Page 87 of A Cozy Christmas Blizzard
“I said don’t move,” Slade barked. “You could’ve seriously injured something.”
“I did,” she admitted. “My pride.” She got slowly to herfeet, then bowed mockingly before him and said, “Stay tuned for my next trick when I’ll single-handedly leap tall buildings and alter the course of the mighty Columbia River.”
“You’re not funny.”
“There goes my career in comedy, then.”
“Here.” He tucked a hand under her elbow. “Let me help you back to the house.”
“This may come as a shock to you, but I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.”
“Nothing you do anymore could shock me.”
“That sounds amazingly like a challenge.”
His indifference visibly melted away as he stared down at her with warm, vulnerable eyes. “Trust me, it isn’t.” He claimed her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “Come on, your father’s probably getting worried.”
Shelly sincerely doubted it. What Slade was really saying was that things would be safer for them both back at the house. Temptation could more easily be kept at bay with someone else present.
He let go of her hand and placed his palm at the small of her back, and they continued their short sojourn across the snowy landscape.
The house looked amazingly still and dark as they approached. Only a whisper of smoke drifted into the clear sky from the chimney, as though the fire had been allowed to die. She had expected to hear Andy Williams crooning from the stereo and perhaps smell the lingering scent of freshly popped popcorn.
Instead, they were greeted by an empty, almost eerie silence.
While Slade leaned the tree against the side of the house, she ventured inside. A note propped against the sugar bowl inthe middle of the kitchen table commanded her attention. She walked into the room and picked it up.
Sick horse at the Adlers’ place. Ted W came for me and will bring me home. Call if you need me.
Love,
Dad.
She swallowed tightly, clenching the paper in her hand as the back door shut.
“Dad got called out to a neighbor’s. Sick horse,” she announced without turning around. “Would you like a cup of coffee? The pot’s full, although it doesn’t look too fresh. Dad must have put it on before he left. He knew how cold we’d be when we got back.” She realized she was babbling and immediately stopped. Without waiting for his response, she reached for two mugs.
“Coffee sounds fine.” His voice was heavy with dread. The same dread she felt pressing against her heart. Her father was the buffer they needed, and now he was gone.
She heard Slade drag out a kitchen chair, and she placed the mug in front of him. Her thick lashes fanned downward as she avoided his gaze.
Reluctantly she pulled out the chair opposite his and joined him at the table. “I suppose we should put up the tree.”
He paused, then said, “We could.”
From all the enthusiasm he displayed, they could have been discussing income taxes. Her heart ached, and she felt embarrassed for having made the suggestion. No doubt Margarethad her tree flocked and decorated without ever involving Slade.
Her hands tightened around the mug, the heat burning the sensitive skin of her palms.
“Well?” he prompted.
“I think I’ll wait until Dad’s back. We—every year since Mom died, we’ve done it together. It’s a fun time.” The walls of the kitchen seemed to be closing in on them. With every breath she drew, she became more aware of the man sitting across from her. They’d tried to pretend, but the kiss had changed everything. The taste of him lingered on her lips, and unconsciously she ran her tongue over them, wanting to recapture that sensation before it disappeared forever.
His eyes followed her movement, and he abruptly stood and marched across the kitchen to place his half-full mug in the sink.
“I’ll see to the fire,” he offered, hastily leaving the room.
“Thank you.”
