Page 88 of All I Want For Christmas Is You

“Okay, but I’m here. I can watch him.”

There it was again, that odd sensation that built into a massive rush of emotion so strong it threatened to flood him.

Shit.

Fuck.

He stopped walking and pulled her into his arms.

She held him tightly, absorbing his overwhelming gratitude. “It’s okay. I got this. You just go and take care of the mine.”

She knew. She understood.

His emotional life had been so flat, the only real highs and lows had been attached to his children. But this…romantic love?

No. He finally got it. He understood.

This is wild love.

It seeped into every cell and molecule, infusing him with a hot, excited energy. He would do anything for this woman.

And now, with a partner…a teammate…a lover…there was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“Thank you.” He wanted to stay with her. Wanted more than anything to make her feel the same way—like she had someone to go through life with, too. And the best way to do that would be to go to the wedding with her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He would try. He’d do everything in his power to make it happen.

* * *

Margot was exhausted. It had been a long time since she’d had to deal with a toddler.

She’d had three days with him, so she knew the little boy well. He loved food, but he didn’t necessarily love to eat it. He liked flinging it, smearing it, and squeezing it between his fingers, but she couldn’t be sure he actually got much in his belly.

In between chasing him, playing with him, and wrestling him into clothing, a bathtub, or a highchair, Margot tended to Lorelei. The woman worked feverishly, and it was exciting to hear the initial humming turn into actual songs. They were powerful and fierce, and Margot knew she had some real hits on her hands.

As an artist herself, Margot understood the creative zone. There wasn’t a chance she’d interrupt her. Besides, she had to feed herself, so it really wasn’t a big deal to cook for two.

Her heart really did go out to the singer. In addition to the pain of betrayal (times three), she had the additional burden of her heartache played out in the public eye. Just yesterday, a story hit the media. Someone had caught Lorelei’s ex and former best friend in a convenience store in Washington state. They’d taken a grainy close-up of a ring on the drummer’s left hand, and that set off a whirlwind of speculation and photographs “proving” the couple had had a Vegas wedding.

Margot hoped—maybe naively—that the singer was too immersed in writing songs to bother with social media.

Now, with Colt napping, Margot had a moment to herself. She sat on the living room floor, her back against the couch and her phone perched on the coffee table as she waited for her daughter to answer the video call.

And there she was. Emerson’s beautiful face filled up the screen. “Hey, Mom. Where’s the cowboy hat and shitkicker boots?”

“Ha ha. That’s not what it’s like out here. Though I hear there’s a mechanical bull in one of the bars in town.”

Emerson laughed. “Now, that I have to see. Have your cowboy take a video for me.”

“I didn’t say I’d ride it, and he’s not a cowboy. He owns a gold mine.”

“That’s just so Wild Wild West. Does he look like an outlaw?”

No, but he acts like one in bed. She grinned. “No, my favorite daughter. So, what’s going on? Give me an update on the wedding plans.”

“How much time do you have?”

“Colt just went down for a nap, so I’ve got about two hours.”

---