Page 95 of The Holiday Gift

She led him into a huge room dominated by a massive angled wall of windows and the big Christmas tree he had seen glimmering from outside as they approached. Where was Caidy? he wondered, then was embarrassed at himself for looking for her straight away.

Her brother Ridge headed over immediately with a cold beer. “Hey, Doc Caldwell. Glad you could make it.”

At least one of them was. “Thanks.”

“Have you met my brothers?” Ridge asked.

“I know Chief Bowman. Fire Chief Bowman,” he corrected. He could only imagine how confusing that must be for the town, to have a fire chief and police chief who were not only brothers but identical twins.

“You’ve deserted us at the inn, I understand,” Taft Bowman said.

He winced. The only thing that bothered him worse than being obligated to Caidy was knowing he had checked out prematurely from the Cold Creek Inn. “Sorry. We were bursting at the seams there.”

“Oh, no worries about that. Laura’s already booked your rooms through the holiday. She had to turn away several guests in the past few weeks and ended up contacting some of them who wanted to be on standby. They were thrilled at the last-minute cancellation.”

He had expected the immensely popular inn would do just fine without his business. “That’s a relief.”

“She’s been saying for a week how she thought your kids needed to be in a real house for the holidays. She was thrilled when Caidy talked to her about having you stay here. As soon as she hung up the phone, she said she couldn’t believe she’d never thought of the foreman’s cottage out here.”

“I’m already missing those delicious breakfasts at the inn,” he said. That was true enough, though Mrs. Michaels was also an excellent cook and had taken great delight just that morning in preparing pancakes from scratch and her famous fluffy scrambled eggs.

In his three weeks of staying at the Cold Creek Inn, Laura Bowman had struck him as an extraordinarily kind woman. The whole family, really, had welcomed him and his children to town with warm generosity.

“The guy over there on his cell phone is my husband, Trace,” Becca said. “He’s the police chief and is lucky enough to be off duty tonight, though his deputies often forget that.”

The man in question waved and smiled a greeting but continued on the phone. Ben suddenly remembered the toffee and pulled out the tin. “Where would you like me to put this?”

“You didn’t have to fix anything,” Becca scolded.

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he admitted. “My housekeeper did all the heavy lifting. She sends her apologies, by the way. She would have come but she needed to take a call from her daughter. She’s expecting her first grandchild and the separation has been difficult.”

He felt more than a little guilty about that. Anne had come with them to Idaho willingly enough but he knew she missed her daughter, especially during this exciting, nerve-racking time of impending birth. They communicated via videoconferencing often, but it wasn’t the same as face-to-face interaction.

“Let’s just set it on the table here. Wow. I’ve got to taste some first. I love toffee.”

“Ooh, send some this way,” Taft said, so Becca passed the tin of candy around to all the brothers.

“She also made a salad. Greek pasta.”

“That sounds delicious too. I’ll take it in to see where Caidy wants it.”

“I can do that.” His words—and anticipation to see her again—came out of nowhere. “I should probably check in on my patient while I’m here anyway.”

“Okay. Sure. Just through the hall and around the corner.”

He remembered. He had a feeling every detail of the Bowman kitchen would be etched in his memory for a very long time.

When he entered, his gaze immediately went to Caidy, and the restlessness that had dogged him all day seemed to ease. She stood at the stove with her hair tucked into a loose ponytail, wearing an apron over jeans and a crisp white shirt.

She looked pretty and fresh, and something soft and warm seemed to unfurl inside him.

She must have sensed his presence, though it was obvious she was spinning a dozen different plates. She glanced around and he saw her cheeks turn pink, though he wasn’t certain if it was from the heat of the stove or the memory of the kiss they had shared in this very room.

“Oh. Hi. You’re here.”

“Yes. I’ve brought a salad. Greek pasta. My housekeeper made it, actually. And toffee. I brought toffee too.”

Good grief. Could he sound any more like an idiot?

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