Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!

Duets Vol. #41

Bestselling Harlequin author Kate Hoffmann kicks off with a special Christmas Double Duets this month. This writer never fails to “thrill us with light-hearted humor, endearing characters and piquant situations,” says Romantic Times Magazine.

Duets Vol. #42

Talented Jill Shalvis also presents her own fun-filled Double Duets this holiday season. “Get ready for laughs, passion and toe-curling romance, because Jill…delivers the goods,” says reviewer Kathee Card.

Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!

Unexpected Angel

Undercover Elf

Kate Hoffmann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Unexpected Angel

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Epilogue

Undercover Elf

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Unexpected Angel

Kate Hoffmann

“I had to get my angel back.”

As the conductor blew his whistle, Eric’s dad crouched down beside him. “Holly has to go home, son. Her train is leaving.”

“No,” Holly murmured. “I can stay until Christmas.”

Holly and his dad stared at each other a long time. Eric frowned. There was something funny going on here. Holly was staring at his dad the same way that pest, Eleanor Winchell, stared at Raymond, the new kid in school. And his dad was staring at Holly the same way Eric’s best friend, Kenny, stared at Eric’s Michael Jordan rookie card.

Kenny wriggled his eyebrows. “Kissy, kissy.” He laughed, puckering his lips.

Eric looked from his friend to the two adults. Could his Christmas angel be falling in love with his dad? “You really think so?” he asked Kenny.

“Hey, I was the one who broke the news to Raymond about Eleanor Winchell. I know all about guys and chicks. And your dad definitely has the hots for your angel.”

Eric thought about that for a moment, then grinned. “Cool!”

Dear Reader,

Another holiday season is here, and since I finished all my shopping last summer (I wish!), I decided to add my devoted readers to this year’s Christmas list. But what do I get for the reader who has everything? Nothing I found seemed right, especially with so many tastes to take into account.

In the end, I found a present I hope everyone will like—not one, but two new stories filled with romance, humor and a lot of Christmas cheer. Unexpected Angel and Undercover Elf feature all my favorite Christmas fantasies—a small town blanketed by sparkling snow, sleigh rides at sunset, an endless supply of home-baked treats (in fiction, they’re calorie free!) and not one, but two handsome men to share it all with.

So consider Alex Marrin and Tom Dalton my gift to you. Curl up in front of the fire with some hot apple cider and a plate of those calorie-free Christmas cookies you’ve been trying to avoid, and enjoy!

Happy holidays,

P.S. I love to hear from my readers. You can write to me c/o Harlequin Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 3K9, Canada.

Books by Kate Hoffmann

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

731—NOT IN MY BED!

758—ONCE A HERO

762—ALWAYS A HERO

795—ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT

With special thanks to Faye and Charles McDaniels, who shared their love of horses with me and gave me a peek inside the stable doors.

1

IT WAS ALL EXACTLY as he’d remembered it. The little candy cane fence, the gingerbread cottage with the gum-drop roof, the elves dressed in red shoes with jingle bells around the ankles, and the tinsel-trimmed Christmas tree. Eric Marrin’s heart skipped a beat and he clutched his mittened hands to still the tremble of excitement.

He peered around the chubby kid standing in front of him and caught a glimpse of the man he’d come to see, the man half the kids in Schuyler Falls, New York, had come to see this night. “Santa Claus,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe.

As he stood in line waiting to take his turn on Santa’s lap, he wondered whether his name was on the “nice” list. Eric made a quick mental review of the past twelve months.

Overall, it had been a pretty good year. Sure, there’d been the time he brought the garter snake into the house and then lost it. And the time he’d put his muddy shoes in the washing machine with his dad’s best dress shirts. And the time he’d gotten caught down at the railroad tracks squashing pennies on the tracks with his best friends, Raymond and Kenny.

But in the whole seven and a half, almost eight, years of his life, he’d never done anything naughty on purpose—except maybe for today. Today, instead of going straight home from school, he’d hopped a city bus with Raymond and jumped off right in front of Dalton’s Department Store. Riding the city bus alone was strictly against his dad’s rules and could result in punishment harsher than anything he’d seen in his life. But, technically, he hadn’t been alone. Raymond had been with him. And the trip had been for a very good reason. Even his dad would have to see that.

Dalton’s Department Store was considered by everyone in the second grade at Patrick Henry Elementary School as a shrine to Santa Claus. From the day after Thanksgiving until the hours leading up to Christmas Eve, children flocked though the shiny brass revolving doors and up the ancient escalator to the magical spot on the second floor where Santa and his minions reigned supreme.

Raymond claimed that a meeting with Dalton’s Santa was much better than a visit to any other Santa in New York. Those others were all just “helpers,” pretenders dressed up like the real Santa to help out during the Christmas rush. But this Santa was special. He had the power to make dreams come true. Kenny even knew a kid who’d gotten a trip to Florida just because his dad had lost his job right before Christmas.

Eric reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the letter. He’d used his very best penmanship and sealed the note in a colorful green envelope. He’d even added some of his favorite smelly stickers to decorate the outside, just to make sure the letter stood out from all the others. For this was the most important letter he’d ever written and he’d stop at nothing to make sure it got into Santa’s hands.

He watched as a little girl in a blue wool coat slipped her own letter into the ornate mailbox outside the Candy Cane Gate. She’d sealed it in a plain white envelope, addressed in sloppy crayon. Eric smiled. Surely her letter would be passed over for his. He closed his eyes and rubbed the lucky penny he always kept in his pocket. “Don’t mess up,” he murmured to himself. “Just don’t mess up.”

The line moved forward and Eric shoved the letter deeper into his pocket. First, he’d plead his case with Santa, and if the opportunity presented itself, he’d slip the letter into Santa’s pocket. He could imagine the jolly old man sitting down at dinner that night and tucking his glasses into his pocket. He’d discover the letter and read it immediately.

Eric frowned. If he really wanted to do the job right, he’d come down every night after school with a new letter each time. Santa would have to see how important this was to him and grant his wish. Maybe they’d even become best friends and he’d invite Eric over to play at the North Pole. And he could bring Santa to school for show and tell! That old sourpuss, Eleanor Winchell, would be so jealous she’d have a cow.

Of course, Eleanor had read her letter to Santa out loud in front of Miss Green’s class, a long recitation of all the toys she’d need to have a satisfying Christmas, the pretty dresses she’d require. She’d also informed the class that she planned to be the very first in line to give her letter to Santa once the Gingerbread Cottage opened for business at Dalton’s.

Secretly, Eric hoped that Eleanor’s letter would get lost in the shuffle, and that she’d fall through the ice on the Hudson River and she’d be swept downstream to torment some other kids at a grade school in faraway New York City. She was greedy and nasty and mean and if Santa couldn’t see that from her letter, then he didn’t deserve to drive a magic sleigh! Eric’s wish for Christmas didn’t include a single request for toys. And his Christmas wish was anything but selfish; it was as much for his dad as it was for himself.

Two years had passed since Eric’s mom had walked out. He’d been five, almost six, years old and Christmas had been right around the corner. The stockings were hung and the tree decorated and then she’d left. And everything had turned sad after that.

The first Christmas without her had been hard, mostly because he thought she’d be coming back. But last Christmas had been even worse. His dad hadn’t bothered to get a tree or hang the wreath on the door. Instead they’d left Thurston, their black lab, in a kennel, and flown to Colorado for skiing. The Christmas presents hadn’t even been wrapped and Eric suspected Santa had passed them right by because their condo had a fake fireplace with a really skinny chimney.

“Hey, kid. You’re next.”

Eric snapped his head up and blinked. A pretty elf, dressed in a puffy red polka-dot jacket and baggy green tights, stood at the gate and motioned him closer with an impatient expression. Her name tag said Twinkie and he hurried up to her, his heart pounding. He was so nervous he could barely remember what he wanted to say.

“So,” Twinkie said, “what are you going to ask for?”

Eric gave the elf a suspicious glance. “I think that’s between me and Santa,” he replied.

The elf chuckled. “Ah, the old Santa-kid confidentiality agreement.”

Eric scowled. “Huh?”

Twinkie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”

He shifted back and forth between his feet, then forced a smile at the elf. “Do you know him pretty well?”

Twinkie shrugged. “As well as any elf,” she said.

“Maybe you could give me some tips.” He opened his pocket and showed her the envelope, making sure that she saw his name scrawled in the upper left corner. If Santa didn’t remember who he was, he’d be sure Twinkie did. “I really need him to read my letter. It’s very, very, very important.” He pulled a bright blue Gobstopper out of his other pocket. “Do you think if I gave him—”

She studied the envelope. “Well, Eric Marrin, I can tell you this. The big guy doesn’t accept bribes.”

“But, I—”

“You’re up, kid,” Twinkie said, pushing him forward, then quickly turning to the next person in line. Eric approached slowly, reviewing all he planned to say. Then he crawled up on Santa’s lap and drew a steadying breath.

The smell of peppermint and pipe tobacco clung to his big red coat and tickled Eric’s nose. His lap was broad and his belly soft as a feather pillow and Eric leaned closer and looked up into the jolly old man’s eyes. Unlike the elf, Eric could see that Santa was patient and kind. “Are you really him?” he asked. Some of the kids at school claimed that Santa wasn’t real, but this guy sure looked real.

Santa chuckled, his beard quivering in merriment. “That I am, young man. Now, what’s your name and what can I do for you? What toys can I bring for you this Christmas?”

“My name is Eric Marrin and I don’t want any toys,” he said soberly, staring at a coal-black button on the front of Santa’s suit.

Santa gasped in surprise. “No toys? But every child wants toys for Christmas.”

“Not me. I want something else. Something much more important.”

Santa hooked his thumb under Eric’s chin and tipped his head up. “And what is that?”

“I—I want a huge Christmas tree with twinkling lights. And I want our house all decorated with plastic reindeer on the roof and a big wreath on the door. I want Christmas cookies and hot cider. And Christmas carols on the stereo. And on Christmas Eve, I want to fall asleep in front of the fireplace and have my dad carry me up to bed. And on Christmas Day, I want a huge turkey dinner and cherry pie for dessert.” The words had just tumbled out of his mouth and he’d been unable to stop them. Eric swallowed hard, knowing he was probably asking for the impossible. “I want it to be like when my mother lived with us. She always made Christmas special.”

For a long moment, Santa didn’t speak. Eric worried that he might toss him out of the Gingerbread Cottage for demanding too much. Toys were simple for a guy who owned his own toy factory, but Eric’s request was so complicated. Still, if Raymond was right, this Santa was his best shot at granting his Christmas wish.

“My—my mom left us right before Christmas two years ago. And my dad doesn’t know how to do Christmas right. Last year, we didn’t even have a tree. And—and he wants to go skiing again, but if we’re not home, we can’t have a real Christmas! You can help me, can’t you?”

“So you want your mother to come home for Christmas?”

“No,” Eric said, shaking his head. “I know she can’t come back. She’s an actress and she travels a lot. She’s in London now, doing a play. I see her in the summer for two weeks and she sends me postcards from all over. And—and I know you can’t bring me a new mother because there’s no way you can make a human in your toy factory. Not that I wouldn’t like a new mother, but hey, I know she won’t fit in the sleigh with all those toys and you’d never be able to get down the chimney carrying her in your sack and what if my dad didn’t like the kind you brought and—”

“What exactly do you want?” Santa asked, jumping in the moment Eric took a breath.

“The best Christmas ever!” he cried. “A Christmas like it used to be when my mom was here.”

“That’s a pretty big wish,” Santa said.

Eric cast his gaze to the toes of his rubber boots. “I know. But you’re Santa. If you can’t make it happen, who can?”

He risked a glance up to find Santa smiling warmly. “Do you have a letter for me, young man?”

Eric nodded. “I was going to put it in the mailbox.”

“Why don’t you give it to me personally and I’ll make sure I read it right after Mrs. Claus and I finish our dinner.”

Reaching in his jacket pocket, Eric withdrew the precious letter. Did this mean that Santa would grant his wish? Surely it must mean that he’d consider it. “Eric Marrin,” he murmured pointing to the return address, just to make sure. “731 Hawthorne Road, Schuyler Falls, New York. It’s the last driveway before you get to the bridge. The sign says Stony Creek Farm, Alex Marrin, owner. That’s my dad.”

“I’m sure it’s on my map,” Santa said. “I know I’ve been to your house before, Eric Marrin.” He patted Eric on the back. “You’re a good boy.”

Eric smiled. “I try,” he said as he slid off Santa’s lap. “Oh, and if you hear I broke the rules coming to see you tonight, maybe you could understand? I know I’m supposed to go home directly after school, but I really couldn’t ask my dad to bring me here. He’s very busy and I didn’t want him to think that I—”

“I understand. Now, do you know how to get home?”

Eric nodded. The city bus would take him back in the direction of his school and he’d have to run the mile down Hawthorne Road to make it home before dinner. He’d already told Gramps he’d planned to play at Raymond’s house after school and Raymond’s mother would drive him home. He’d have to sneak into the house unnoticed, but his father usually worked in the stables until supper time. And Gramps was usually busy with dinner preparations, his attention fixed on his favorite cooking show while the pots bubbled over on the stove.

Eric waved goodbye to Santa and, to his delight, Santa tucked his letter safe inside his big red jacket. “Some of the kids at school say you aren’t real, but I’ll always believe in you.”

With that, he hurried through the crowd and down the escalator to the first floor. When he’d finally reached the street, he took a deep breath of the crisp evening air. Fluffy snowflakes had begun to fall and the sidewalk was slippery. Eric picked up his pace, weaving in between holiday shoppers and after-work pedestrians.

The bus stop was on the other side of the town square. He paused only a moment to listen to the carolers and stare up at the huge Christmas tree, now dusted with snow. When he reached the bus stop, a long line had formed, but Eric was too excited to worry. So what if he got home a little late? So what if his father found out where he’d been? That didn’t matter anymore.

All that mattered was that Eric Marrin was going to have the most perfect Christmas in the whole wide world. Santa was going to make it happen.

“I DON’T LIKE THIS. This whole thing smells like month-old halibut.”

Holly Bennett glanced over at her assistant, Meghan O’Malley, then sighed. “And last week you thought the doorman at our office building was working as an undercover DEA agent and our seventy-year-old janitor was an international terrorist. Meg, you have got to get over this obsession with the news. Reading ten newspapers a day is starting to make you paranoid!”

As she spoke, Holly’s breath clouded in front of her face and a shiver skittered down her spine. She pulled her coat more tightly around her body, then let her gaze scan the picturesque town square. There was no denying that the situation was a little odd, but danger lurking in Schuyler Falls, New York? If she took a good look around, she would probably see the Waltons walking down the street.

“I like to be informed. Men find that sexy,” Meghan countered, her Long Island accent thick and colorful, her bright red hair a beacon even in the evening light. “And you’re entirely too trusting. You’ve lived in the big city for five years; it’s time to wise up.” She sighed and shook her head. “Maybe it’s the mob. I knew it! We’re going to be working for wise guys.”

“We’re two hundred miles north of New York City,” Holly cried. “I don’t think this is a hotbed of mob activity. Look around. We’re in the middle of a Norman Rockwell painting.” Holly turned slowly on the sidewalk to take in the gentle snowfall, the quaint streetlights, the huge Christmas tree sparkling with lights in the center of the square. She’d never seen anything quite so pretty. It was like a scene from It’s A Wonderful Life.

One side of the square was dominated by a majestic old courthouse and the opposite by a department store right out of the 1920s called Dalton’s, its elegant stone facade and wide plate-glass windows ablaze with holiday cheer. Small shops and restaurants made up the rest of the square, each and every one decked out for the Christmas season with fresh evergreen boughs and lush, red ribbon.

Meg surveyed the scene suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. “That’s what they’d like us to think. They’re luring us in, making us feel comfortable. It’s like one of those stories where the town appears perfect on the surface but it’s got a seamy underbelly that would—”

“Who is luring us in?” Holly demanded.

“Exactly my point,” Meg said. “This morning, we get a mysterious letter with a huge check signed by some phantom client with very poor penmanship. We’re given just a few hours to go home and pack, then take a train halfway across the state of New York and you don’t even know who we’re working for. Maybe it’s the CIA. They celebrate Christmas, don’t they?”

Holly glanced at Meg, then looked down at the letter clutched in her hand. The overnight missive had arrived in the Manhattan office of All The Trimmings just that morning at the very moment she’d learned her struggling business was about to finish yet another year in the red.

She’d started All The Trimmings five years ago and this Christmas had become a turning point. She was nearly twenty-seven years old and had all of $300 in her savings account. If her company didn’t show at least a few dollars profit, Holly would be forced to close down the tiny office and try another line of work. Maybe go back to the profession she’d trained for and failed at first—interior design.

Though she had plenty of competitors, no one in the Christmas business worked harder than Holly Bennett. She was a Christmas consultant, holiday decorator, personal corporate Christmas shopper and anything else her clients required. When called upon, she’d even dressed a client’s dog for a canine holiday party and baked doggy biscuits in the shape of candy canes.

She’d started off small, with residential installations, decorating New York town houses both inside and out. Her designs became known for unique themes and interesting materials. There’d been the butterfly tree she’d done for Mrs. Wellington, a huge Douglas fir covered with colorful paper butterflies. Or the decorations she’d done for Big Lou, King of the Used Cars, combining gold-sprayed auto parts ornaments and nuts and bolts garland. Over the next few years, she’d taken on corporate clients—a string of shopping malls on Long Island, a few boutiques in Manhattan—and the demand for her services had required a full-time assistant.

Holly had always loved Christmas. From the time she was a little girl, she’d anticipated the start of the season, officially beginning the moment Thanksgiving was over and ending on Christmas Day—her birthday. No sooner had her mother put away the Indian corn and Horn of Plenty centerpiece than she’d retrieve all the beautiful Christmas ornaments from the dusty old attic of their house in Syracuse. Next, Holly and her dad would cut down a tree and the whirl of decorating and shopping and cookie-baking wouldn’t stop until midnight on the twenty-fifth, when she and her mother and father would tumble into their beds, exhausted but already planning for her next birthday and the Christmas that came with it.

It was the one time of year she felt special, like a princess, instead of the shy, unpopular girl she’d been. She’d done everything to make the holiday perfect, obsessed with the tiniest details, striving for perfection. Holly’s mother had been the one to suggest that she turn her degree in interior design toward something more seasonal.

At first, Holly had been thrilled with the strange path her career had taken and she’d doted over the designs for her earlier clients. But lately, Christmas had become synonymous with business and income, profits and pressure, not happy memories of her childhood. After her parents had moved to Florida, Holly usually spent the holidays working, joining them once all her clients were in bed on Christmas night.

Without a family Christmas, she’d gradually lost touch with the spirit of the season. But it was impossible to make the trip to Florida and still keep watch over her business. So Christmas had turned into something she barely tolerated and had grown to dread, filled with last-minute details and loneliness. She sighed inwardly. What she wouldn’t give for a real family Christmas this year.

“I’ve got it!” Meg cried. “This guy we’re working for is in the witness protection program and he’s left his family behind because he doesn’t want to burden them with—”

“Enough,” Holly interrupted. “I’ll admit, his request for an immediate consultation is a bit unusual. But look at the bright side, Meg. Now that all our other holiday installations are complete, we really don’t have that much to do.” She could certainly find time to make Christmas perfect for a client who chose to pay her a $15,000 retainer for a two-week project, even if he was in the witness protection program.

“Nothing to do?” Meg asked. “We’ve got six new commercial installations with mechanized reindeers and sleighs to maintain and you know how temperamental those singing reindeer are. And that tree we did for Farley’s courtyard on Park Avenue is going to take a lot of maintenance. If we get a stiff wind, all the decorations will end up in the East River. Plus we’ve got a list of corporate Christmas gifts we still need to shop for.”

“We can’t afford to turn this job down,” Holly murmured. “I’ve already spent my inheritance keeping this business afloat and my parents aren’t even dead yet!”

“So how are we supposed to know who we’re meeting?” Meg asked.

“The check was from the TD One Foundation. And the letter says he’ll be wearing a sprig of holly in his lapel.”

That very moment, Holly saw a tall gentleman approaching with the requisite holly. She jabbed Meg in the side and they both smiled graciously. “No more cracks about the mob,” she muttered.

“Miss Bennett? Miss O’Malley?”

“He knows our names!” Meg whispered. “He probably knows where we live. If we make a run for it now, we might be able to get to the train before he sets his goons on us.”

He held out his hand and Holly took it, noticing the fine cashmere coat he wore and the expensive gloves. Her gaze rose to his face and she felt her breath drain from her body. If this man was a mobster, then he was the handsomest mobster she’d ever seen. His dark hair ruffled in the wind and his patrician profile looked like carved marble in the dim light from the street lamps.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “And thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Mr.—I’m sorry,” Meg said, holding out her own hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

His cool expression didn’t change as he brushed off her indirect question. “My name isn’t important or necessary.”

“How did you know it was us?” Meg asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I just have a few minutes to talk, so why don’t we get down to business.” He reached for a manila envelope tucked beneath his arm. “All the information is here,” he said. “The contract is for $25,000. Fifteen for your time, ten for expenses. Personally, I think $25,000 is entirely too much, but then, it’s not my decision. Of course, you’ll be required to stay here in Schuyler Falls until the day after Christmas. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

Startled by the odd demand, Holly wasn’t sure how to respond. Whose decision was it and what decision was he talking about? “Usually we suggest a budget after we’ve done a design, and once that’s approved, we work out a timetable for installation. I—I don’t know what you want or where you want it and we’re up against a tight deadline.”

“Your brochure says ‘We make Christmas perfect.’ That’s all he wants, a perfect Christmas.”

“Who?” Holly asked.

“The boy. Ah, I believe his name is Eric Marrin. It’s all in the file, Miss Bennett. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must go. I have a car waiting for you just over there. If you have any problems with the contract, you can call the number listed on the front of the folder and I’ll hire someone else to do the job. Miss Bennett, Miss O’Malley, have a merry Christmas.”

With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd of shoppers strolling through the square, leaving both Holly and Meg with their mouths agape. “Gorgeous,” Meg murmured.

“He’s a client,” Holly said, still stinging from his abrupt manner. “And rude! Besides, you know I’m engaged.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “You broke up with Stephan nearly a year ago and you haven’t seen him since. He hasn’t even called you. He’s not much of a fiancé if you ask me.”

“We didn’t break up,” Holly replied, starting off toward the car parked on the other side of the square. “He told me to take all the time I needed to decide on his proposal. And he has contacted me. I had a message on my machine a few weeks ago. He said he’d call me after the holidays and that he had something very important to tell me.”

Meg grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. “You don’t love him, Holly. He’s snooty and self-absorbed and he has absolutely no passion.”

“I could love him,” Holly said, a defensive edge to her voice. “And now that my business will be in the black, I’ll have some independence. I won’t be marrying him for his money, for a secure future. We’ll be equals.”

Meg paused for a long moment, then groaned. “Oh, I didn’t want to tell you this,” she muttered, “especially right before the holidays. But I read something in the papers last month and—”

“If this is another story about underworld crime, I—”

“Stephan’s engaged,” Meg blurted out. “That’s probably what he wants to tell you. He’s marrying the daughter of some really rich guy. They’re getting married in June in the Hamptons.” Meg slipped her arm around Holly’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t have told you like this, but you have to put Stephan out of your life. It’s over, Holly.”

“But—but we were engaged,” Holly murmured, stunned at the news. “I finally made my decision and—and—”

“And it wasn’t right. Holly, why do you think it took you a whole year to decide? It’s because you didn’t love him. Someday you’ll meet a man who’ll sweep you off your feet, but that man wasn’t supposed to be Stephan.” She patted her back sympathetically. “So, let’s just focus on work, all right? We’ve got a new job that pays $15,000. Open that envelope and let’s hear what we have to do.”

Numbly Holly tore open the envelope. In her heart, she knew Meghan was right. She didn’t love Stephan, she never had. She’d only decided to accept his proposal because no one else had bothered asking. But the news still stung. Being rejected by a man—even a man you didn’t love—was still humiliating.

She drew a shaky breath. So she’d pass this Christmas as a free woman—no family, no fiancé, nothing but work to occupy her time. Holly pulled out a sheaf of papers from the envelope. Clipped on top was a letter, written on wide-lined paper, in a childish scrawl with smeared lead pencil. She skimmed through it, then moaned softly, her troubles with Stephan suddenly pushed aside. “Oh, my. Look at this.”

Meg snatched the letter from Holly’s fingers and read it aloud. “Dear Santa, my name is Eric Marrin and I am almost eight and I have only one Christmas wish.” She glanced at Holly and grinned. “W-U-S-H. I would like you to bring me a Christmas like me and my dad used—Y-O-U-S-T—to have when my mom lived at our house. She made Christmas…” Meg frowned at the spelling. “Seashell?”

Holly sighed. “Special.” She flipped through the rest of the papers, long lists of items suggested for Christmas gifts and decorations and special dinners and activities, all to be paid for by an unnamed benefactor.

Meg waved the letter under Holly’s nose, her apprehension suddenly gone. “You have to take this job, Holly. You can’t let this little boy down. This is what Christmas is all about.” She glanced around the square, then fixed her gaze on the department store. “Dalton’s,” she murmured. “You know, I’ve read about Dalton’s, last year in some upstate newspaper. The article said their Santa grants special wishes to children, but no one knows where the money comes from. Do you think that guy was—”

Holly shoved the papers back into the envelope. “I don’t care where the money comes from. We have a job to do and I’m going to do it.”

“What about our clients in the city?”

“You’ll take the train back to the city tonight and take care of them, while I do the job here.”

Meg smiled. “This will be good for you, Holly. No time to be lonely for your family, no time to think about that jerk, Stephan. An almost unlimited budget to make a perfect Christmas. It’s like you’ve won the lottery or died and gone to Christmas heaven.”

Maybe this was exactly what she needed to rediscover the spirit of the season! All the way up from the city, she’d stared out the train window and watched the picturesque Hudson Valley scenery pass by. And when they’d stepped off the train, she’d been transported to another world, where the commercialism of Christmas hadn’t quite taken hold.

Here, people smiled as they passed on the street and children laughed. From every shop doorway, the sound of Christmas music drifted out on the chill night air, mixing with the jingle bells from a horse-drawn carriage that circled the square. “It is perfect,” she murmured, the lyrics from “Silver Bells” drifting through her head. And spending Christmas in Schuyler Falls was a far sight better than passing the holiday buried in year-end tax reports for her accountant.

She drew a deep breath and smiled. “Maybe I’ll have a merry Christmas after all.”

THE ANCIENT ROLLS ROYCE turned off the main road into the winding driveway of Stony Creek Farm just as Holly finished rereading her contract. The ride from downtown Schuyler Falls was even more picturesque than the train ride upstate, if that was possible. The old downtown gave way to lovely neighborhoods with stately brick and clapboard homes, built as summer homes for wealthy New Yorkers in the early part of the century, those who enjoyed the waters of nearby Saratoga Springs. Then, the streetlights disappeared and the houses became fewer, set back from the winding road and nearly hidden by thickets of leafless trees.

Somewhere in the darkness, the Hudson River streamed by, the same river she saw from her high-rise apartment on the west side of Manhattan. But here it was different, more pristine, adding to the magical atmosphere. The chauffeur, George, kept up a steady stream of informative chatter, giving her the history of the town and its people, yet steadfastly refusing to reveal who had hired him. She did learn that Stony Creek Farm was one of the few active horse breeding farms left in the area, owned by the Marrin family, longtime residents of Schuyler Falls.

As they slowly approached the main house, Holly peered through the frosty car window. On either side of the driveway were long white barns flanked by well-maintained plank fences. The house wasn’t nearly as grand as some she’d seen, but it was large and inviting with its white clapboard siding, deep porches and green shutters.

“Here you are, miss,” George said as he pulled to a stop. “Stony Creek Farm. I’ll wait out here to take you back to town if you’d like.”

She nodded. They’d dropped Meg at the train station to catch the late train back and Holly had picked up her overnight bag from a locker there. But as the hour was late, she’d decided to find a hotel after she’d introduced herself to Eric Marrin.

In truth, now that she was here, Holly wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject of her assignment. Her contract expressly forbid any mention of who’d hired her or who was paying the bill, not that she knew herself. But for all the Marrins knew, she was a complete stranger intruding on their lives. “Why don’t you wait at the end of the driveway,” she said. With no visible transportation back to town, Eric Marrin and his father would be compelled to invite her inside.

George hopped out of the car and ran around to open her door. As she stepped out, she didn’t see any sign of Christmas, no wreath on the door, no lighted tree shining through a front window. Holly slowly climbed the front steps, then reached out for the brass door knocker. She snatched her hand back. What was she supposed to say?

“Hi, I’m here to grant your Christmas wish.” She swallowed hard. “My name is Holly Bennett and I’ve been sent by Santa Claus.” She was allowed to say she worked for the fat guy in the red suit, that much her contract did state.

“This is crazy,” she muttered, turning around. A cold wind whipped around her feet and she tugged the lapels of her coat up around her face. “They’re not going to let a perfect stranger in the house.”

But the prospect of finally turning a profit was too much to resist. Perhaps she could even give Meg a well-deserved bonus this year. Gathering her resolve, Holly reached out and pushed the doorbell instead. A dog barked inside, and a few seconds later, the door swung open. The light from the foyer framed a small figure, a pale-haired boy with wide brown eyes and a curious expression. His large black dog stood next to him, eyeing Holly suspiciously. This had to be Eric Marrin.

“Hi,” he said, his hand resting on the dog’s head.

“Hi,” Holly replied nervously.

“My dad’s still in the barn. He’ll be in soon.”

“I’m not here to see your dad. Are you Eric?”

The boy nodded.

Holly held out her hand and smiled. “I—I’m…I’m your Christmas angel. Santa sent me to make all your Christmas dreams come true.” She was sure the words would sound ridiculous once they left her mouth, but from the look on Eric’s face, she couldn’t fault her choice. An expression of pure joy suffused his features and the dog wagged his tail and barked.

“Wait here,” he cried. The boy raced off into the house and returned a few moments later. He shrugged into his jacket, tugged on his mittens and grabbed her hand. “I knew you’d come,” he said, his voice breathless with excitement.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he dragged her down the front steps, the dog trailing after them.

“To see my dad. You have to tell him we can’t go to Colorado for Christmas. He’ll listen to you. You’re an angel.”

They followed a snow-covered path toward the nearest barn, the cold and damp seeping through Holly’s designer pumps. A real angel wouldn’t mind the wet shoes, but they were her favorite pair and she’d spent a week’s salary on them. She made a note to herself to use part of her budget for some cold weather essentials, like waterproof boots and socks, a necessity while working for a client who didn’t bother shoveling the snow.

“Did you talk to Santa?” Eric asked. “He must have read my letter right away. I only gave it to him a few days ago.”

Holly hesitated for a moment, then decided to maintain the illusion. “Yes, I did speak to Santa. And he told me personally to give you a perfect Christmas.”

When they reached the barn, Eric grabbed the latch on the double door, heaved the doors open and showed her inside. A wide aisle ran the length of the barn, covered in a thin layer of straw and lit from above. “Dad!” Eric yelled. “Dad, she’s here. My Christmas angel is here.”

He hurried along the stalls, peering inside, and Holly followed him, steeling herself for his father’s reaction. What she wasn’t prepared for was her own reaction. A tall, slender man suddenly stepped out of a stall in front of her and she jumped back, pressing her palm to her chest to stop a scream. She’d expected someone older, maybe even middle-aged. But this man wasn’t even thirty!

Holly looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, bright and intense, the kind of blue that could make a girl melt, or cut her to the quick. He was tall, well over six feet, his shoulders broad and his arms finely muscled from physical labor. He wore scuffed work boots, jeans that hugged his long legs and a faded corduroy shirt with the sleeves turned up. Her eyes fixed on a piece of straw, caught in his sun-streaked hair.

He took a long look at her, then glanced over his shoulder at his son who continued to search each stall. “Eric?”

The little boy turned and ran back to them both. “She’s here, Dad. Santa sent me an angel.” He pointed to his father. “Angel, this is my dad, Alex Marrin. Dad, this is my Christmas angel.”

She fought the urge to reach out and rake her hands through his hair, brushing away the straw and restoring perfection to an already perfect picture of masculine beauty. Holly coughed softly, realizing that she’d forgotten to breathe. She struggled to speak beneath his piercing gaze. “I—I’ve been sent by Santa,” she said in an overly bright tone. “I’m here to make all your dreams come true.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I—I mean, all Eric’s dreams. All Eric’s Christmas dreams.”

She watched as his gaze raked along her body, boldly, suspiciously. A shiver skittered down her spine and she wanted to turn and run. For all Eric’s excitement at her arrival, she saw nothing but mistrust in this man’s expression. But she held her ground, unwilling to let him intimidate her.

Suddenly Alex Marrin’s expression softened and he laughed out loud, a sound she found unexpectedly alluring. “This is some kind of joke, right? What are you going to do? Start up the music and peel off your clothes?” He reached out and flicked his finger at the front of her coat. “What do you have on under there?”

Holly gasped. “I beg your pardon!”

“Who sent you? The boys down at the feed store?” He turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Pa, get out here! Did you order me an angel?”

A man’s head popped out of a nearby stall, his weathered face covered with a rough gray beard. He moved to stand in the middle of the aisle, leaning on a pitchfork and shaking his head.

“She’s my angel,” Eric insisted. “Not some lady from the feed store.”

The old man chuckled to himself. “Naw, I didn’t send you anything. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be refusing that delivery.” He winked at Eric. “We could use an angel ’round this place.”

“That’s my gramps,” Eric explained.

“Who sent you?” Alex Marrin demanded.

“Santa sent her,” Eric replied. “I went to see him down at Dalton’s and I—”

Alex’s attention jumped to his son. “You went to see Santa? When was this?”

Eric kicked at a clump of straw, his expression glum. “The other day. After school. I just had to go, Dad. I had to give him my letter.” He took Holly’s hand. “She’s here to give us a Christmas like we used to have. You know, when Mom was…”

Alex Marrin’s jaw tightened and his expression grew hard. “Go back to the house, Eric. And take Thurston with you. I’ll be in to talk to you in a few minutes.”

“Don’t send her away, Dad,” Eric pleaded. His father gave him a warning glare and the little boy ran out of the barn, the exchange observed by his glowering grandfather. The old man cursed softly and stepped back into the stall. When the door slammed behind Eric, Alex Marrin turned his attention back to Holly.

“All right,” he said. “Who are you? And who sent you?”

“My name is Holly Bennett,” she replied, reaching into her purse for a business card. “See? All The Trimmings. We do professional decorating and event planning for the Christmas holidays. I was hired to give your son his Christmas wish. I’m to work for you through Christmas day.”

“Hired by whom?”

“I—I’m afraid I can’t say. My contract forbids it.”

“What is this? Charity? Or maybe some busybody’s idea of generosity?”

“No!” Holly said. “Not at all.” She reached in her coat pocket and took out Eric’s letter, then carefully unfolded it. “Maybe you should read this.”

Marrin quickly scanned the letter, then raked his hands through his hair and leaned back against a stall door. All his anger seemed to dissolve, his energy sapped and his shoulders slumped. “You must think I’m a terrible father,” he said, his voice cold.

“I—I don’t know you,” Holly replied, reaching out to touch his arm. The instant she grazed his skin, a frisson of electricity shot through her fingers. She snatched them away and shoved her hand into her pocket. “I’ve already been paid. If you send me away without completing my duties, I’ll have to return the money.”

He cursed softly, then grabbed her hand and pulled her along toward the door. Holly wasn’t sure whether to resist or go along with him. Was he going to toss her out on her ear? Or did she still have time to argue her case?

“Pa, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he muttered. “I’ve got some business to take care of with this angel.”

2

“I WANT HER TO STAY!”

Alex ground his teeth as he stared at his son standing on the other side of his bed. Eric, dressed in his cowboy pajamas, had folded his arms over his chest, set his chin intractably and refused to meet Alex’s eyes. He used to see Renee in his son, in the dark eyes and wide smile. But more and more, he was starting to see himself, especially in Eric’s stubborn nature. “I know I’ve made some mistakes since your mother left and, I promise, I’ll try to make things better. We don’t need this lady to give us a nice Christmas.”

“She’s not a lady,” Eric said with a pout. “She’s an angel. My angel.”

Alex sat down on the edge of the bed and drew back the covers. “Her name is Holly Bennett. She gave me her business card. When was the last time you heard of an angel who had a business card?”

“It could happen,” Eric said defensively. “Besides, her name doesn’t make a difference. It’s what she can do that counts.”

“What can she do that I can’t?” Alex asked. “I can put up a Christmas tree and tack up some garland.” He patted the mattress and Eric reluctantly crawled beneath the covers.

“But you can’t bake cookies and make ornaments and—and—the last time Gramps made turkey it tasted like old shoes!” He slouched down and pulled the covers up to his chin. “If you haven’t noticed, Dad, she’s really, really pretty. Like supermodel pretty. And she smells good, too. She’s mine and I want to keep her!”

Alex didn’t need to be reminded of the obvious. If she hadn’t introduced herself as a mortal being, he might have believed Holly Bennett truly was heaven sent. She had the face of an angel, a wide, sensual mouth and bright green eyes ringed with thick lashes. Her wavy blond hair had shimmered in the soft light of the barn, creating a luminous halo around her head and accentuating her high cheekbones and perfectly straight nose.

No, that fact didn’t get past him. Nor did his reaction to her beauty—sudden and stirring, almost overwhelming his senses. Over the past two years he’d managed to ignore almost every woman he’d come in contact with, not that there had been many. Running a horse breeding operation didn’t put him in the path of the opposite sex very often.

He’d ignored social invitations and community events, secluding himself on the farm day and night and losing himself in his work. The last woman he’d touched was Eric’s teacher, Miss Green, and that was a benign handshake at the parent-teacher conferences. Never mind that Miss Green was fifty-seven years old and smelled of chalk dust and rose water.

But Holly Bennett wasn’t a spinster schoolteacher and she was hard to ignore. His fingers tingled as he remembered touching her, wrapping her delicate hand in his as he dragged her out of the barn. She was waiting downstairs at this very moment, waiting for him to decide her fate, and his mind was already starting to conjure excuses to touch her again.

“She could stay in the guest room,” Eric suggested.

Alex leveled a perturbed look at his son. “I’m not allowing a perfect stranger to—”

“Angel,” Eric corrected.

“All right, a perfect angel, to stay in our house.”

“Then she can stay in the tack house. No one’s stayed there since Gramps moved back into the house. He thinks she’s pretty and nice.”

“How do you know?” Alex said, raising an eyebrow.

“I can just tell.” His son set his mouth in a stubborn straight line.

Alex covered his eyes with his hands and moaned. If he sent Holly Bennett packing, Eric would never forgive him. And he wouldn’t hear the end of it from his father. Aw, hell, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea having her around. He hated stringing lights on the tree. The smell of evergreen made him sneeze. And he was more comfortable with curry combs than cookie cutters.

Besides, Christmas had always reminded him of Renee. Every ornament, every decoration brought back memories of their time together, time when they’d been a happy family with a bright future. The week after she’d left, he’d thrown out every reminder of Christmas she’d brought into the house, vowing to discard anything that brought thoughts of her betrayal.

But here was a chance to begin anew, to create Christmas traditions only he and Eric shared. Sure, Holly the Angel would be around, but she was nothing more than an employee, a helping hand during a busy season. And he was curious to learn who was paying her salary, a secret he might learn given time. “All right,” Alex said. “She has three days to prove herself and if everything’s going all right, she can stay.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You do!” Eric cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Martha Stewart,” she muttered.

“What?”

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

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

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

“Don’t know, or can’t say?”

“Both,” Holly murmured.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My things?”

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

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

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

“Mr. Marrin, I—”

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

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

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

“SHE’S AN ANGEL. I SWEAR!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here you are!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alex shook his head. “Nope.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sit,” he ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Mr. Marrin.”

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

“All right, Jed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t I get a shot?” she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, yeah? Well, that’s even better.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s all this?” Alex asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“No!” she cried.

Alex pulled his fingers away. “No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Holy cow! Look at this!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t say,” Alex muttered.

“Twelve days of gifts?” Eric gasped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holly swallowed hard. “Bugs?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As Eric pulled her to the next window, she glanced over her shoulder and found Alex watching them. He’d stepped out of the truck and now stood with his arms braced on the hood, his gaze following them both. From this distance, she couldn’t read his expression, only that he wasn’t smiling. For such a seemingly unaffected man, he was endlessly complicated, his mood shifting in the blink of an eye.

When she looked for him again a moment later, the truck was gone and Holly felt strangely disappointed. It had been so long since a man had looked at her with anything more than mild interest. And so long since she’d even bothered to care. With a soft laugh, she pulled Eric away from the windows. “Come on, we have shopping to do!”

They hurried through the revolving door, then stopped inside the grand entryway of Dalton’s. Holly felt as if she’d been instantly transported back in time. This was the way shopping used to be, with smiling salesclerks who called you by name and uniformed doormen who welcomed you with a nod. The terrazzo floors shone and the smell of lemon oil drifted off the rich mahogany paneling.

As they strolled past the perfume counter, she noticed the huge Christmas tree set in the center of the store. Slowly her eyes rose, higher and higher, up through a soaring atrium three stories high. Above her, shoppers rested along the railings, staring out at the twinkling lights and shiny ornaments. A tiny thrill raced through her and, for a moment, she felt like a young girl again, full of the excitement of the season.

“It’s magical,” Holly murmured. “And a real tree. I wonder how they got it in here?”

“They always have a big tree.” Eric pulled her along toward the escalator. “First, we have to go see Santa. Then we can look at the tree.”

“I thought you already talked to Santa,” Holly said, hurrying to match his pace.

“I have to thank him,” Eric said.

“For what?”

“For you!”

Holly’s heart warmed at his innocent compliment. She’d only been a Christmas angel for a few days, but she already knew it was the best job she’d ever had. Devoting herself to the happiness of a sweet boy like Eric Marrin could hardly be called work.

They stepped onto the old escalator and ascended to the second floor, then joined the long line of children waiting at the gate to a cute little gingerbread village. The place was lined with aisles of toys, but Eric didn’t even notice, his gaze fixed squarely on the entrance to Santa’s kingdom.

As they waited, Holly was reminded of her childhood, how resolute she’d been in her own belief in Santa, and how she had challenged anyone who told her differently. Here, with Eric’s hand clutching hers, she could almost believe again in the pure magic of Christmas, and the warmth and security of a family to share it with.

“Hey, kid! What are you doing back here?”

They both turned to see one of Santa’s elves approaching—Twinkie, by her name tag. Holly felt Eric’s hand squeeze hers a little tighter. “Hi, Twinkie! Look what I brought. It’s my Christmas angel.”

The elf stared down at Eric, her hands braced on her hips. “Your what?”

“My angel. Her name is Holly and Santa sent her to me. She’s going to make my Christmas perfect. I came back here to thank him.”

The elf’s gaze rose to Holly’s face and she stared at her shrewdly, her pretty features pensive, curious. A bit too curious for Holly’s liking. “Santa sent you?” she asked. “That’s not true, is it?”

Holly glanced over her shoulder, uneasy with the elf’s sudden interest in private matters. “I—I’m really not at liberty to say,” she replied. “Come on, Eric, we’ll come back a little later and thank Santa. We’ve got a lot of shopping to do.” She tugged on his hand and led him away.

“Wait,” the elf cried, weaving through the waiting crowd. “I just have a few questions to ask.”

They lost the elf somewhere in bed linens, crouching behind a pile of down comforters to conceal themselves and holding their breaths as Twinkie’s jingling elf boots passed by. When Holly was sure they were safe, she pulled Eric to his feet. “Maybe it would be best if we didn’t tell anyone else about your Christmas angel,” she suggested.

“Why?”

Holly scrambled to come up with a logical reason. “Because we wouldn’t want all the other kids to ask for their own angels. There are just so many angels to go around and we wouldn’t want anyone to be disappointed.”

Eric nodded solemnly. “Yes. Maybe that would be best.”

As they searched out the tree trimming department, Holly glanced down at Eric and smoothed his mussed hair. He looked up at her and smiled, his whole face radiating joy. How different he was from his father, Holly mused. While Eric Marrin wore his emotions on his sleeve, his father hid them behind a stony face. While Eric was friendly and outgoing, Alex Marrin was aloof and indifferent.

She sighed softly. She’d stepped into the lives of these two males intending to do her job and make her $15,000. But this was more than a job. It was a chance to make a real difference in Eric’s life, to give him something that he’d been missing. If the contract were canceled tomorrow, Holly knew she’d never be able to abandon the job. She was already falling under the spell of the little boy’s charm.

She drew a steadying breath. Now, if she could only avoid doing the same with his father.

A FRESH DUSTING OF SNOW had fallen that morning and, in the waning light of day, it sparkled like tiny diamonds. Alex drew a deep breath of the cold afternoon air. As he looked out over the rolling land, the thick trees and wide meadows, he smiled. This was his land, his future—and the future of his son. Nothing could tear him away from this place. Not even a woman.

Renee had tried to draw him away, to force him into her life in New York City. But when he’d insisted they come back to Stony Creek when she got pregnant, she’d had no choice but to agree. From the day she set foot on the farm, he knew she didn’t belong. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when she left six years later, but it did.

He glanced back at Holly, who trudged through the snow in his footsteps, Eric at her side. The two of them, bundled against the cold, held hands, Eric staring up at Holly as if she really were an angel sent from above. But to Alex, she’d become a siren sent by the devil himself, sent to torment and tempt him with her beauty and her allure. She didn’t belong here, either. Even dressed in insulated boots and a thick wool field jacket, she still looked like a city girl.

He vowed to maintain his distance from her again and again, but at every turn, she was there, asking him questions, seeking out his help. He’d had his resolve sorely tested trying not to touch her while he drove them back from their shopping spree at Dalton’s last night. And when she thanked him for carrying her parcels into the house, he’d fought an overwhelming urge to bend a little nearer and kiss her. Even this morning at breakfast, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of her, preoccupied with a covert inventory of her pretty features.

And now, even with the cold air and the bright sunshine, he wanted to pull her into his arms and tumble into the snow. Instead he was forced to focus on the task at hand—finding three suitable Christmas trees for the house. He stopped to stare up at a twelve-foot balsam pine, then waited for Holly and Eric to catch up.

“How about this one?” he asked.

Holly’s gaze skimmed over the height and width of the tree, then she slowly circled it, taking in its every detail. She’d already rejected the past forty-seven trees he’d shown her and if she rejected another, he’d be hard-pressed not to toss her in the nearest snowbank and continue the search without her.

“I don’t know,” Holly said. “It seems a little bare on the other side. And it’s really not very thick.” She sighed. “It would be much more efficient if we just went to a tree lot and bought three trees. We just don’t have the time to search.”

Alex ground his teeth as he attempted to bite back a sarcastic retort. This is precisely why he didn’t shop with women. Whether they were looking for something as complex as panty hose or something as simple as a damn Christmas tree, they always had to turn it into a major production. “We’ll put the bare spot against the wall,” he said. “No one will know it’s there.”

“I’ll know,” Holly said. “And it won’t be perfect.”

“Nothing I show you is going to be perfect,” Alex replied. “It’s not supposed to be perfect. The reason we’re cutting our own tree is that we always cut our own tree. It’s family tradition.”

“You don’t have to get mad,” Holly shouted. “I’ll find a tree. It will just take time. Sometimes my father and I would search for days for just the perfect tree.”

Alex stopped and slowly turned to Holly. “Days? We’ve been out here four hours and that’s three hours longer than you deserve. It’s getting dark, you’ve seen hundreds of trees. Balsam, white pine, Scotch pine. Ten-feet tall, twelve-feet tall, thick and thin, short needles, long needles. Just tell me what you want!”

“I want something special,” Holly said. She crossed her arms over her breasts and stared at him, her nose rosy, her eyes bright. “Perfect.”

“Perfect. The only perfect thing you’re going to find in this woods is a perfect lunatic with a perfectly honed ax and a perfectly sharpened saw, and a perfectly reasonable reason to murder you if you don’t pick out a tree right now!”

She gave him a haughty look, refusing to back down. “If you’re going to be so belligerent, why don’t you just go back to the house?”

“Belligerent?” Alex asked. “You think this is belligerent?” He reached down and picked up a handful of snow, packing it with his gloved hands.

Holly held out her hand to warn him off. “Don’t even think of throwing that at me.”

Alex ignored the warning, taking her words as a challenge. When he refused to put the snowball down, Holly scrambled to make her own ammunition, enlisting Eric’s help. Alex released a tightly held breath. Though he’d derive great pleasure in giving her a faceful of snow, it wasn’t going to get them out of the woods any faster. “All right,” he said, tossing his snowball aside. “Truce. But you’ve got thirty minutes to find a decent trio of trees or I’m going to leave you out here to freeze.”

“Hey, Dad, you’re a poet and you don’t even know it!”

Alex turned on his heel and started down the trail once again. But the shock of cold snow on his bare neck stopped him short. With a low growl, he slowly faced them. They both looked guilty as sin, satisfied smiles pasted on their rosy-cheeked faces. He raised his brow at Eric and his son tipped his head toward Holly.

In one smooth motion, he scooped up a handful of snow, packed it tight and took a step toward her. He was about to show her exactly who wore the pants around Stony Creek Farm. Holly let out a tiny shriek, then spun around and headed for the safety of a small tree.

Eric grabbed up a snowball and threw it at Alex, hitting him on the thigh. Alex scowled at his son. “So that’s the way it is. You’re going to side with the girl?”

“She’s my angel and I have to protect her.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “And this is war!” Eric let out a piercing battle cry, then scampered over to Holly’s hiding place.

A full-scale battle erupted with Alex taking the brunt of the assault. He tore through the trees, looking for Holly only to get ambushed by another snowball from Eric. And when he took off after Eric, Holly would come to the boy’s rescue with a barrage of snowballs meant to lay him low.

Breathless and wet with water running down his neck and settling near the small of his back, Alex decided to employ a new strategy—stealth. He gathered up a handful of snow and tiptoed through the trees, stopping to listen every few seconds. His efforts paid off, for a few moments later, he came up behind Holly.

Slowly he crept toward her as she peered out from behind a squat little fir tree. At the last minute, she heard him and, with a loud yell, Alex grabbed her from behind and playfully wrestled her down into the snow. He caught her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head. She didn’t have time to scream before he washed her face with the snowball. Coughing and sputtering, she looked up at him, her lashes covered with ice crystals.

But the battle between them quickly faded as Alex stared down at her. She lay perfectly still, her slender body stretched beneath his, their hips pressed together. Her breath came in quick, deep gasps, visible in the cold air. And though he refused to let her go, she didn’t attempt to shout for Eric’s help.

He gently wiped the snow from her eyes. “Do you surrender?” Alex asked, keenly aware of the deeper meaning to his question.

She nodded, her gaze fixed on his, her lips parted. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and, to his surprise, she turned her face into his palm, tempting him with a subtle sign of her desire, closing her eyes to await his kiss. Groaning softly, Alex bent nearer, already anticipating the warm sweetness of her mouth, the flood of need that promised to rush through his bloodstream.

But a moment before their lips met, Alex heard a rustling in the nearby trees. He released her wrists and pushed up, bracing his arms on either side of her head. When Eric’s scream split the cold, silent air, Holly stiffened beneath him, then began to wriggle.

Alex groaned. “The kid has impeccable timing.”

“Let me up!” she cried.

The electricity between them died instantly, doused by a healthy dose of reality. When Alex saw Eric’s boots beneath the trees, he rolled to the side. Holly scrambled to her feet and frantically began to brush the snow from her clothes. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she murmured, refusing to meet his gaze. “I—I’m here to do a job and nothing more. I trust you’ll remember that from now on?”

Alex smiled as he struggled to his feet, evidence of his desire pressing against the snow-dampened fabric of his jeans. “Hey, all’s fair in love and war,” he replied. “Isn’t that what they say?”

She opened her mouth to snap out a reply, but just then Eric appeared from behind the tree. He took in his father’s appearance, then grinned. “Holly got you good!” he cried. “We win, we win!”

Alex cleared his throat, then nodded. “Yeah, Scout, Holly got me good.”

The “victor” pasted a bright smile on her face and held out her hand to Eric. “We better get going,” she said. “We still have three trees to find.” Without looking at Alex, she brushed by him and trudged off on her quest for perfection.

When Alex caught up to them, a full five minutes later, he’d managed to quell his physical reaction to their encounter, but couldn’t banish the sense of regret he felt. What might have happened if they’d been alone in the woods, without interruption? Would they have given in to their attraction, finally and fully? She’d wanted him to kiss her. He’d seen it in her eyes, in the way her mouth quivered slightly, in the soft clouds of frozen breath that betrayed her excitement. But how much longer could they both deny what was so blatantly obvious? They wanted each other, in the simplest, most primal way.

“Come on, Dad!” Eric called. “Holly found a tree she likes.”

She stood beside a balsam that resembled every other balsam she’d rejected, her hands clutched in front of her, her attention firmly on the tree. “This is the one,” she murmured, again refusing to look at him.

Alex circled the tree, knowing full well that she’d chosen the first thing she’d come upon. It was clear she’d do anything to escape his presence, including settling for a substandard tree. “What about this bare spot?” he asked.

“We can put it against the wall,” she said, her earlier enthusiasm diminished, her expression uneasy. “And that little one, over there, will be fine for the library. And the one over there for the family room. If you’ll just cut them down, we can be on our way.”

She was upset, but Alex wasn’t sure why. Could he have misread her reactions? Had he been so long without a woman that he couldn’t tell the difference between desire and distaste? He cursed inwardly, cursed his runaway urges and his unbidden reaction to them. “Eric, why don’t you take Miss Bennett back to the house. She looks a little…cold.”

That brought a response, narrowed eyes and cheeks stained red from more than just the frigid air. “I can find my way back on my own,” she said defensively.

“I’m sure you can. But I’d feel better if Eric showed you the way. He knows this land as well as I do.”

Alex watched them go, standing in the same spot until they disappeared behind a low rise in the landscape. Then with a soft groan, he sat down in the snow. Though he’d tried his best to resist her, there was no denying the truth. He wasn’t going to be satisfied until he kissed Holly Bennett, long and hard and deep. Maybe then, he’d be able to put this strange fascination behind him. That was the answer, then. At the next available opportunity, he’d pull her into his arms and kiss her. And finally, that would be the end of it.

Or maybe, it would just be a beginning.

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