Page 42 of A Merry Mountain Christmas

I’ve done plenty of skinny dipping in my day, back when we were kids and used to drive out to Waller Creek together to party, but I can tellshehasn’t. From the way she’s talking, I’ll bet she hasn’t played many games of Truth or Dare either. Beneath the excitement this stirs, because I absolutely want to see this woman naked, I feel a little sting of resentment. I suspect she’s using me the way pretty, polished girls have used me before—as their little bit of blue-collar fun before they dive back into their lives. But if I’m going to be used, it might as well be by someone like Kennedy.

“As you wish,” I say. Something about Kennedy makes me feel like the farm boy inThe Princess Bride, maybe because she’s so obviously out of my league. “You got towels?”

“In my en suite,” she says, her voice breathy, like she can’t quite believe what she just said but also doesn’t want to take it back. “I’d better hide the Christmas tree before we go.”

I have to laugh at that. “Princess, if we’re found in the pool together, your Christmas display will be the least of your problems. Especially if we’re skinny dipping.”

“You have a point.” She looks conflicted, though, like she can’t stand the thought of the little tree getting confiscated.

I smile at her. “I’ll hide it. Get the towels.”

When she slips into the bathroom, I tuck the tree into her closet, behind her long, silky gowns. I’ll see her wearing them, I suppose, but from afar. She’ll probably have one of them on the first time she kisses Marcus or Colton. Jonah or Jeff, Quinn or Ray. I’ve unwillingly watched dating shows—blame having four sisters—and I know how this works. At least a few of them will kiss her before it’s over, a thought that makes me want to beat their faces in the way Cole’s brother did to Meatball the other night.

Kennedy’s not mine, though. Not for longer than one night, so I don’t have any damn right to get pissed about that.

Kennedy comes out with the towels and flinches a little at the sight of me. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say harshly.

“You look pissed off.”

“I always look pissed off.”

“Not always,” she says, surprising me by balancing the towels in one arm and reaching out to touch my face. Her fingers trace the line between my eyebrows. “You’ve laughed at least a few times today.” Then she blanches. “I mean. Obviously not after what happened with Jay, but…”

“I’m not upset,” I say, capturing her hand and holding it. I like the feeling of it in mine. “I’m enough of an adult to know people are perfectly capable of smiling and laughing whensomething awful is happening in their lives. It doesn’t make you an asshole to find good things where you can and enjoy them. There’s always a seed of something good, even in a shit bagel.”

She smiles at this. “Leave it to you to start with something profound and end with a shit bagel.”

I’m tempted to tell her she doesn’t know me well enough to make pronouncements like that, but she has a point. Besides, I don’t want to argue with her. I want to be good to her—to show her that maybe tonight can be a bright spot for both of us.

I want to believe it can be enough.

“Let’s go,” I say. She takes a step toward the door, but I stop her with our still entwined hands. “Follow me, Princess. I know which way to go so we don’t get followed.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

KENNEDY

I creep out of the room, following Rowan with my heart hammering in my chest. He released my hand so he could lead the way, and I miss the way he held it—firm and capable, but gentle, as if he was aware of the physical power imbalance between us and wanted to make me comfortable within it.

I can’t believe I told him we’d go skinny dipping, but he said he wanted a distraction, didn’t he? I don’t want to pretend I’m doing this just for him, though, because that would be both wrong and inaccurate. In truth, I know I will have limited opportunities to spend time with Rowan Mayberry, and even fewer to potentially get him naked. After seeing what happened to Jay earlier, remembering what happened to Olive’s grandmother, I have a new appreciation for how short life is—and for how much of it I have yet to experience.

And, fine, I really, really want Rowan to at least kiss me. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before, and I’d like to know what it feels like.

Another excuse, Kennedy. Admit it, you just want to kiss him.

All right, I do.

“Where are we going?” I whisper to him as he leads the way confidently through the house’s winding hallways, into the back, where we haven’t done any filming.

“The servants’ quarters,” he says glibly. “There’s a back stairway I’m pretty sure no one will be using.”

“Good thinking,” I murmur, hefting the towels in my right hand. “Why do you know this house so well?”

Something passes over his expression, but I can’t read it. Possibly because he’s peering straight ahead, looking to the left and right every so often, as attuned to his environment as if he’s on a top-secret mission.

“I helped out a bit while they got set up here,” he says. “And I grew up in this town. Everyone’s seen parts of ‘Labelle Manor’ as they’re calling it these days.” A small smile flits across his lips. “We used to dare each other to break into the basement when we were high school kids.”

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