A single father and a runaway bride find love—and a new family!—at Christmas in Jennifer Greene’s newest romance, The Bonus Mom!

They’re two strangers...

When widower Whit Cochran meets runaway bride Rosemary MacKinnon, something magical happens. Whit and his twin daughters rented a cabin for Christmas on Rosemary’s Whisper Mountain, and the girls think it’s only right their single dad and the pretty bachelorette spend the holiday together....

...who are a perfect match

Out there in the forest, loneliness turns to love. Rosemary falls for the girls—and their frazzled dad—yet she knows she’ll never replace their late wife and mother. But Whit isn’t leaving without the woman who’s given him back hope. With Christmas approaching, he has only days to prove that together they make a forever family.

“Whit, you didn’t come here for the girls.”

He stopped stoking the fire and looked at her. “What do you mean?”

“You came for me.”

She went to him. His expression questioned what she was doing, but she couldn’t answer. She didn’t know what she was doing. For sure, she wasn’t seducing him; her ex-fiancé had erased any aggressive sexual ideas from her head. But Whit…

She’d seen how he looked at her. Knew he’d been celibate since his wife’s death. Knew his girls dominated his time.

But when she put her arms around his neck, a groan escaped him, more primal than a wolf’s cry.

Just like that she knew what Whit wanted for Christmas. And she was the only one who could give it to him.

Dear Reader,

Usually I love to write a reader letter, but this time…well, this is the last book in the Whisper Mountain trilogy about the MacKinnon family, and I confess I’m going to miss them.

This whole trilogy has been a joy to write—from researching wild orchids to vanilla history to the real tea plantation I had a chance to visit. This is Rosemary’s story.… Rosemary is the sister of Ike and Tucker…she’s the one into studying wild orchids, and that’s given her an excuse to live like a hermit on top of the mountain.

Whit—her hero—realizes early on that she has some kind of troubling secret, but he doesn’t care what it is, not once he meets her.

This is a Christmas story that all of my characters dreaded…until they discovered each other, and what “presents” they alone could bring to each other.

Since this was set in South Carolina, I was forced to do a little research about SC’s “dark corner”…which meant I was forced to buy a bottle of Peach Moonshine. I haven’t opened it yet. But I wish you were all here, so we could all try a sip and see what on earth that’s about.

In the meantime…thank you. So many readers have sent me letters or emails about Ike and Tucker (Little Matchmakers and The Baby Bump). You readers keep me going—knowing when you like a book is a wonderful affirmation—and I hope you love this one.

All my best,

Jennifer Greene

The

Bonus Mom

Jennifer Greene

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIFER GREENE lives near Lake Michigan with her husband and an assorted menagerie of pets. Michigan State University has honored her as an outstanding woman graduate for her work with women on campus. Jennifer has written more than seventy love stories, for which she has won numerous awards, including four RITA® Awards from the Romance Writers of America and their Hall of Fame and Lifetime Achievement Awards.

You’re welcome to contact Jennifer through her website at www.jennifergreene.com.

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To the real “Lilly,” who is likely to get a zillion more dedications from me. You’re the light of our lives, sweetheart!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

When the oven bell dinged, Rosemary sprinted for the kitchen faster than the sound of a fire alarm. She’d added a ton of amenities to the old MacKinnon lodge in the past six months, but a new stove never made the budget. The temperature gauge in the oven could be downright cantankerous.

This time, thankfully, the old monster behaved. She grabbed a hot pad and pulled out a tray of cream puffs, all swelled up, their surface a golden-brown. Perfect.

While the puffs cooled, she headed outside to cart in an armload of peachwood. Outside, a blustery wind bit her face with needles, but considering it was December 19, Rosemary figured she was lucky. There could be snow or a serious ice storm on top of Whisper Mountain by now. A little wind was nothing.

Back inside, she knelt in front of the massive fieldstone fireplace. The grate already had a huge bed of snapping, orange coals, just needed a stir and a poke and fresh logs. Moments later, she had a sassy crackle of fire back, warming the whole living room.

She stood up and stretched, dusting her hands. The MacKinnons had spent a lot of Christmases here when she was a kid. She couldn’t remember the last holiday when the place hadn’t been a complete wreck. By now, there should be a giant Christmas tree in the corner, already dropping needles. Dusty Santas and holiday tchotchkes should be cluttering every surface. Instead, there was no tree, no winking lights, no tinsel or glitter, no wrapping paper and crushed bows anywhere in sight. The place was fabulously tidy and clean.

Truth to tell...she hated it. She had no problem working alone, being alone. But darn it, at this time of year she loved the chaos, the clutter, the razzle-dazzle, the messes, the feasts and for darned sure, the time with her family.

This year she just couldn’t do it. So...she’d decided to ignore the holiday altogether. She’d work, and when she got sick of work, she planned a heap of silly distractions.

Like wasting time on Judge Judy and old sappy movies.

Like having cream puffs for dinner—with vanilla bean ice cream and hot, dark chocolate sauce. And cherries.

She foraged for a big spoon, and had just pulled the steaming-cold container of ice cream from the freezer when the front door suddenly blasted open. She went to the kitchen doorway, figuring she must not have adequately latched the front door—but that wasn’t the issue at all. Over the wheeze and whistle of wind came the unmistakable sound of screams and cries. Human screams and cries. Girls. Children. Dozens of children, judging from the volume of cries.

She dropped the spoon, dropped the ice cream, peeled out of the kitchen.

There were children. Not a herd of them, just two girls, red-faced and shaking and crying.

They spotted her, and as if identifying a woman was all it took to let go, thundered toward her in a nonstop sputter of tears and words.

“You have to help us! There’s a bear chasing us! A huge grizzly bear! He wants to kill us!”

“He’s right out there. We ran and ran. I ran so hard my side hurt and I still kept going—”

“We didn’t know where we were going. Anywhere. We just had to keep running because it kept coming after us!”

“It’s still out there! It could still get us!”

“You think it could break windows? It was huge! I thought we were going to die!”

“And what if there’s more than one? What if that bear was married and there’s a wife, too, and he has baby bears only they’re all big like that—?”

Rosemary raised her hands, and finally managed to squeeze in a few words. “Hold it. You’re both safe. No bear is getting in here. Let’s get your coats off, sit down by the fire. I want to hear the whole story, everything you want to say, but let’s calm it down a few octaves, okay?”

They’d closed the front door—slammed it, actually, and she bolted it. The front closet had a shotgun, locked on the top shelf. The girls’ jaws dropped when they saw it.

“Are you going to kill the bear?”

“Afraid I’m not much on killing anything. But I’m going to shoot a couple blasts in the air. There’s a good chance he’ll scare off.”

“Oh. Can we watch?”

“You can watch from the window. I’m guessing neither one of you are in a hurry to go back outside this minute, right?”

“Oh. Right.”

She looked outside, both north and east windows, before opening the door. If a bear had been close—seriously close—she would have smelled it. Nothing smelled quite like a wild bear. She didn’t want to steal the girls’ thunder by telling them grizzlies didn’t live anywhere near Whisper Mountain, South Carolina. Besides, black bears definitely did. They usually snoozed through the cold months, but never went into total hibernation. She stepped outside, clicked off the safety, and aimed a shot at the sky. Then a second one.

She was only gone for a minute—max—but when she stepped back in and relocked the door, the girls were sitting on the old leather couch, staring at her openmouthed.

“Something tells me you girls weren’t raised in the country,” she said wryly.

That started them talking again. They came from Charleston. Their dad had taken them out of school a little early and rented this place on the mountain. They were doing the whole holiday here. It was because their mom had died about a year ago. Just before Christmas. She’d been Christmas shopping with them. A big truck hit her. Their mom died and both girls ended up in the hospital. They’d missed a heap of school, and Pepper had two casts, and Lilly really wrecked her left foot and had some scars, but not so much now. Anyway, their dad thought it’d be hard to have Christmas at home this year, because it was like an anniversary from when their mom died, so they were here. Having fun mostly. Until the bear.

Rosemary took in this information between handing out drinks and waiting through bathroom breaks.

At some point, one of them wandered toward the kitchen, and that started them on a different track. One picked up the dropped ice cream container, the other honed straight for the cream puffs. They immediately confessed that they’d never had a cream puff and didn’t think they could live another minute before trying one. They were desperately hungry. It was from all that running away from the vicious, angry bear.

One of them abruptly realized that they should have phoned their dad right off—and promptly took out a cell. The line was busy, but that wasn’t a problem, because their dad never talked on the phone long, and rather than leave him a message that they’d been in terrible danger because of the bear, they figured they’d just call him in another couple minutes.

Rosemary’s ears were ringing by then...but she’d more or less sorted them out. They were twins. Eleven. Lilly and Pepper. They were both blonde, both coltish and lanky. They both had straight, fine hair, shoulder length, but one had a red streak and the other had a green one. They had purple jackets that matched, skinny jeans, blue eyes...but not identical blue eyes. Lilly’s were uniquely blue, with a dark ring around the light blue iris—the effect was mesmerizing and striking. Pepper had a tendency to scrunch up her nose and prance around, restless, curious, irrepressible.

They were both cute.

They were both going to be breathtaking.

Rosemary figured once they left, she was going to need a long nap. After they’d finished talking, they started on her with questions. How come she lived here? She really studied orchids? What was a university grant? So was she wearing a Duke sweatshirt because that’s where she got the grant? She really had her own gun? Oh, my God, was that a dark room, and could she develop pictures by herself? Could they see? Was she married? Well, if she wasn’t married, what was she doing for Christmas?

“Wait a minute. You can’t spend Christmas alone,” Lilly said firmly.

Right about then Rosemary suggested they call their father again.

Pepper grabbed the cell phone from Lilly—they only had one cell phone between them, which apparently caused arguments several times a day. This time their dad promptly answered, and Pepper went on a long rendition of the walk, the bear, the bear chase, the house, Rosemary, the cream puffs.

“Can you come and get us, Dad? We really got lost when we started running. And now it’s already dark, even though it’s so early.... I told you, we’re at Rosemary’s. Oh. Well, no, I...” Pepper lifted the phone and arched her brows to Rosemary. “Could you tell my dad where we are?”

Rosemary was almost laughing as she pressed the cell to her ear. Pepper had a ditsy side, for sure. She’d sounded as if she assumed her dad had some magical ability to automatically know where she was.

“Hi— I’m Rosemary MacKinnon,” she said immediately.

“And I’m Whit Cochran.”

She took a quick breath. He just had one of those unique guy voices, a clear tenor, that put a shiver in her pulse. It didn’t matter if he was ugly as sin or plain as a sloth—she had no way to know, and didn’t care. It was just that his voice made her think of sex and danger. Preferably together.

“Just tell me quick,” he started with. “Are the girls hurt in any way? And are they okay now?”

“They’re fine—except for conning me out of ice cream probably before they’ve had dinner.”

“There really was a bear?”

“I didn’t see it myself, but black bears regularly wander around here. Normally they don’t bother humans, but they’ll venture close when they’re scrounging for food. At this time of year, it’s pretty rare to come across one.”

“I like your voice, Rosemary MacKinnon.”

The comment was so unexpected, she got an inexcusable warm fuzzy feeling in her tummy...but obviously, she’d relieved his mind about his girls and he was just getting his breath back, not thinking clearly. “I’m guessing you’d like my address,” she said quickly.

“Yes, of course.”

“You’re not far. There aren’t that many places near the top of Whisper Mountain. I’m on the east side, and most of the land up here is MacKinnon property. I’d guess you’re either in the Landers place or the Stewarts...they often rent out at Christmas. The Stewarts’ place is brick, double kitchen, double deck—”

“That’s the one.”

“So. If you’re driving a car, you’re going to have to go down the mountain road—there’s only one, as you probably know. Where it ends in a Y shape, turn left. Give or take a half mile, you’ll see a wood sign for MacKinnons—that’ll lead to the house here. Take you ten, fifteen minutes. On the other hand, if you have some way to go cross-country—”

“A Gator.”

“Okay, so it’s your choice...with the Gator, you go up that same mountain road...you’ll run into a gravel road, turn right, then zip along that way until you run into a battered old MacKinnon sign, turn in.”

“So the girls really weren’t far.”

“I don’t know...they could have circled and backtracked a zillion times if they were trying to outrun a bear. Speaking of which...until you get here, I’ll be talking bear defense with your girls.”

“Maybe you’d better have that talk with me, too.”

She laughed, so did he...but when she clicked off the phone, she found both girls sitting side by side on the leather couch, staring at her.

“Your dad’ll be here in two shakes.” When they kept up with the stare, she cocked her head. “What?”

“You laughed. And we thought we heard Dad laughing.”

Rosemary didn’t understand. “He did laugh. But not because he thought your bear was funny. He had to hear that you two were safe. So he was relieved, and naturally he got in a happier mood.”

Lilly said, “Our dad hasn’t done a whole lot of laughing since Mom died.”

She didn’t know what to say. The girls had already spilled a lot of information about their personal circumstances that was none of her business. She didn’t want to pry—but actually, she was relieved to understand their circumstances. She could have said something painful or insensitive accidentally, if she’d never known the girls had lost their mom, and that they were trying to have a different kind of Christmas to keep the grieving memories at bay.

“Hey. Should we call you Mrs. MacKinnon? Or Miss MacKinnon? Or Rosemary? Or what?” Lilly was clearly the one who wanted to know the rules.

“You can call me Rosemary. And I’m a Miss, not a Mrs.”

“How come?” That was definitely Pepper. No boundaries on Pepper’s tongue.

“Because I was happy being single.”

“Oh. Okay. Can we look around, while we’re waiting for my dad? It’s about the most beautiful house I can remember.”

“Yes, you can look around...except in the first room down that hall. For a long time it was a utility room, but I turned it into a dark room to develop photographs. When that door’s closed, you’ll see a red light next to the knob, and that means you shouldn’t open the door.”

“You really develop pictures? Yourself? Right here?”

It had been a while since she’d “awestruck” anyone...much less had anyone treat her like a goddess. Her family—at least her parents—rarely had a pleasant word to say to her. Since June, whenever they called, it was invariably to make sure she knew her Terrible Mistake hadn’t been forgotten, and probably never would be. Her two brothers would have defended her against the world—and always had—but even they skirted around the question of why she’d done such a “damn fool thing.”

The girls talked her ears off—and asked more questions than a teacher on a test. But after being raised with two brothers—and working alone all these months since June—Rosemary didn’t mind. She inhaled all the girl talk.

She never heard a knock on the door, never heard anything until the girls both squealed, “Dad!”

They’d ended up in the kitchen—both girls had chosen to ignore the table, and instead sat on the counter with their legs swinging—some body part always seemed to be in motion with them. They’d somehow conned her into wrapping up three more cream puffs to take home with them. Possibly she’d been easily conned. Besides, she’d made the full recipe, and even sugar-greedy as she was, couldn’t possibly eat a dozen.

“Dad! We’re having so much fun! Can we stay a little longer?”

And then, “Dad, this is Rosemary. Rosemary, this is Dad—”

“He’s not Dad when you’re introducing him, dummy. He’s Whit. Dad, this is Rosemary. Rosemary, this is Whit. Wait until you taste these cream puffs! Rosemary’s giving us some to take home.”

“She has a darkroom, Dad. And she has a gun. A big rifle. That she owns. It’s all hers. Everything!”

Over the bouncingly exuberant girls, their eyes met. She was both laughing and rolling her eyes—there was no shutting the girls up, no chance to temper their exuberance. And his eyes were filled with humor, too....

But somehow she’d expected the girls’ father to be...well, fatherly looking. A lot older than her twenty-seven. Sure, she’d expected him to be reasonably good-looking, because the girls were adorable, but he’d been married awhile. He should have looked more staid, the way settled down guys tended to get, more safe, less...how would a woman say it?...less hungry.

Whit radiated all the safety of a cougar just freed from a cage. He was tall, rangy and sleek. He had the shoulder and arm muscles of a guy who was physical and exceptionally strong. He wore an old canvas jacket, jeans and country boots.

His hair was sort of a dusty blond shade, rumpled from the wind, a frame for the rugged bones in his face. The haircut was the choice for a guy who didn’t waste time on grooming. Straight eyebrows set off his eagle-shrewd eyes—shrewd, except when he looked at his daughters.

Then his gaze turned into a helpless puppy’s.

“Did they drive you crazy?” He said it under the relentless stream of eleven-year-old chatter.

Oh, right. Like she’d kick a puppy in the teeth. The girls were obviously the sun and the moon to him. Besides, even if they had driven her a little crazy, they’d been fun. “They’re wonderful,” she said.

“Yeah. I think so. But...”

“I never had a chance to give them the ‘bear’ talk. They should know...you don’t run from a bear. You don’t leave food in the wild, ever, and if you make loud noises, he’ll likely turn tail and take off. A bear doesn’t want to hurt a human—unless it’s spring and it’s a female with cubs. Or it’s fall, and he’s filling up on every berry he can find. So if they spot one from a distance, just move away. Make noise. Trust me, he doesn’t want to eat you. He just wants you out of his space.”

Pepper had been listening, but she wasn’t buying this advice wholesale. “But what if he’s crazy? You know. What if it’s a people-hater bear. Like the bear in that movie, where the model’s in Alaska—”

“If he’s crazy, you’re up a creek. But the population of black bears around here doesn’t have a bad reputation. If a crazy one showed on the radar, DNR and rangers would be all over it. So if you just use common sense and do the regular safe things, you should be fine.”

“Dad, do you see how much she knows? Even about things like bears? And she’s a girl.”

“I noticed that.”

Her head whipped toward him again. There was nothing suggestive in his tone. Just in his eyes. There was just something there that sparked a sizzle in her pulse...and Rosemary was too darned practical to feel sizzles—in her pulse or anywhere else.

“I think it’s time we got out of this nice lady’s hair.”

“But she likes us, Dad. She said so.”

“Of course she likes you. You’re the angels of the universe. But we’re still giving Rosemary her life back and going home. It’s already dark.”

“You sure didn’t call us angels when we put the red and green in our hair. Even though we told you and told you and told you it’d wash out. And everybody does it.”

The adults barely exchanged another word—they had no chance. Rosemary was amused—and surprised—by the violent silence when she closed the door after them. She was used to silence. Or she should be. She was happy living alone.

Or that’s what she’d been telling herself for six months now.

Maybe she’d been telling herself that her whole life. If you’re waiting for someone else to make you happy, you’re waiting for a spit in the wind. It has to start on the inside. Being content with who you are.

Rosemary always thought she was. Content within herself. Until last June, and since then she couldn’t seem to fit in her own skin.

She turned away from the window, fed the fire and turned her attention back to things that mattered. Another cream puff, for starters.

And what a hunk of a man that Whit was. Maybe she could have a hot, steamy dream about him tonight. He was the kind of guy that looked all sexy and dangerous when he was sweaty.

Not that Rosemary was attracted to sweat and oiled shoulders and bad boys.

But losing a wife and raising two young girls alone—that was a tough road. Tougher than her own problems, by far.

Which was probably why she couldn’t get him off her mind.

Chapter Two

Whit opened the refrigerator and stared at it blankly. He’d bought a truckful of groceries. The fridge was full. He just couldn’t seem to find anything to eat.

At least anything that didn’t involve cooking and dishes and cleaning up.

“What are you hungry for, you two?” He called out to the living room, and then wondered why he’d asked.

The answer came in joyous unison. “Mac and cheese. From the box.”

Followed by, “And don’t burn it this time, Dad.”

He still had two boxes, thank God. All the green stuff he’d bought was going to waste. But the sugary cereals, the mac and cheese and the ice cream—after two days, he was nearly out of those. He could probably feed the kids on five bucks a day—if they had their way. Instead he’d spent better than $500 on stuff that was good for them.

Why wasn’t that in the parenting rule book, huh? That short of putting an eleven-year-old in a coma, there was no way to get anything fresh and green down them without a war that involved pouting, door slamming, dramatic tragic looks, claims of being misunderstood, claims of being adopted, claims of child abuse...and...that torture could go on for hours. Sometimes days.

He scrounged for a pan, and filled it with water. Read the directions on the mac and cheese box for the millionth time. When he turned around, Lilly was leaning on the blue-and-white tile counter.

It was a trick, since he knew she hadn’t come in to help. He was in trouble. He just didn’t know over what. And the truth—which Lilly possibly knew—was that he’d do anything she asked. Anything.

He was terrified of both daughters, but Lilly more than Pepper. Lilly had stopped talking after her mom died. She’d just lain there, in that hospital bed next to her sister, but where Pepper would cry and shriek, Lilly just carried that silent look in her eyes. Grief too deep to understand, grief that made her go still, as if in any motion, no matter how tiny, could tip her over the edge. She couldn’t take more.

Eventually Lilly started talking again, but it went on and on, that grief of hers. She answered questions, and talked about things like school and dinner, but it was months before she volunteered anything. Months before that unbearably sharp grief started to fade. Months before he won a real smile—and he’d done everything but stand on his head and grovel, to bring her beautiful smile back.

“What?” he said, when she kept leaning there, looking at him, kind of rolling her shoulders.

“Nothing. I was just thinking....”

That was the other problem with Lilly. Pepper, thankfully, said anything that was on her mind. It came out like froth; he never had to work to figure out where her head was. But Lilly was the thinker, the one who stored hurts on the inside, the one who never said anything he could anticipate. Nothing in the universe could make him feel as helpless as Lilly.

And he’d have to kill anyone who dared cause her any grief again.

“Didn’t you think she was pretty?” She asked him as if his answer was of no consequence, while idly scratching the back of one knee with a slipper.

“The lady?”

“Rosemary, Dad. You heard her name. And yeah. Didn’t you think she was pretty?”

“Sure.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. It was a default response when Whit did something inadequate on an eleven-year-old’s terms. “Something’s wrong with her.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. But she’s pretty. And she’s spending Christmas all by herself. And she’s working, she showed us some stuff on orchids. But you’d think it was July or June or something. There’s no tree or presents. No stuff. No lights.”

“Maybe she’s of some other religion.”

“You mean like Buddhist or Muslim or something? No. It’s not that.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know.” Another default answer, usually accompanied by, “I’m a girl and I know. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe she’s Jewish?”

“Dad. We know five Jewish people. And they do Christmas with presents and trees just like we do. Except that they get to do their Hanukkah holiday, too, so they get even more presents. In fact, I was thinking about turning Jewish.”

“Were you?”

“Hey, people fight wars all the time over religion. I think they should stop fighting wars and concentrate more on giving presents. Especially presents for their kids.” Possibly out of boredom, she plucked a raw carrot from the glass of carrots and celery on the counter. It was the first time he’d seen her eat anything nutritious since they’d come up here. “But back to Rosemary. The thing is...she’s our neighbor. In fact, as far as I can tell, she’s our only neighbor up here. At least the only one we know about. So maybe we should do some Christmas stuff with her, so she’s not alone.”

“Honey, she may be alone by choice. She may not want company or neighbors around.”

“Well, then, why were her eyes sad?”

The water started to swirl and bubble. He dumped in the dry pasta, asked Lilly to get some milk and butter from the fridge and called Pepper to set the table. Then he did what he always did when he needed a diversion. He called dibs on the TV as of eight o’clock.

That immediately raised the decibel level in the great room to rock concert levels...and for sure, diverted Lilly.

But Rosemary’s face flashed back in his mind. She did have sad eyes. At first...well, at very first, he’d only seen his girls, because he’d nearly had a heart attack about their bear encounter. No matter what they’d claimed on the phone, he had to see them both in flesh and blood to breathe again.

Still, the minute he realized the kids were both fine, he swiftly turned on Rosemary. First, he noticed her vibrancy. With three females in the same room, naturally all three of them were talking at once, with volume, and were all in constant motion besides. But over and above his twins’ chatter, he caught...the energy of her. The life-lover zest.

Her build was lithe and lean, a woman comfortable with her body, used to doing physical things and spending time outdoors. Even in December her nose had a hint of sunburn, with a thin spray of freckles.

Her eyes were faded blue, the color of a hot sky in summer. She wore her hair grass-short and styled wash-and-wear, not all that much different than his, but no one would ever mistake her for a guy. Everything about her was soft and female. The long sleeved T-shirt in navy blue, the battered-soft jeans, the sculpted fine bones in her face. None of her clothes were fancy but distinctly feel-good styles, easy to move in, easy to live in. She wore no makeup—of course, since she lived alone, why would she paint her face? But it was more than that. Her skin had that wind-fresh, sun-friendly wholesome look. Her breasts were small and pert; her hips barely held up her jeans. There was no vanity in her. No embellishments. Just...beauty.

The real kind of beauty.

The kind that rang his chimes. Only no one—real or not—had rung his chimes since Zoe died.

Sooner or later, he figured he’d get his libido back. He’d always been overcharged, not under, but Zoe’s death seemed to kill something off in him.

He’d never identified it that way. Never thought of it at all.

Yet one look at Rosemary, and his libido showed up and started singing bass. With drums.

And yeah, the sadness in her eyes touched him—maybe should have warned him. But that sadness wasn’t her. It was about something that had happened to her. And...

“Dad! You’re burning the mac and cheese again!”

He glanced down at the pot. How had that happened again?

By the time they sat down at the table, Whit realized that something was up. A father of twins learned some things the hard way. Two children were just two children—but twins were a pack. Like wolves. Or badgers.

Especially like badgers.

“Listen, Dad.” Pepper shoveled in the mac and cheese, but took time to offer him a beguiling smile. She was always the troublemaker.

“I’m listening.”

“We’re really happy up here. It’s awesome and all. And we know you want us to forget Mom this Christmas.”

He frowned. “No. No, you two, not at all. I just thought this Christmas would be extra hard without your mom. By next year, we could do the holiday completely differently. Make a point of remembering your mom, in fact—like making some of her favorite holiday dishes. Remember her strawberry pie? Or putting the tree in the corner where she thought it looked best. I don’t ever want you to forget your mom, I just—”

“Dad, wind it up.” Pepper again, using her impatient tone. “We’re okay with all that. You don’t have to go on and on.”

“But here’s the thing.” Lilly, always the pacifier, jumped in when she thought her sis was being abrasive. “We don’t know Rosemary very well. But she’s alone. And we’re alone this Christmas, too. Like you said before, maybe we’d be an intrusion. But maybe not. I mean, what if we just—like when we’re cutting down our own tree tomorrow—cut one down for her, too?”

Pepper started her fidgety thing, dropping a napkin, then her fork. “And then we could just bring her the tree—and see if we’re in her way or if she really needs to work or something. Because maybe she really wants some company around. Especially us girl company. She said she loved girl talk.”

“It’s not just that,” Lilly interrupted again. “You know when I was little—”

“As compared to your being an old lady now?”

“Quit it, Dad. We’re having a talk. No joking.”

“Okay, okay.”

“When I was little, I remember the neighbor who came over for Christmas. Mom said she was alone because she lost her husband. So she asked her over for Christmas dinner. Mom said, and then you said, that Christmas isn’t just about presents. It’s about people being together. Sharing something good.”

“Sometimes you two worry me. You have this tendency to use things I’ve said against me.”

“Come on, Dad. We can take Rosemary a tree tomorrow, right?”

Whit couldn’t imagine how they could just show up at Rosemary’s back door with a tree out of the complete blue. But at least temporarily, he couldn’t figure out a way to say no that would make sense to the girls.

* * *

Rosemary bent over the corkboard. Heaven knew how she’d gotten hung up on the sex life of wild orchids in South Carolina. The subject would undoubtedly bore most people to tears. But when she needed her mind off stress, she’d always been able to concentrate on work.

Her stomach growled. She ignored it. She was pretty sure she’d ignored it a couple times before this.

It had taken quite a while to completely fill the corkboard on the coffee table. She’d pinned photos of local orchids—and their names and location—until the entire space was filled. Some of the names were so fun. Little lady’s Tresses. Small whorled pogonia. Yellow fringed orchid. Crested coralroot. Downy rattlesnake plantain.

Absently, she picked up her coffee mug. It was cold, and since it was also the last in the pot, it was thicker than mud. She still swallowed a slug.

She’d never planned on turning into an egghead. It was all sort of a mistake. When she’d cancelled the wedding, escaped from George (as she thought of it now) the two-year grant from Duke had struck her as a godsend. She could make a living—or enough of a living—and seclude herself up here.

The goal hadn’t been to get a Ph.D. She’d never wanted a Ph.D. She just wanted to work so hard she could forget about everything else for a while. Until she put her head back together. Until she figured out what to do with her life. Until she could analyze exactly what had gone so bad, so wrong, with George.

Mostly she had to figure out how she could have been so stupid.

She leaned forward, studying the photo of the small whorled pogonia. A white lip hung above the five green leaves. The species was teensy. It was hard to find, hard to notice. And it was probably the rarest orchid near the eastern coastline—which made it one of her treasures.

That was the thing. It wasn’t about academics. Or getting a Ph.D. It was about...survival. Why did some species fail and others thrive? How could a fragile, vulnerable orchid like this conceivably survive in such a hostile environment?

Not that she thought of herself as vulnerable. Or that she feared she couldn’t survive the mess she was in.

It was just that everybody believed the old adage that only the strong survived. Because it always seemed to be true. Except with these fragile orchids.

There had to be a reason. A logical explanation. Something in delicate orchids that enabled them to survive, when far tougher species died out.

A sudden knock on the door almost made her jump sky-high. A spit of coffee landed on her sweatshirt; she set the mug down, went to the door.

The twins huddled together like bookends, a platter in their hands covered with tin foil. “Hi, Rosemary. We can’t stay. We can’t bother you.”

“But we made some brownies to thank you for saving our lives yesterday.”

Clearly their opening lines had been prepared.

“The brownies,” Pepper added, “have some mints and some cherries on the inside. We didn’t sample any of these, but we’ve made them this way before. Honest, they’re really good. Although we usually put in marshmallows, only this time, we didn’t have any marshmallows so we couldn’t.”

Lilly’s turn. “We were trying to make it red and green on the inside. You know. Like to be Christmasy.” She took a breath. “Dad said we absolutely can’t bother you. So we’re leaving right now, this very instant.”

She noticed the golf cart behind them. Saw the hope on their faces, no matter what they said. “You can’t even come in to sample a brownie? That’s an awful lot for just me to eat by myself.”

“I don’t think we can. No matter how much we want to.” Pepper let out a massive sigh.

“Hmm. What if I call your dad and asked him myself if you could stay awhile?”

“Oh.” Both girls lit up like sparklers. “Yeah. If you call him, it’ll be okay.”

There ended her bubble of solitude. She called Whit first, so he knew the girls were safely with her, said they wanted to share a brownie with her, and she’d have the girls call when they were headed home. It wouldn’t be long.

Just that short conversation invoked symptoms she’d suffered when she met him yesterday. It was as if she’d been exposed to a virus. She felt oddly achy and restless, hot—when there was no excuse in the universe to react like a dimwit toward a perfect stranger.

But the girls distracted her from thinking any more about their father. The first priority was testing the brownies—which were fabulous. Both girls could somehow eat and talk nonstop at the same time.

Pepper went first. “Our dad thought we couldn’t handle Christmas at home. But we both know he’s the one who can’t. He hasn’t been out one single time since mom died. You know what that means?”

Rosemary was afraid to answer. “How about if you tell me what you think it means.”

“It means that he’s trying to be there for us 24/7. Rosemary, he’s driving us nuts. He wants us to do things together all the time.”

“And that’s bad?” She might not have a chance to think about Whit in connection with herself, but if the conversation was going to be all about him...well there’s not much she can do about it. She reached for a second brownie, feeling self-righteous as the devil herself.

“It’s not bad. Because we love him. But can you picture a pajama party with seven girls and my dad trying to fit in?”

“Um...no.”

“Everybody in our class at school likes going to the movies. It’s like a couple miles, though, so if the weather’s good, we walk. Otherwise one of the moms drive. But Dad, when it was his turn, he wanted to go inside with us. He sat in the back. Like the kids wouldn’t know he was there?”

“Um...” Rosemary eyed a third brownie.

“We know he’s lonely. He really loved our mom. He just can’t seem to get over it. But it’s been a year. I mean, we miss her, too.”

Lilly said softly, “I think about her every day.”

“I do, too!” Pepper said defensively.

“But really, we would have been fine just being home for Christmas. Then we could have had friends over. Or gone to their houses. See the Christmas movies and all that. So...” Lilly looked at her sister.

“So...” Pepper picked up the refrain.

“So...we were wondering if you would do some things with us. I don’t mean every second, like when you have to work and stuff. But we’re going to do a tree. And make some ornaments. Bake some cookies. It’s stuff we’re already doing, so we’re not asking you to work. We’d just like you to be, well, another person.”

“She is another person, stupid.” Pepper, naturally.

“I know that, numbskull.” Lilly turned to her again. “I meant, so Dad could see he didn’t have to be hovering over us all the time. That it’s okay. We’re eleven. Practically adults. We don’t need a parent in the same room with us every single minute.”

“Besides, we want you there for ourselves. Because I’m sick of this hairstyle. And we’ve been arguing about how it’d look best. Lilly thinks we should both grow it way long. I think we should go short, and like, with spikes. You could help us with an opinion.”

Lilly took her plate to the counter. “We wanted to bring you a tree. We’re cutting down our tree tomorrow, so we told Dad, why don’t we get one for Rosemary, too? But he said we had no way to know if you even wanted one. Don’t you want a Christmas tree?”

Every direction she turned, she seemed to face the gruesome problem of taking sides. And all their dad conversation was prickly—they kept relaying things that were private and none of her business. Even their enthusiasm at being around her was touchy—they were fun; she really wouldn’t mind visits from them now and then. It wasn’t as if she’d had a choice to spend the holiday alone. But Whit might not appreciate a stranger in the middle of their private holiday, no matter what the girls thought they wanted.

“Where did you get the golf cart?” she asked, hoping for a diversion.

“It was in the shed with the Gator. It came with the property. It’ll go a few miles, like four or something, and then you just plug it back in. Dad won’t let us drive the Gator, but he said we could use the cart to carry the brownies to your house and then come back.”

“You weren’t scared you’d run into your bear again?”

“A little. But we can go pretty fast in the cart. And we brought cookie sheets to make noise. We read a bunch about bears last night. Mostly it’s like the stuff you told us. If a person doesn’t do something that upsets him, the bear’s really not interested in humans anyway.” Pepper was about to jump up from the table, when her sister gave her a finger point. She rolled her eyes, but grabbed her dish and took it to the counter. “Anyhow, I know we’re supposed to go home, like now, but could you just show us your darkroom really quick? Show us how you make pictures?”

That sounded like a fine idea to Rosemary.

And the kids had a blast. The three were crowded in the small space, and the girls seemed entranced with everything.

“The thing I’m confused about,” Pepper said, “is why you’re making your own photographs. I mean, couldn’t you just get a digital camera? Or a phone where you could take pictures?”

“I could do both those things—and sometimes do,” Rosemary explained. “But when I do these myself, then I own those photos. It’s a legal thing. I’m responsible for the research and the work, so I wouldn’t want anyone using my photos without my permission. It’s like a protection.”

“I get it.” Lilly then had questions about the house—why it was so big and interesting, and was it really old, and how did she make the darkroom?

“The lodge has been in the MacKinnon family for generations—so lots of family members used it for summer getaways and vacations and holidays and just family gatherings. It was always kept pretty rustic, but when I knew I was going to be staying here for quite a while, I put in electricity and ran cable wires and all that.” She motioned. “This used to be a utility room. It already had a sink and rough shelves. But when I set it up as a darkroom—well, one problem is that everything has to be put away perfectly—because once you’ve turned out the lights, you have to find what you need in the dark.”

“So we can turn out the lights?” Lilly asked.

“Sure. But first let me show you what certain things are used for.” The blackout shades had the obvious purpose. The extractor fan sucked out the chemical odors. She pointed out the safelight. And next to the old sink was a long “wet bench” made of something similar to Formica. “That’s where the developing trays go—where you’re developing the photos...and at the far end, there’s a squeegee to remove excess water from the prints.”

“This so beyond awesome,” Lilly said.

“What’s this stuff?” Pepper said as she pointed.

“All large bottles of solution are stored on the floor. Every single thing that’s used in here has a place. And no matter how tired or busy I am, it all has to be put back in that place before I leave—or I’d never find it in the dark the next time.”

“Well, that’d probably be too hard for me,” Pepper admitted. “Dad says I shed stuff every place I walk, like a dog sheds fur.”

“So what’s that?” Lilly didn’t want to listen to her sister. She wanted to hear Rosemary.

“Okay...on the other side of the room—and I know it’s hard for the three of us to operate in this narrow space, but when I’m by myself, it’s not so bad. So this is an enlarger. It does just what it sounds like. Makes the prints larger. It might make them blurrier, too—so you can’t just ask it to enlarge something and then go take a nap. You have to watch the process.”

“Rosemary?” Lilly again. “Could we do this with you sometime? If we didn’t move and didn’t get in your way and didn’t do anything wrong? If we just watched?”

“Sure. If it’s okay with your dad. And you guys are only going to be here for a week, aren’t you?”

“We’re not sure exactly. We think we’re going home a day or two after Christmas, but Dad only promised that we’d be home by New Year’s Eve, because we’re sleeping over with a bunch of girls from school.”

“We’re going to stay up all night and have popcorn and stuff.”

“Sounds like great fun.” She heard a vague sound, turned her head, and abruptly realized that someone was knocking on the front door.

She hustled out, glanced out the peephole and felt her stomach jump five feet. She yanked open the door at the same time she looked at her watch.

“My God, Whit. I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t realize how much time had gone by.”

“It’s not a problem, except that when you gave me your cell number—”

She nodded. “I never heard it ring. I’m sorry. I think I left it on the fireplace mantel. And we were in the back of the house, the darkroom.”

“Like I said, it’s okay. But I did figure by now you’d need rescuing.”

She did. Not from his girls. From him.

The minute he walked in the room, she suffered from a cavorting heartbeat and instant noodle knees, annoying her to no end. So he was a hunk. So he was so brawny he made her feel like a sweet little Southern belle. So he had the sexiest eyes this side of the Mississippi.

It was just attraction.

Last she knew, that problem was embarrassing but not fatal.

The kids leaped on him as if he’d been missing for six months. “Dad! Rosemary took us in the darkroom, and showed us all about the enlarger and the paper safe and the squeegee panels—”

“And where you keep the chemicals and the big extractor fan and solution and stuff—”

Since Whit was getting pulled inside, Rosemary interrupted with the obvious. “Would you like some tea or coffee? I’ve got both.”

“Coffee, definitely, if it’s not too much trouble.”

By the time she brought two mugs back in, the girls had yelled for permission to play games on her iPad, and they’d taken root on the floor with couch pillows behind them. Whit, hands in his back pockets, was circling the corkboard display on the coffee table.

He smiled when she walked toward him, cocked his head toward the girls. “They’ve made themselves at home.”

“It’s the iPad. Not me.”

“I don’t think so. You keep gaining goddess status.”

She laughed. “I’m not doing anything, honest.”

“Maybe not, but we’ll have to brainstorm some way to take you down a peg in their eyes. Otherwise, they’re going to pester you nonstop.”

He’d lowered his voice so the girls wouldn’t hear. His whisper was just as evocative as his normal tenor.

“Well, if you think up something evil I could do, give a shout, would you?”

He chuckled. They shared a smile that made her feel like a lit sparkler in a dark room. But then he motioned toward her corkboard.

“The girls said you were doing a project with orchids.”

She nodded. “The wild orchids in South Carolina—especially rare and endangered ones. Duke gave me a two-year grant, but I think I can finish the project sooner than that. When I came up here in June, that’s all I did, traipse around the mountains, taking photographs and collecting specimens. So most of the gut research is done. I just have to put it all together, which is going to take a serious block of time.” She knew she was babbling, but he honestly looked interested.

“Landscaping’s my work.”

“The twins said you owned a business.”

He nodded. “I’m the family disgrace. I have three siblings, two lawyers and my sister is a CPA. I’m the only dirt bum. Love working with my hands. Love taking a piece of land—don’t care whether it’s small or big—and analyzing the soil, the shapes and contours, figuring out which plants and trees will thrive there, what will show it off. I have no idea where I picked up the addiction, but I sure have it hard-core.”

“My parents are both surgeons, and they expected the three of us kids to follow in their footsteps...but at least I could share disgrace with one of my brothers. I went for botany, and Tucker has a retreat camp on Whisper Mountain here. Ike was the only brother who turned into a doctor, like we were all supposed to.”

“Being a disgrace is tough.”

“Well, I was a disgrace for more than one reason,” she admitted, and then wanted to shoot herself. That wasn’t information she meant to share with Whit—or anyone else, for that matter.

He didn’t ask. He looked at her, as if waiting to hear the “other reason” she was a disgrace. But when she didn’t say anything more, he turned his attention back to the corkboard of photographs.

“Are you only photographing them when they’re in flower?” he asked.

“Good question. No. I marked the spot where I found each orchid—the location, the environment, the plants growing near them, tested the soil for acidity and all that. Then I went back every month to record that information all over again. Different predators showed up in different months. Different plants became dormant in different months. There were different insects, different temperatures, different rainfall.”

“Man. I’d love to have done this kind of study. I don’t know anything about orchids. But the how, why, when and where certain plants or grasses grow is of enormous interest to me.”

“You didn’t go for a botany degree...?”

“No, I went after a landscape architecture degree from Michigan State. It was a long way from home to go to college, but they had a great program for what I wanted. Never regretted it. But the study you’re doing crosses paths with so much I’m interested in.”

But he looked at her as if he were far more fascinated in her than her study. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone wanted to hear what she thought, what she felt.

“Hey, Dad!” Pepper leaped up from the tablet and hurtled toward them at her usual speed—a full gallop. “Can we all stay and watch a movie if Rosemary says yes? There’s one that starts in just a few minutes. We’ll miss the beginning if we have to go home.”

“I think our family’s imposed on Rosemary enough for today.”

“But Dad. It’s Princess Bride! And it’s on right now.”

“You never have to see that one again. You know all the words. Hell. I know all the words. Please. Anything but that. Anything. We can even go home and talk about...clothes.”

He herded them out, over a new round of protests and pleas and outright begging. Grabbed jackets. Found shoes. Listened to chatter.

Over their heads, before he whooshed them out the door, he looked at her. Really looked at her. As if they’d been connecting in a private way since the moment they met...the moment he walked in. Every moment they found themselves together.

She thought: he wanted to kiss her.

It was there. In his gaze. In how privately he looked at her, how silently he looked...worried. Worried but determined.

When she finally closed the door, the sudden silence in the cabin struck her again as unexpectedly lonely—when she’d been content living alone. Or she thought she’d been content.

She ambled through the living room, picking up mugs and glasses, doing little cleanups—and lecturing herself at the same time. She was imagining those “looks” from Whit. The guy was still in love with his wife, from everything the girls had said. He was still loving her, still mourning her, still grieving.

And she had no business volunteering for trouble, besides. She was still in deep emotional shock over George—the man everyone assumed she’d be thrilled to marry, thrilled to spend her life with. She hadn’t discovered his turnip side until it was almost too late...which unfortunately said a whole lot about her lack of judgment in men.

She was afraid to trust her judgment again. Not because she was a sissy. Because she was smart.

She had to be smart. Her confidence had been crippled, not by George, but by misjudging a man she thought she loved. It was a mistake she couldn’t risk making again.

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