Page 50 of Mistletoe

“If you don’t mind spiders.”

The door creaked open.

“What’s under the tarp?”

The sheriff didn’t wait for an answer. A moment later, the tarp was yanked away, releasing a cloud of dust in the air.

“A loom. Satisfied?” Emma asked.

Footsteps retreated. Hal waited until Emma returned to the workshop.

“All clear,” she announced.

“I brought trouble to your door,” Hal said as he attempted to remove himself from his hiding location and succeeded in knocking over… something. A collection of sticks tied together with strips of canvas.

“Don’t worry about the sheriff. She’s just one of many trials and tribulations in life,” she said lightly. “I thought for sure you hid under the tarp. I thought we were toast.”

“It seemed too obvious.”

Emma peered into the depths of the workshop. “I haven’t been here in ages.”

“What is the purpose of this place besides setting traps?” Hal moved a box to one side to create a path.

“It was—is my mother’s studio. Her art is eclectic. Her favored medium is the new and novel. But she hasn’t painted or really done anything creative for a while. It turned into a place to store junk. Sorry about the traps.” She brushed the dust off the top of a small wooden box before opening it. “I wonder if this paint is still good or if it dried out.”

Now that he knew what he was looking at, Hal saw the disused art equipment. The paint boxes, easels, canvas leaning against a wall, as well as tools for fine metalworking. Handmade pots. Aprons. Paint long ago spilled on the floor with cat pawprints weaving a trail through the jumble of artifacts.

With careful maneuvering, he extracted himself from the workshop without causing an avalanche.

He must have had a particularly worried expression on his face. When he reached the door, Emma placed a hand on his arm. She said, “I’m serious. Don’t worry about the sheriff. I’ll protect you.”

No one had ever protected Hal from anything. The people he should have trusted, should have been relied on to care for him when he was helpless, betrayed him. Abused him. Emma’s vow was naive but kind. Too few people had been kind to him.

Something shifted inside him. He would tear the world apart and set it ablaze to protect this woman.

Emma

“Stand still or I’ll jab you,” Emma said.

“It is not my fault.”

Hal stood by the kitchen hearth, wearing the too-long trousers Emma sewed. Emma sat on the floor, pins at the ready to hem said trousers. Clover kept coming to investigate, determined to climb Hal.

Emma scooped up the black cat and dumped her in Hal’s arms. “Just hold her. That’s what she wants.”

What she wanted, too, but Emma kept that bit to herself.

The trousers were made of inexpensive, durable fabric. She estimated his size when cutting the fabric, judging the waist fairly accurately based on how Felix’s old things fit, but she got the legs completely wrong. Several inches of fabric puddled on the floor.

“There. All done.” On her knees, Emma patted her thighs. Looking up, Hal was very tall. Very, very tall. Imposing and strong. She totally understood Clover’s need to climb him.

You and me, kitty.

“Turn around. I want to check the fit,” Emma said.

Fabric stretched taut over a muscular backside. The urge to reach out and squeeze overcame her. She had seen him nude before—twice—but somehow, this was more enticing than a bare bottom.

“Nice. I mean, it looks good,” she said, blushing furiously. “Can you bend and move? Is it too tight?”

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