Page 27 of Silver Hills' Christmas Miracle

Without a word, Rook took over the massage of my stiff neck, and he was much more skilled than I was. His fingertips pressed deep in a slow, rhythmic manner. As his fingertips rolled, his palms followed and he worked swiftly but firmly along the back of my neck and then down both sides to the juncture of my shoulders.

Whether it was his touch or his presence, I couldn’t tell, but it wasamazing. Tension eased away like a wave, and my shoulders dropped down an inch as relaxation swept through my muscles. His thumbs pressed from the tops of my shoulders down to the curve of my blades and then stroked back up. From there, thesize of his large hands clasping my shoulders was enough to send a fizzing thrill of excitement right down to my core.

Was it appropriate of me to think of him shoving me down onto this counter and fucking me? No, but I was going to do it, anyway.

The moment was broken sharply by my toast popping back into existence, and Rook retracted his hands. Just in time, too, as not half a second later, the kitchen door swung open and in walked one of the staff. He glanced at the two of us with a polite smile, grabbed something from one of the cupboards under the sink, and left.

In his absence, I realized my heart was pounding. Was that from Rook’s touch or nearly getting caught? I might have confessed some feelings, but we hadn’t discussed how to make sure Rook kept his job other than a quiet understanding not to get caught. Not yet.

“Are you going to talk to my father?” I asked softly, placing my toast down on a wooden board as the coffee machine beeped its completion song.

“About?” Rook asked, busying himself with two mugs.

“About yesterday. What I… told you.” I had to ask him. As relaxed as his brief massage made me, it did nothing to soothe the anxious knot in my gut. I needed to know if Rook was on my side.

The coffee mugs clinked, and the machine beeped a new tune as Rook removed the coffee pot and began filling our mugs.

“No,” he replied once the coffee reached the brim of each cup. “I won’t tell him.”

“Why not?” I couldn’t look at him as I quizzed him, too unsure of what I would see on his face. Instead, I focused on buttering my toast and seeking out some raspberry jelly to sweeten my breakfast.

“Because, Kitty, you are my charge. My job is to protect you in any way that you might need protection. That doesn’t just cover crazy townspeople in the street. That includes anything at home that might cause you harm.” Rook moved beside me and set a steaming cup of coffee just next to the wooden board. “You are my charge. I was serious about that when I took this job. I won’t be telling him because you don’t want me to, and I’m not entirely convinced that it would be a safe thing to do.”

I finally lifted my head and stared into his gorgeous olive eyes. “You think it would put me in danger if my father knew?”

“Maybe. All I know is that the act of telling your father would cause you harm and I don’t want to do that. Not just because of my job.” His lips twitched slightly, and I was locked in the intensity of his gaze. “So my silence is yours.”

“Thank you,” I breathed out. “I was so worried that you would… well, he pays you, so I thought that’s where your true loyalty would lie.”

“We would not have done what we did if that were the case.” Rook’s face softened slightly, and he looked more like the version of him that had rocked my world. I liked that version the best.

“And if I do more things with that group?” I asked, lowering my voice. “Is your silence guaranteed?”

“Yes, until there is a point when my silence is harmful,” Rook said. “And I was thinking about your predicament.”

“My predicament?” I picked up a slice and took a bite, savoring the sweetness of the jelly mixing with the saltiness of the butter.

“What you attempted yesterday and the rather surprising lack of effect it had.”

I snorted. “That’s my dad. A hurricane could blow through here, and as long as his stocks are safe, he wouldn’t notice.”

Rook nodded, then with his mug in hand, he tilted his head toward the glass double doors leading to the garden. Taking the hint, I gathered my own mug and followed him outside while enjoying my toast. It was a brisk morning outside, with winter frost clinging to every blade of grass and surviving plant that the eye could see.

Still no snow. We were in December now, and the snow was somehow a distant thought.

“What if the answer to saving the town lies within the town?” Rook asked. He stamped his feet slightly against the frosty ground as if fighting the bitter cold.

I quite liked it. “What do you mean?”

“Helping outside protesters is one thing, but out of the people I saw yesterday, there were very few I recognized from town. I don’t know howAntonorganizes these things, but there didn’t seem to be many townspeople.”

I frowned and took a welcome sip of my hot coffee. “I’m not sure.”

“So, what if you took a different approach? The people who live here are the ones directly affected by this change. Business will close, tourist foot traffic will dry up, people’s homes face the risk of flooding and more when more of the forest comes down.”

“What are you getting at?” I asked as Rook listed out everything I had already thought of.

“Your mother’s Yuletide Ball.” Rook looked at me and held my gaze. “What if you changed the guest list?”

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