Page 71 of Yuletide Acres

I’m going to spank my woman’s sweet ass, I muse, pulling down the crater-filled driveway of Poppy’s cabin. The snow is already falling, and it won’t be long before the road becomes impassable, even with a four-wheel-drive vehicle.

I pound on her door, cocking my brow at her when she pulls it open. “Dylan. What are you doing here?”

“Better question is what are you doing here?”

Poppy pulls the door wider, letting me into the cabin. “I didn’t want to wear out my welcome. You three have been amazing, but I can’t keep flopping at your house.”

She couldn’t be more wrong. In the last ten days, there has been more love and laughter within those walls than ever before. Poppy literally brought the sunshine. “Sure, you can. And you’re going to.”

She plants her hands on her hips, sending me a fake glare. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Sunshine, I’m not above throwing you over my shoulder and marching you out to the Jeep.”

Poppy leans against the side table, the corners of her lips quirking in a smile. “Throwing me over your shoulder and carrying me anywhere sounds mighty tempting.”

My dick springs to life at her words, and I close the distance between us, pulling her against me as my fingers slip under her sweater. “I’ll make good on that threat later tonight. I’d make good on it right now, but Montana storms are relentless. Another twenty minutes and we’ll be snowed in, with a six-year-old waiting at home to decorate the Christmas tree.”

“What are you doing here, then?” Poppy pushes from my embrace, shaking her head. “Get out of here but be safe about it.”

“No can do. I am under strict orders to bring one Poppy Mills back with me.”

“Dylan, I appreciate it, but what if you tire of me being there?”

“I won’t. But, since you’re hard-headed, I’ll make you a deal. If I do, I’ll say so.” I pull her back against me, tangling my tongue with hers until I feel her melt into my embrace. “Now,” I reply with a swift smack to her ass, “get some clothes packed.”

* * *

Iwasn’t kidding about the storm. By the time I pull into the garage, the streets are already five inches deep. Looks like we’re all snowed in for the next day or two.

Glancing over at Poppy in the passenger seat, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.

Marissa throws open the garage door, her face beaming with excitement. “You’re back. Is Poppy here?”

I love how much my daughter cherishes Poppy. Her adoration matches my own. Ever since Poppy began staying at the house, it feels like home. There is a warmth and energy pervading every square inch, and I didn’t realize how desperately I needed it until that tiny woman walked back into my life.

But I volley between two modes—full throttle forward and idling in neutral. Not because I don’t want Poppy in my life; I actually took the ring I bought for her all those years ago to be cleaned and sized. Yes, I bought her an engagement ring right before I headed to California to find her and beg her back. I blew my entire savings on the solitaire, figuring if it was perfect, she couldn’t say no.

Now, I want to finally slip it on her finger and make her mine forever. I’m fully prepared to give her everything, including a gaggle of kids. Hey, the house is plenty big enough for a few more.

Those moments are the highlights of my days, but they’re tempered by the knowledge that just because Poppy wants marriage and kids doesn’t mean she wants them with me. I come with baggage. Granted, it’s adorable baggage, but she would have to become a full-time mother.

And although Poppy loves Marissa, that doesn’t mean she wants to raise her. There’s a tremendous difference, and a six-year-old with a broken heart is not something I want to see. It’s those thoughts that keep the ring in its box. I lost Poppy once. I don’t know if I can handle losing her twice.

Poppy is out of the Jeep, sweeping Marissa into her arms and tickling the little girl until she’s screaming with joy.

I gaze upward with a sigh. “Hey Merry, you’ve apparently given them both signs. Can you give me one? I really want to spend my life with this woman. You know that. You always knew that. But if she says no, I’m not sure I’ll recover from that level of pain.”

“Who are you talking to?” Poppy pokes her head into the garage, startling me from my one-sided conversation.

“No one,” I reply with a forced smile as I enter the house. “How about some hot chocolate and tree trimming?”

“Come see the tree, Poppy,” Marissa states, grabbing her hand and leading her to the great room.

“Wow.”

Wow is an understatement. The tree is a gigantic spruce, taking center stage in the room.

I trail behind them, carrying a tray of hot chocolate. “Marissa picked this tree out.”

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