

“This isn’t analysis, Sam.” She met his gaze coolly, steadily, firelight dancing in her eyes. “It’s called conversation.”

“It’s called my family,” he said tightly, watching the reflection of flame and shadow in the blue of her eyes.

“I know. And—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry.”

“I have to,” she said simply. “And I am.”

“Great. Thanks.” God he wanted to get out of there. She was too close to him. He could smell her shampoo and the scent of flowers—Jasmine? Lilies?—fired a bolt of desire through him.

“But that’s not all I am,” she continued. “I’m also a little furious at you.”

“Yeah? Right back at you.”

“Good,” she said, surprising him. “If you’re angry at least you’re feeling something.” She moved in closer, kept her gaze locked with his and said, “If you love making furniture and working with wood, great. You’re really good at it.”

He nodded, hardly listening, his gaze shifting to the open doorway across the room. It—and the chance of escape—seemed miles away.

“But you shouldn’t stop painting,” she added fiercely. “The worlds you created were beautiful. Magical.”

That magic was gone now, and it was better that way, he assured himself. But Sam couldn’t remember a time when anyone had talked to him like this. Forcing him to remember. To face the darkness. To face himself. One reason he’d moved so far from his parents, his sister, was that they had been so careful. So cautious in everything they’d said as if they were all walking a tightrope, afraid to make the wrong move, say the wrong thing.

Their...caution had been like knives, jabbing at him constantly. Creating tiny nicks that festered and ached with every passing minute. So he’d moved here, where no one knew him. Where no one would offer sympathy he didn’t want or advice he wouldn’t take. He’d never counted on Joy.

“Why?” she asked. “Why would you give that up?”

It had been personal. So deeply personal he’d never talked about it with anyone, and he wasn’t about to start now. Chest tight, mouth dry, he looked at her and said, “I’m not talking about this with you.”

With anyone.

He took a step or two away from her, then spun back and around to glare down at her. In spite of the quick burst of fury inside him, sizzling around and between them, she didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. Another thing to admire about her, damn it. She was sure of herself even when she was wrong.

“I already told you, Sam. You don’t scare me.”

“That’s a damn shame,” he muttered, trying not to remember that his mother had warned him about lonely old recluses muttering to themselves. He turned from her again, and this time she reached out and grabbed his arm as he moved away from her.

“Just stop,” she demanded. “Stop and talk to me.”

He glanced down at her hand on his arm and tried not to relish the heat sliding from her body into his. Tried not to notice that every cell inside him was waking up with a jolt. “Already told you I’m not talking about this.”

“Then don’t. Just stay. Talk to me.” She took a deep breath, gave his arm a squeeze, then let him go. “Look, I didn’t mean to bring any of this up tonight.”

“Then why the hell did you?” He felt the loss of her touch and wanted it back.

“I don’t like lying.”

Scowling now, he asked, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Joy folded both arms in front of her and unconsciously lifted them until his gaze couldn’t keep from admiring the pull of her shirt and the curve of those breasts. He shook his head and attempted to focus when she started talking again.

“I found out today about your family and not saying something would have felt like I was lying to you.”

Convoluted, but in a weird way, she made sense. He wasn’t much for lies, either, except for the ones he told his mother every time he assured her that he was fine. And truth be told, he would have been fine with Joy pretending she knew nothing about his past. But it was too late now for pretense.

“Okay, great. Conscience clear. Now let’s move on.” He started walking again and this time, when Joy tugged on his arm to get him to stop, he whirled around to face her.

Her blue eyes went wide, her mouth opened and he pulled her into him. It was instinct, pure, raw instinct, that had him grabbing her close. He speared his fingers through those blond curls, pulled her head back and kissed her with all the pent-up frustration, desire and, yeah, even temper that was clawing at him.

Surprised, it took her only a second or two to react. Joy wrapped her arms around his waist and moved in even closer. Sam’s head exploded at the first, incredible taste of her. And then he wanted more. A groan slid from her throat, and that sound fed the flames enveloping him. God, he’d had no idea what kissing her would do to him. He’d been thinking about this for days, and having her in his arms made him want the feel of her skin beneath his hands. The heat of her body surrounding his.

All he could think was to get her clothes off her. To cup her breasts, to take each of her nipples into his mouth and listen to the whimpering sounds of pleasure she would make as he took her. He wanted to look down into blue eyes and watch them go blind with passion. He wanted to feel her hands sliding across his skin, holding him tightly to her.

His kiss deepened farther, his tongue tangling with hers in a frenzied dance of desire that pumped through him with the force and rush of a wildfire screaming across the hillsides.

Joy clung to him, letting him know in the most primal way that she felt the same. That her own needs and desires were pushing at her. He took her deeper, held her tighter and spun her around toward the closest couch. Heart pounding, breath slamming in and out of his lungs, he kept his mouth fused to hers as he laid her down on the wide, soft cushions and followed after, keeping her close to his side. She arched up, back bowing as he ran one hand up and down the length of her. All he could think about was touching her skin, feeling the heat of her. He flipped the button of her jeans open, pulled down the zipper, then slid his hand down, across her abdomen, feeling her shiver with every inch of flesh he claimed. His fingers slipped beneath the band of her panties and she lifted her hips as he moved to cup her heat.

She gasped, tore her mouth from his and clutched at his shoulders when he stroked her for the first time. He loved the feel of her—slick, wet, hot. His body tightened painfully as he stared into her eyes. His mind fuzzed out and his body ached. He touched her, again and again, stroking, pushing into her heat, caressing her inside and out, driving them both to the edge of insanity.

“Sam—” She breathed his name and that soft, whispered sound rattled him.

When had she become so important? When had touching her become imperative? He took her mouth, tangling his tongue with hers, taking the taste of her deep inside him as he felt her body coil tighter with the need swamping her. She rocked into his hand, her hips pumping as he pushed her higher, faster. He pulled his head back, wanting, needing to see her eyes glaze with passion when the orgasm hit her.

He wasn’t disappointed. She jolted in his arms when his thumb stroked across that one small nub of sensation at the heart of her. Everything she was feeling flashed through her eyes, across her features. He was caught up, unable to tear his gaze from hers. Joy Curran was a surprise to him on so many levels, he felt as though he’d never really learn them all. And at the moment, he didn’t have to. Right now, he wanted only to hold her as she shattered.

She called his name again and he clutched her to him as her body trembled and shivered in his grasp. Her climax rolled on and on, leaving her breathless and Sam more needy than ever.

His body ached to join hers. His heart pounded in a fast gallop that left him damn near shaking with the want clawing at him.

“Sam,” she whispered, reaching up to cup his face with her palms. “Sam, I need—”

He knew just what she needed because he needed it too. He shifted, pulled his hand free of her body and thought only about stripping them both out of their clothes.

In one small, rational corner of his mind, Sam admitted to himself that he’d never known anything like this before. This pulsing, blinding, overpowering sense of need and pleasure and craving to be part of a woman. To be locked inside her body and lose himself in her. Never.

Not even with Dani.

That thought broke him. He pulled back abruptly and stared down at Joy like a blind man seeing the light for the first time. Both exhilarated and terrified. A bucket full of ice water dumped on his head wouldn’t have shocked him more.

He fought for breath, for balance, but there wasn’t any to be had. His own mind was shouting at him, telling him he was a bastard for feeling more for Joy than he had for his wife. Telling him to deny it, even to himself. To bury these new emotions and go back to feeling nothing. It was safer.

“That’s it,” he said, shaking his head, rolling off the couch, then taking a step, then another, away from her. “I can’t do this.”

“Sure you can,” Joy assured him, a confused half smile on her face as her breath came in short, hard gasps. She pushed herself up to her elbows on the couch. Her hair was a wild tumble of curls and her jeans still lay open, invitingly. “You were doing great.”

“I won’t do this.” His eyes narrowed on her. “Not again.”

“Sam, we should talk—”

He actually laughed, though to him it sounded harsh, strained as it scraped against his throat. “Talking doesn’t solve everything and it won’t solve this. I’m going out to the workshop.”

Joy watched him go, her lips still buzzing from that kiss. Her heart still pounding like a bass drum. She might even have gone after him if her legs weren’t trembling so badly she was forced to drop into the closest chair.

What the hell had just happened?

And how could she make it happen again?

Seven

Joy didn’t see Sam at all the next morning, and maybe that was just as well.

She’d lain awake most of the night, reliving the whole scene, though she could admit to herself she spent more time reliving the kiss and the feel of his amazingly talented fingers on her body than the argument that had prompted it. Even now, though, she cringed a little remembering how she’d thrown the truth of his past at him out of nowhere. Honestly, what had she been thinking, just blurting out the fact that she knew about his family? She hadn’t been thinking at all—that was the problem.

She’d stared into those amazing eyes of his and had seen him shuttered away, closing himself off, and it had just made her so angry, she’d confronted him without considering what it might do to the tenuous relationship they already had.

In Kaye’s two-bedroom suite off the kitchen, there had been quiet in Joy’s room and innocent dreams in Holly’s. The house seemed to sigh with a cold wind that whipped through the pines and rattled glass panes. And Joy hadn’t been able to shut off her brain. Or her body. But once she’d gotten past the buzz running rampant through her veins, all she’d been able to think about was the look in his eyes when she’d brought up his lost family.

Lying there in the dark, she’d assured herself that once she’d said the words, opened a door into his past, there’d been no going back. She could still see the shock in his eyes when she’d brought it up, and a twinge of guilt wrapped itself around her heart. But it was no match for the ribbon of anger that was there as well.

Not only had he walked away from his talent, but he’d shut himself off from life. From any kind of future or happiness. Why? His suffering wouldn’t bring them back. Wouldn’t restore the family he’d lost.

“Mommy, are you all done now?”

Joy came out of her thoughts and looked at her daughter, beside her at the kitchen table. Behind them, the outside world was gray and the pines bent nearly in half from that wind sweeping in off the lake. Still no snow and Joy was beginning to think they wouldn’t have a white Christmas after all.

But for now, in the golden lamplight, she looked at Holly, doing her alphabet and numbers on her electronic tablet. The little girl was squirming in her seat, clearly ready to be done with the whole sit-down-and-work thing.

“Not yet, baby,” Joy said, and knew that if her brain hadn’t been filled with images of Sam, she’d have been finished with the website update a half hour ago. But no, all she could think of was the firelight in his eyes. The taste of his mouth. The feel of his hard body pressed to hers. And the slick glide of his fingers.

Oh, boy.

“Almost, honey,” she said, clearing her throat and focusing again on the comments section of her client’s website. For some reason people who read books felt it was okay to go on the author’s website and list the many ways the author could have made the book better. Even when they loved it, they managed to sneak in a couple of jabs. It was part of Joy’s job to remove the comments that went above and beyond a review and deep into the realm of harsh criticism.

“Mommy,” Holly said, her heels kicking against the rungs of the kitchen chair, “when can we gooooooo?”

A one-syllable word now six syllables.

“As soon as I’m finished, sweetie,” Joy promised, focusing on her laptop screen rather than the never-ending loop of her time with Sam. Once the comment section was cleaned up, Joy posted her client’s holiday letter to her fans, then closed up the site and opened the next one.

Another holiday letter to post and a few pictures the author had taken at the latest writers’ conference she’d attended.

“How much longer, though?” Holly asked, just a touch of a wheedling whine in her voice. “If we don’t go soon all the Christmas trees will be gone.”

Drama, thy name is Holly, Joy thought with a smile. Reaching out, she gave one of the girl’s pigtails a tug. “Promise, there will be lots of trees when we get into town. But remember, we’re getting a little one this year, okay?” Because of the Grinch and his aversion to all things festive.

“I know! It’s like a fairy tree cuz it’s tiny and can go on a table to put in our room cuz Sam doesn’t like Christmas.” Her head tipped to one side. “How come he doesn’t, Mommy? Everybody likes presents.”

“I don’t know, baby.” She wasn’t about to try to explain Sam’s penchant for burying himself in a loveless, emotionless well. “You should ask him sometime.”

“I’ll ask him now!” She scrambled off her chair and Joy thought about calling her back as she raced to get her jacket. But why should she? Joy had already seen Sam with Holly. He was kind. Patient. And she knew darn well that even if the man was furious with her, he wouldn’t take it out on Holly.

And maybe it would be good for him to be faced with all that cheerful optimism. All that innocence shining around her girl.

In seconds, Holly was back, dancing in place on the toes of her pink princess sneakers. Joy zipped up the jacket, pulled up Holly’s hood and tied it at the neck. Then she took a moment to just look at the little girl who was really the light of her life. Love welled up inside her, thick and rich, and she heard Sam’s voice in her mind again.

Did he take Holly away from you, so that you knew you’d never see her again?

That thought had Joy grabbing her daughter and pulling her in close for a tight hug that had Holly wriggling for freedom. He was right, she couldn’t really know what he’d survived. She didn’t even want to imagine it.

“You’re squishing me, Mommy!”

“Sorry, baby.” She swallowed the knot in her throat and gave her girl a smile. “You go ahead and play with Sam. I’ll come get you when it’s time to go. As soon as I finish doing the updates on this website. Promise.”

“Okay!” Holly turned to go and stopped when Joy spoke up again.

“No wandering off, Holly. Right to the workshop.”

“Can’t I look at my fairy house Sam helped me make? There might be fairies there now.”

Boy, she was really going to miss this imaginative age when Holly grew out of it. But, though the fairy house wasn’t exactly inside the woods, it was close enough that a little girl might be tempted to walk in more deeply and then end up getting lost. So, no. “We’ll look later.”

“Okay, ’bye!” And she was gone like a tiny pink hurricane.

Joy glanced out the window and watched her daughter bullet across the lawn to the workshop and then slip inside the doors. Smiling to herself, she thought she’d give a lot to see Sam’s reaction to his visitor.

* * *

“Hi, Sam! Mommy said I could come play with you!”

She didn’t catch him completely by surprise. Thankfully, Sam had spotted the girl running across the yard and had had time to toss a heavy beige tarp over his latest project. Although why he’d started on it was beyond him. A whim that had come on him two days ago, he’d thrown himself into it late last night when he’d left Joy in the great room.

Guilt had pushed him away from her, and it was guilt that had kept him working half the night. Memories crowded his brain, but it was thoughts of Joy herself that kept him on edge. That kiss. The heavy sigh of her breath as she molded herself to him. The eager response and matching need that had thrown him harder than he’d expected.

Shaking his head, he grumbled, “Don’t have time to play.” He turned to his workbench to find something to do.

“I can help you like I did with the fairy house. I want to see if there are fairies there but Mommy said I couldn’t go by myself. Do you want to go with me? Cuz we can be busy outside, too, can’t we?” She walked farther into the room and, as if she had radar, moved straight to the tarp draped across his project. “What’s this?”

“Mine,” he said and winced at the sharpness of his tone. But the girl, just like her mother, was impossible to deflate. She simply turned that bright smile of hers on him and said, “It’s a secret, right? I like secrets. I can tell you one. It’s about Lizzie’s mommy going to have another baby. She thinks Lizzie doesn’t know but Lizzie heard her mommy tell her daddy that she passed the test.”

Too much information coming too quickly. He’d already learned about the wonderful Lizzie and her puppy. And this latest news blast might come under the heading of TMI.

“I wanted a sister, too,” Holly said and walked right up to his workbench, climbing onto the stool she’d used the last time she was there. “But Mommy says I have to have a puppy instead and that’s all right cuz babies cry a lot and a puppy doesn’t...”

“Why don’t we go check the fairy house?” Sam said, interrupting the flow before his head exploded. Getting her out of the shop seemed the best way to keep her from asking about the tarp again. It wasn’t as if he wanted to go look for fairies in the freezing-cold woods.

“Oh, boy!” She squirmed off the stool, then grabbed his hand with her much smaller one.

Just for a second, Sam felt a sharp tug at the edges of his heart, and it was painful. Holly was older than Eli had been, he told himself, and she was a girl—so completely different children. But he couldn’t help wondering what Eli would have been like at Holly’s age. Or as he would be now at almost nine. But Eli would always be three years old. Just finding himself. Just becoming more of a boy than a baby and never a chance to be more.

“Let’s go, Sam!” Holly pulled on his hand and leaned forward as if she could drag him behind her if she just tried hard enough.

He folded his fingers around hers and let her lead him from the shop into the cold. And he listened to her talk, heard again about puppies and fairies and princesses, and told himself that maybe this was his punishment. Being lulled into affection for a child who wasn’t his. A child who would disappear from his life in a few short weeks.

And he wasn’t completely stupid, he told himself. He could see through Joy’s machinations. She wanted to wake him up, she’d said. To drag him back into the land of the living, and clearly, she was allowing her daughter to be part of that program.

“There it is!” Holly’s excitement ratcheted up another level, and Sam thought the girl’s voice hit a pitch that only dogs should have been able to hear. But her absolute pleasure in the smallest things was hard to ignore, damn it.

She let go of his hand and ran the last few steps to the fairy house on her own. Bending down, she inspected every window and even opened the tiny door to look inside. And Sam was drawn to the girl’s absolute faith that she would see something. Even disappointment didn’t jar the thrill in her eyes. “I don’t see them,” she said, turning her head to look at him.

“Maybe they’re out having a picnic,” he said, surprising himself by playing into the game. “Or shopping.”

“Like Mommy and me are gonna do,” Holly said, jumping up and down as if she simply couldn’t hold back the excitement any more. “We’re gonna get a Christmas tree today.”

He felt a hitch in the center of his chest, but he didn’t say anything.

“We’re getting a little one this time to put in our room cuz you don’t like Christmas. How come you don’t like Christmas, Sam?”

“I...it’s complicated.” He hunched deeper into his black leather jacket and stuffed both hands into the pockets.

“Compulcated?”

“Complicated,” he corrected, wondering how the hell he’d gotten into this conversation with a five-year-old.

“Why?”

“Because it’s about a lot of things all at once,” he said, hoping to God she’d leave it there. He should have known better.

Her tiny brow furrowed as she thought about it. Finally, though, she shrugged and said, “Okay. Do you think fairies go buy Christmas trees? Will there be lights in their little house? Can I see ’em?”

So grateful to have left the Christmas thing behind, he said, “Maybe if you look really hard one night you’ll see some.”

“I can look really hard, see?” Her eyes squinted and her mouth puckered up, showing him just how strong her looking power was.

“That’s pretty hard.” The wind gave a great gust and about knocked Holly right off her feet. He reached out, steadied her, then said, “You should go on back to the house with your mom.”

“But we’re not done looking.” She grabbed his hand again, and this time, it was more comforting than unsettling. Pulling on him, she wandered over to one side of the fairy house, where the pine needles lay thick as carpet on the ground. “Could we make another fairy house and put it right here, by this big tree? That’s like a Christmas tree, right? Maybe the fairies would put lights on it, too.”

He was scrambling now. He’d never meant to get so involved. Not with the child. Not with her mother. But Holly’s sweetness and Joy’s...everything...kept sucking him in. Now he was making fairy houses and secret projects and freezing his ass off looking for invisible creatures.

“Sure,” he said, in an attempt to get the girl moving toward the house. “We can build another one. In a day or two. Maybe.”

“Okay, tomorrow we can do it and put it by the tree and the fairies will have a Christmas house to be all nice and warm. Can we put blankets and stuff in there, too?”

Tomorrow. Just like her mother, Holly heard only what she wanted to hear and completely disregarded everything else. He glanced at the house and somehow wasn’t surprised to see Joy in the kitchen window, watching them. Across the yard, their gazes met and heat lit up the line of tension linking them.

All he could think of was the taste of her. The feel of her. The gnawing realization that he was going to have her. There was no mistaking the pulse-pounding sensations linking them. No pretending that it wasn’t there. Guilt still chewing at him, he knew that even that wouldn’t be enough to keep him from her.

And when she lifted one hand and laid it palm flat on the window glass, it was as if she was touching him. Feeling what he was feeling and acknowledging that she, too, knew the inevitable was headed right at them.

* * *

The trunk was filled with grocery bags, the backseat held a Charlie Brown Christmas tree on one side and Holly on the other, and now, Joy was at her house for the boxes of decorations they would need.

“Our house is tiny, huh, Mommy?”

After Sam’s house, anything would look tiny, but in this case especially. “Sure is, baby,” she said, “but it’s ours.”

She noted Buddy Hall’s shop van in the driveway and hurriedly got Holly out of the car and hustling toward the house. Funny, she’d never really noticed before that they didn’t have many trees on their street, Joy thought. But spending the last week or so at Sam’s house—surrounded by the woods and a view of the lake—she couldn’t help thinking that her street looked a little bare. But it wasn’t Sam’s house that intrigued her. It was the man himself. Instantly, she thought of the look he’d given her just that morning. Even from across the wide yard, she’d felt the power of that stare, and her blood had buzzed in reaction. Even now, her stomach jumped with nerves and expectation. She and Sam weren’t finished. Not by a long shot. There was more coming. She just wasn’t sure what or when. But she couldn’t wait.

“Stay with me, sweetie,” Joy said as they walked into the house together.

“Okay. Can I have a baby sister?”

Joy stopped dead on the threshold and looked down at her. “What? Where did that come from?”

“Lizzie’s getting a new sister. It’s a secret but she is and I want one, too.”

Deb was pregnant? Why hadn’t she told? And how the heck did Holly know before Joy did? Shaking her head, she told herself they were all excellent questions that would have to be answered later. For now, she wanted to check on the progress of the house repairs.

“Buddy?” she called out.

“Back here.” The deep voice came from the kitchen, so Joy kept a grip on Holly and headed that way.

Along the way, her mind kept up a constant comparison between her own tiny rental and the splendor of Sam’s place. The hallway alone was a fraction of the length of his. The living room was so small that if four people were in there at the same time, they’d be in sin. The kitchen, she thought sadly, walking into the room, looked about as big as the island in Sam’s kitchen. Its sad cabinets needed paint and really just needed to be torn down and replaced, but since she was just a renter, it wasn’t up to her. And the house might be small and a little on the shabby side, but it was her home. The one she’d made for her and Holly, so there was affection along with the exasperation.

“How’s it going, Buddy?” she asked.

“Not bad.” He stood up, all five feet four inches of him, with his barrel chest and broader stomach. A gray fringe of hair haloed his head, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with good humor. “Just sent Buddy Junior down to the hardware store. Thought while I was here we could fix the hinges on some of these cabinets. Some of ’em hang so crooked they’re making me dizzy.”

Delighted, Joy said, “Thank you, Buddy. That’s going the extra mile.”

“Not a problem.” He pushed up the sleeves of his flannel shirt, took a step back and looked at the gaping hole where a light switch used to be. “Got the wiring all replaced and brought up to code out in the living room, but I’m checking the rest, as well. You’ve got some fraying in here and a hot wire somebody left uncapped in the smaller bedroom—”

Holly’s bedroom, Joy thought and felt a pang of worry. God, if the fire had started in her daughter’s room in the middle of the night, maybe they wouldn’t have noticed in time. Maybe smoke inhalation would have knocked them out and kept them out until—

“No worries,” Buddy said, looking right at her. “No point in thinking about what-ifs, either,” he added as if he could look at her and read her thoughts. And he probably could. “By the time this job’s done I guarantee all the wiring. You and the little one there will be safe as houses.”

“What’s a safe house?” Holly asked.

Buddy winked at her. “This one, soon’s I’m done.”

“Thank you, Buddy. I really appreciate it.” But maybe, Joy told herself, it was time to find a new house for her and her daughter. Something newer. Safer. Still, that was a thought for later on, so she put it aside for now.

“I know you do and we’re getting it done as fast as we can.” He gave his own work a long look. “The way it’s looking, you could be back home before Christmas.”

Back home. Away from Sam. Away from what she was beginning to feel for him. Probably best, she told herself, though right at the moment, she didn’t quite believe it. As irritating as the man could be, he was so much more. And that more was drawing her in.

“Appreciate that, too,” Joy said. “We’re just here to pick up some Christmas decorations, then we’ll get out of your hair.”

He grinned and scrubbed one hand across the top of his bald head. “You’d have quite the time getting in my hair. You two doing all right up the mountain?”

“Yes.” Everyone in town was curious about Sam, she thought. Didn’t he see that if he spent more time talking to people they’d be less inclined to talk about him and wonder? “It’s been great. Sam helped Holly build a fairy house.”

“Is that right?”

“It’s pretty and in the woods and I’m going to bring some of my dolls to put in it to keep the fairies company and Sam’s gonna help me make another one, too. He’s really nice. Just crabby sometimes.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” Joy murmured with a smile. “Well, we’ve got to run. Trees to decorate, cookies to bake.”

“You go ahead then,” Buddy said, already turning back to his task. Then over his shoulder he called out, “You be sure to tell Sam Henry my wife, Cora, loves that rocking chair he made. She bought it at Crafty and now I can’t hardly get her out of it.”

Joy smiled. “I’ll tell him.”

Then with Holly rummaging through her toys, Joy bundled up everything Christmas. A few minutes later, they were back in the car, and she was thinking about the crabby man who made her want things she shouldn’t.

* * *

Of course, she had to stop by Deb’s first, because hello, news. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re pregnant?”

Deb’s eyes went wide and when her jaw dropped she popped a mini apple pie into it. “How did you know?”

“Lizzie told Holly, Holly told me.”

“Lizzie—” Deb sighed and shook her head. “You think your kids don’t notice what’s going on. Boy, I’m going to have to get better at the secret thing.”

“Why a secret?” Joy picked up a tiny brownie and told herself the calories didn’t count since it was so small. Drawing it out into two bites, she waited.

“You know we lost one a couple of years ago,” Deb said, keeping her voice low as there were customers in the main room, separated from them only by the swinging door between the kitchen and the store’s front.

“Yeah.” Joy reached out and gave her friend a sympathetic pat on the arm.

“Well, this time we didn’t want to tell anyone until we’re at least three months. You know?” She sighed again and gave a rueful smile. “But now that Lizzie’s spreading the word...”

“Bag open, cat out,” Joy said, grinning. “This is fabulous. I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks. Me, too.”

“Of course, now Holly wants a baby, too.”

Deb gave her a sly look. “You could do something about that, you know.”

“Right. Because I’m such a great single mom I should do it again.”

“You are and it wouldn’t kill you,” Deb told her, “but I was thinking more along the lines of gorgeous hermit slash painter slash craftsman.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Of course, she immediately thought of that kiss and the tension that had been coiled in her middle all day. Briefly, her brain skipped to hazy images of her and Sam and Holly living in that big beautiful house together. With a couple more babies running around and a life filled with hot kisses, warm laughter and lots of love.

But fantasies weren’t real life, and she’d learned long ago to concentrate on what was real. Otherwise, building dreams on boggy ground could crush your heart. Yes, she cared about Sam. But he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested beyond stoking whatever blaze was burning between them. And yet, she thought, brain still racing, he was so good with Holly. And Joy’s little girl was blossoming, having a man like Sam pay attention to her. Spend time with her.

Okay, her mind warned sternly, dial it back now, Joy. No point in setting yourself up for that crush.

“You say no, but your eyes are saying yum.” Deb filled a tray with apple pies no bigger than silver dollars, laying them all out on paper doilies that made them look like loosely wrapped presents.

“Yum is easy—it’s what comes after that’s hard.”

“Since when are you afraid of hard work?”

“I’m not, but—” Not the same thing, she told herself, as working to make a living, to build a life. This was bringing a man out of the shadows, and what if once he was out he didn’t want her anyway? No, that way lay pain and misery, and why should she set herself up for that?

“You’re alone, he’s alone, match made in heaven.”

“Alone isn’t a good enough reason for anyone, Deb.” She stopped, snatched another brownie and asked, “When did this get to be about me instead of you?”

“Since I hate seeing my best friend—a completely wonderful human being—all by herself.”

“I’m not alone. I have Holly.”

“And I love her, too, but it’s not the same and you know it.”

Slumping, Joy leaned one hip against the counter and nibbled at her second brownie. “No, it’s not. And okay, fine—I’m...intrigued by Sam.”

“Intrigued is good. Sex is better.”

Sadly, she admitted, “I wouldn’t know.”

“Yeah, that would be my point.”

“It’s not that easy,” Joy said wistfully. Then she glanced out the window at the house across the yard where Holly and Lizzie were probably driving Sean Casey insane about now. “I mean, he’s—and I’m—”

“Something happened.”

Her gaze snapped to Deb’s. “Just a kiss.”

“Yay. And?”

“And,” Joy admitted, “then he got a little more involved and completely melted my underwear.”

“Wow.” Deb gave a sigh and fluttered one hand over her heart.

“Yeah. We were arguing and we were both furious and he kissed me and—” she slapped her hands together “—boom.”

“Oh, boom is good.”

“It’s great, but it doesn’t solve anything.”

“Honey,” Deb asked with a shake of her head, “who cares?”

Joy laughed. Honestly, Deb was really good for her. “Okay, I’m heading back to the house. Even when it’s this cold outside, I shouldn’t be leaving the groceries in the car this long.”

“Fine, but I’m going to want to hear more about this ‘boom.’”

“Yeah,” Joy said, “me, too. So are the girls still on for the sleepover?”

“Are you kidding? Lizzie’s been planning this for days. Popcorn, princess movies and s’mores cooked over the fireplace.”

Ordinarily, Holly would be too young for a sleepover, but Joy knew Deb was as crazy protective as she was. “Okay, then I’ll bring her to your house Saturday afternoon.”

“Don’t forget to pray for me,” Deb said with a smile. “Two five-year-olds for a night filled with squeals...”

“You bet.”

“And take that box of brownies with you. Sweeten up your hermit and maybe there’ll be more ‘boom.’”

“I don’t know about that, but I will definitely take the brownies.” When she left the warm kitchen, she paused on the back porch and tipped her face up to the gray sky. As she stood there, snow drifted lazily down and kissed her heated cheeks with ice.

Maybe it would be enough to cool her off, she told herself, crossing the yard to Deb’s house to collect Holly and head home. But even as she thought it, Joy realized that nothing was going to cool her off as long as her mind was filled with thoughts of Sam.

Eight

Once it started snowing, it just kept coming. As if an invisible hand had pulled a zipper on the gray, threatening clouds, they spilled down heavy white flakes for days. The woods looked magical, and every day, Holly insisted on checking the fairy houses—there were now two—to see if she could catch a glimpse of the tiny people living in them. Every day there was disappointment, but her faith never wavered.

Sam had to admire that even as his once-cold heart warmed with affection for the girl. She was getting to him every bit as much as her mother was. In different ways, of course, but the result was the same. He was opening up, and damned if it wasn’t painful as all hell. Every time that ice around his heart cracked a little more, and with it came the pain that reminded him why the ice had been there in the first place.

He was on dangerous ground, and there didn’t seem to be a way to back off. Coming out of the shadows could blind a man if he wasn’t careful. And that was one thing Sam definitely was.

Once upon a time, things had been different. He had been different. He’d gone through life thinking nothing could go wrong. Though at the time, everywhere he turned, things went his way so he couldn’t really be blamed for figuring it would always be like that.

His talent had pushed him higher in the art world than he’d ever believed possible, but it was his own ego that had convinced him to believe every accolade given. He’d thought of himself as blessed. As chosen for greatness. And looking back now, he could almost laugh at the deluded man he’d been.

Almost. Because when he’d finally had his ass handed to him, it had knocked the world out from under his feet. Feeling bulletproof only made recovering from a crash that much harder. And he couldn’t even really say he’d recovered. He’d just marched on, getting by, getting through. What happened to his family wasn’t something you ever got over. The most you could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other and hope that eventually you got somewhere.

Of course, he’d gotten here. To this mountain with the beautiful home he shared with a housekeeper he paid to be there. To solitude that sometimes felt like a noose around his neck. To cutting ties to his family because he couldn’t bear their grief as well as his own.

He gulped down a swallow of hot coffee and relished the burn. He stared out the shop window at the relentless snow and listened to the otherworldly quiet that those millions of falling flakes brought. In the quiet, his mind turned to the last few days. To Joy. The tension between them was strung as tight as barbed wire and felt just as lethal. Every night at dinner, he sat at the table with her and her daughter and pretended his insides weren’t churning. Every night, he avoided meeting up with Joy in the great room by locking himself in the shop to work on what was under that tarp. And finally, he lay awake in his bed wishing to hell she was lying next to him.

He was a man torn by too many things. Too twisted around on the road he’d been walking for so long to know which way to head next. So he stayed put. In the shop. Alone.

Across the yard the kitchen light sliced into the dimness of the gray morning when Holly jerked the door open and stepped outside. He watched her and wasn’t disappointed by her shriek of excitement. The little girl turned back to the house, shouted something to her mother and waited, bouncing on her toes until Joy joined her at the door. Holly pointed across the yard toward the trees and, with a wide grin on her face, raced down the steps and across the snow-covered ground.

Her pink jacket and pink boots were like hope in the gray, and Sam smiled to himself, wondering when he’d fallen for the kid. When putting up with her had become caring for her. When he’d loosened up enough to make a tiny dream come true.

Sam was already outside when Holly raced toward him in a wild flurry of exhilaration. He smiled at the shine in her eyes, at the grin that lit up her little face like a sunbeam. Then she threw herself at him, hugging his legs, throwing her head back to look up at him.

“Sam! Sam! Did you see?” Her words tumbled over each other in the rush to share her news. She grabbed his hand and tugged, her pink gloves warm against his fingers. “Come on! Come on! You have to see! They came! They came! I knew they would. I knew it and now they’re here!”

Snow fell all around them, dusting Holly’s jacket hood and swirling around Joy as she waited, her gaze fixed on his. And suddenly, all he could see were those blue eyes of hers, filled with emotion. A long, fraught moment passed between them before Holly’s insistence shattered it. “Look, Sam. Look!”

She tugged him down on the ground beside her, then threw her arms around his neck and held on tight. Practically vibrating with excitement, Holly gave him a loud, smacking kiss on the cheek, then pulled back and looked at him with wonder in her eyes. “They came, Sam. They’re living in our houses!”

Still reeling from that freely given hug and burst of affection, Sam stood up on unsteady legs. Smiling down at the little girl as she crawled around the front of the houses, peering into windows that shone with tiny Christmas lights, he felt another chunk of ice drop away from his heart. In the gray of the day, those bright specks of blue, green, red and yellow glittered like magic. Which was, he told himself, what Holly saw as she searched in vain to catch a glimpse of the fairies themselves.

He glanced at Joy again and she was smiling, a soft, knowing curve of her mouth that gleamed in her eyes, as well. There was something else in her gaze, too—beyond warmth, even beyond heat, and he wondered about it while Holly spun long, intricate stories about the fairies who lived in the tiny houses in the woods.

* * *

“You didn’t have to do this,” Joy said for the tenth time in a half hour.

“I’m gonna have popcorn with Lizzie and watch the princess movie,” Holly called out from the backseat.

“Good for you,” Sam said with a quick glance into the rearview mirror. Holly was looking out the side window, watching the snow and making her plans. He looked briefly to Joy. “How else were you going to get into town?”

“I could have called Deb, asked her or Sean to come and pick up Holly.”

“Right, or we could do it the easy way and have me drive you both in.” Sam kept his gaze on the road. The snow was falling, not really heavy yet, but determined. It was already piling up on the side of the road, and he didn’t even want to think about Joy and Holly, alone in a car, maneuvering through the storm that would probably get worse. A few minutes later, he pulled up outside the Casey house and was completely stunned when, sprung from her car seat, Holly leaned over and kissed his cheek. “’Bye, Sam!”

It was the second time he’d been on the receiving end of a simple, cheerfully given slice of affection that day, and again, Sam was touched more deeply than he wanted to admit. Shaken, he watched Joy walk Holly to her friend’s house and waited until she came back, alone, and slid into the car beside him.

“She hardly paused long enough to say goodbye to me.” Joy laughed a little. “She’s been excited by the sleepover for days, but now the fairy houses are the big story.” She clicked her seat belt into place, then turned to face him. “She was telling Lizzie all about the lights in the woods and promising that you and she will make Lizzie a fairy house, too.”

“Great,” he said, shaking his head as he backed out of the driveway. He wasn’t sure how he’d been sucked into the middle of Joy’s and Holly’s lives, but here he was, and he had to admit—though he didn’t like to—that he was enjoying it. Honestly, it worried him a little just how much he enjoyed it.

He liked hearing them in his house. Liked Holly popping in and out of the workshop, sharing dinner with them at the big dining room table. He even actually liked building magical houses for invisible beings. “More fairies.”

“It’s your own fault,” she said, reaching out to lay one hand on his arm. “What you did was—it meant a lot. To Holly. To me.”

The warmth of her touch seeped down into his bones and quickly spread throughout his body. Something else he liked. That jolt of heat when Joy was near. The constant ache of need that seemed to always be with him these days. He hadn’t wanted a woman like this in years. He swallowed hard against the demand clawing at him and turned for the center of town and the road back to the house.

“We’re not in a hurry, are we?” she asked.

Sam stopped at a red light and looked at her warily. “Why?”

“Because, it’s early, but we could stay in town for a while. Have dinner at the steak house...”

She gave him a smile designed to bring a man to his knees. And it was working.

“You want to go out to dinner?” he asked.

“Well,” she said, shrugging. “It’s early, but that won’t kill us.”

He frowned and threw a glance out the windshield at the swirls of white drifting down from a leaden sky. “Still snowing. We should get up the mountain while we still can.”

She laughed and God, he loved the sound of it—even if it was directed at him and his lame attempt to get out of town.

“It’s not a blizzard, Sam. An hour won’t hurt either of us.”

“Easy for you to say,” Sam muttered darkly. “You like talking to people.” The sound of her laughter filled the truck and eased his irritation as he headed toward the restaurant.

* * *

Everybody in town had to be in the steak house, and Joy thought it was a good thing. She knew a lot of people in Franklin and she made sure to introduce Sam to most of them. Sure, it didn’t make for a relaxing dinner—she could actually see him tightening up—but it felt good to watch people greet him. To tell him how much they loved the woodworking he did. And the more uncomfortable he got with the praise, the more Joy relished it.

He’d been too long in his comfort zone of solitude. He’d made himself an island, and swimming to the mainland would be exhausting. But it would so be worth the trip.

“I’ve never owned anything as beautiful as that bowl you made,” Elinor Cummings gushed, laying one hand on Sam’s shoulder in benediction. She was in her fifties, with graying black hair that had been ruthlessly sprayed into submission.

“Thanks.” He shot Joy a look that promised payback in the very near future. She wasn’t worried. Like an injured animal, Sam would snarl and growl at anyone who came too close. But he wouldn’t bite.

“I love what you did with the bowl. The rough outside, looks as though you just picked it up off the forest floor—” Elinor continued.

“I did,” Sam said, clearly hoping to cut her off, but pasting a polite, if strained, smile on his face.

“—and the inside looks like a jewel,” she continued, undeterred from lavishing him with praise. “All of those lovely colors in the grain of that wood, all so polished, and it just gleams in the light.” She planted one hand against her chest and gave a sigh. “It’s simply lovely. Two sides of life,” she mused, “that’s what it says to me, two sides, the hard and the good, the sad and the glad. It’s lovely. Just lovely.”

“All right now, Ellie,” her husband said, with an understanding wink for Sam and Joy, “let’s let the man eat. Good to meet you, Sam.”

Sam nodded, then reached for the beer in front of him and took a long pull. The Cummingses had been just the last in a long stream of people who’d stopped by their table to greet Joy and meet Sam. Every damn one of them had given him a look that said Ah, the hermit. That’s what he looks like!

And then had come the speculative glances, as they wondered whether Sam and Joy were a couple, and that irritated him, as well. This was what happened when you met people. They started poking their noses into your life and pretty soon, that life was open season to anyone with a sense of curiosity. As the last of the strangers went back to their own tables, he glared at Joy.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

In the light of the candle at their table, her eyes sparkled as she grinned. “I could try to deny it, but why bother? Yes, I am. It’s good to see you actually forced to talk to people. And Elinor clearly loves your work. Isn’t it nice to hear compliments?”

“It’s a bowl.” He sighed. “Nothing deep or meaningful to the design. Just a bowl. People always want to analyze, interpret what the artist meant. Sometimes a bowl is just a bowl.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You can’t fool me. I’ve seen your stuff in Crafty. Nothing about what you make is ‘just’ anything. People love your work, and if you gave them half a chance, they’d like you, too.”

“And I want that because...”

“Because it’s better than being a recluse.” Joy leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “Honestly, Sam, you can’t stay on the mountain by yourself forever.”

He hated admitting even to himself that she was right. Hell, he’d talked more, listened more, in the last couple of weeks than he had in years. His house wasn’t empty. Wasn’t filled with the careful quiet he normally knew. Kaye generally left him to his own devices, so he was essentially alone, even when his housekeeper was there. Joy and Holly had pushed their way into the center of his life and had shown him just how barren it had been.

But when they left, his life would slide back onto its original course and the silence would seem even deeper. And God, he didn’t like the thought of that.

* * *

Sam frowned. “Why are we really here?”

“To eat that amazing steak, for one,” Joy said, sipping at her wine. Interesting, she thought, how his facial expressions gave hints to what he was thinking. And even more interesting how fast a smile from him could dissolve into the more familiar scowl. She’d have given a lot in that moment to know exactly what was running through his mind.

“And for another?”

“To show you how nice the people of Franklin are. To prove to you that you can meet people without turning into a pillar of salt...” She sat back, sipped at her wine again and kept her voice lighter than she felt. “Admit it. You had a good time.”

“The steak was good,” he said grudgingly, but she saw a flash of a smile that appeared and disappeared in a heartbeat.

“And the company.”

His gaze fixed on hers. “You already know I like the company.”

“I do,” she said and felt a swirl of nerves flutter into life in the pit of her belly. Why was it this man who could make her feel things she’d never felt before? Life would have been so much easier if she’d found some nice, uncomplicated guy to fall for. But then she wouldn’t be able to look into those golden-brown eyes of his, would she? “But you had a good time talking to other people, too. It just makes you uncomfortable hearing compliments.”

“Think you know me, don’t you?”

“Yep,” she said, smiling at him in spite of the spark of irritation in his eyes. Just as Holly had once said, he’s not mean, he’s just crabby. He didn’t fool her anymore. Even when he was angry, it didn’t last. Even when she ambushed him with knowledge of his past, he didn’t cling to the fury that had erupted inside him. Even when he didn’t want to spend time with a child, he went out of his way to make her dreams come true.

Joy’s heart ached with all she was feeling, and she wondered if he could see it in her eyes.

The room was crowded. The log walls were smoke-stained from years of exposure to the wood fireplace that even now boasted a roaring blaze. People sat at round tables and a few leather booths along one wall while the wall facing Main Street was floor-to-ceiling windows, displaying the winter scene unfolding outside. Tonight, the music pumping through the speakers overhead was classical, something weepy with strings and piano. And sitting across the table from her, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but there, was the man who held her heart.

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