Page 128 of Christmas with the Elkin Billionaires

–R

Promising, right? It was probably something she did with every client, but Jonas thrilled at the friendly tones. At least she wasn’t telling him good riddance. Jonas clicked on the link at the bottom of the email. Another page opened, featuring a photo gallery with photos of his family.

Complete with vivid colors and natural smiles. She’d even caught his brothers with their new partners, looking so in love it took his breath away. But it was the photos of him with Scott that stole his heart completely.

Walking on the trails, holding his little hand, grinning down at his son. Tossing him up in the air by the Christmas tree. The two of them on the floor in this very room, Jonas helping Scott ride around on the stuffed elk.

The man in the photos was happy. Satisfied with the moment he was living in. He looked happier than Jonas realized he could be. Or had been.

It was what he wanted more than anything.

To be happy with Rachel and Scott.

He stared at the computer screen until his eyes burned and the images blurred in front of him, flipping through the pictures repeatedly. This was what he wanted in life. Nothing else. Nothing more.

Finally, he snapped the laptop closed and went hunting through his desk for a pen and paper. He took it back to the sofa and sat down, using the laptop as a writing surface.

Jonas was going to write Rachel a love letter. He wanted to paint the life together he saw—show her what they could have together.

The decision, however, would be up to her.

Jonas wrote tens of emails every day on behalf of Elk Lodge. None of them would ever come close to the weight of the words he was writing now.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to get them to cooperate, then took the pen in his hand.

Dear Rachel.

Once he started, the words began to flow until the paper was covered in his neat writing, front and back.

He’d said everything. Now all he could do was send it special delivery to her address, and hope.

20

RACHEL

Rachel’s shoulder felt better after a night’s sleep. Apparently, youcouldcry out a shoulder injury. It just wasn’t as easy for heartache. It was New Year’s Eve day, but there was nothing to celebrate—not for the year going out or the new one coming in.

Annabeth only stayed for breakfast, promising to call later in the afternoon to check on her. She’d been gone three minutes when there was a knock at the door.

“Beth,” Scott cried, sprinting for the door. He reached for the doorknob but couldn’t quite make it. Which was a good thing considering his hands were still sticky with syrup from the pancakes Annabeth had whipped up. They’d been excellent—fluffy, light, and delicious, and Rachel had eaten six, making her more than a little tired.

“I’m coming, buddy,” Rachel said. Things were going to be okay, she promised herself as she made her way to the door. More than likely, Annabeth had forgotten something and had returned. Rachel pulled open the door with her non-injured arm. “What’d you forget, your—Mother?”

Her mother stood impatiently in the hall outside her apartment, snowflakes melting in her hair. “It’s time for us to have a conversation.”

The carb-coma Rachel had been about to enter disappeared in a flash, replaced with a stiffness in her back and a tension she didn’t want or need. She couldn’t believe her mother had followed her here after she’d specifically told her to go away. The woman had some nerve.

Scott tensed behind her, and she reached out to steady her son. “This isn’t a good time, Mother. I think it would be best if you called first instead of just showing up.”

“Hello, Scott,” her mother said reaching for Scott who backed away before she could touch him. “How’s Grandma’s little boy?” It was just like her mother to ignore Rachel’s request.

“Goodbye,” Rachel said. “We can talk when it’s a better time.”

Susan held out a hand to block the door from closing, then pursed her lips like she was tasting something sour.

“I’m sorry.” The words clearly hurt her to say. Susan Lincoln hated apologizing even more than she hated bad photos of her in the press, which was a lot. “I’m sorry for the pressure tactics,” she continued. “Could I come in?”

Rachel didnotwant her mother in her apartment, but short of pushing her out of the way and slamming the door in her face, she had no idea how to get her to leave. She turned to Scott, whose eyes were round as he stared up at his grandmother, who was nothing more than a stranger to him. “Scott, why don’t you go play with your blocks, okay, buddy?”

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