“No, your dad made them, and they’re wonderful.”
“Yay!” She wrapped her arms around his waist, almost knocking him off the stool. “You never make biscuits, except for Christmas morning.”
His face reddened. “That’s not true. I make them on Saturdays, sometimes.”
“No, you don’t.” She tilted her chin up, frowning. “You said biscuits are for special times, because—”
“I’ve changed my mind about biscuits,” he interrupted. “From now on, we’ll have them as often as you like, on the weekends.”
“Woohoo!” Cady shuffled around the island in fur-lined house shoes that made Amy’s frozen toes jealous.
“She’s precious,” Amy murmured. “The two of you remind me of my mom and me. I was an only-child, too.”
“Where are you from?”
“I grew up on the Gulf Coast, south of Houston. But now I live in Sarasota, Florida. Prettier beaches.” She didn’t mention the added advantage of being a thousand miles away from Luke. “How about you?”
“I grew up right here in this house.” He glanced around with fondness in his eyes. “Of course, I added on when I bought the place from Mom and expanded the acreage.”
“I’m guessing it’s huge, what with you having such a long private road.”
“You could say that.” His gaze returned to his plate, and he stabbed at his eggs.
She couldn’t learn much staying with Max and Cadence—her Wyoming mystery was supposed to center around a small-time rancher, eking out a living.
“I guess you have ranch hands, don’t you?”
He gave her a sideways glance. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought I might watch some of your men working so I could learn about ranching. I’d promise not to get in their way.”
“I can teach you anything you want to know about ranching.” He jutted his jaw forward as if she’d offended him.
“I’ll teach you,” said Cady, as she shouldered her way between them. “I know all about cows and horses. I do barrel racing. Move over, Dad. You’re hogging Amy.”
He relinquished his stool to Cady, carrying his plate to the sink. “I’m headed out to split some firewood, if you want to watch.”
“You split your own wood?” Amy said, in an incredulous tone, slapping her hand over mouth a few seconds too late.
He arched an eyebrow in an I-can’t-believe-you-said-that look. “Do you think I’m not capable of splitting firewood? Or that I’m too lazy to do it?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, and she couldn’t stop her gaze from dropping to admire the mouthwatering muscles that bulged under his t-shirt.
“I thought you’d probably pay someone else to do stuff like that.”
“You see, Dad? Amy agrees with me,” said Cady, around a mouthful of biscuit. “We should pay someone to do the chores around the house. Then I wouldn’t have to wash dishes.”
“When I was your age—” Max began.
“I know, I know. You had to get up early to put out hay and muck the stalls every day and chop the firewood.” Cady groaned and rolled her eyes. “And you had to walk back and forth to school every day.”
“In the snow…” Amy paused, smiling at Max. He joined her, finishing the phrase in unison, “Uphill, both ways.”
Their laughter only made Cady roll her eyes again.
Max moved to ruffle his daughter’s hair. “Sherry has enough work to do with the laundry and cleaning. Don’t you think we can handle the cooking and dishwashing, Cadence?”
Her nine-year-old sigh would’ve impressed a teenager. “I guess so.”
“That’s my girl.”
He flashed a smile at Amy before pressing a kiss to the top of Cady’s head, and Amy’s heart clenched. For a brief moment, she let herself imagine how it would feel to be part of their family. To wake up each morning to love and laughter. Never again to be alone for the holidays. Had her physical attraction actually moved up a notch? Was she starting to fall for Max? She already adored Cady. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe God had sent her down the wrong road and blown her tire, just so they could meet. Could Max be my destiny?
A cheery tune broke her reverie, and Max pulled a cell phone from his pocket. “Zoey! Hey, love. I miss you, too. Can’t wait to see you. Hang on, let me move somewhere more private.”
He waved apologetically to Amy as he ambled into the other room.
Her breakfast churned in her stomach. My destiny is to be alone forever.
Chapter 4
“Okay, Cady’s out of earshot. What did you want to tell me?”
“That we got her an iPad for Christmas,” his sister said. “We got one for Gabby, too.”
“That’s a lot of money, Zoey. How about if I pay you for it?”
“They’re refurbished, so they didn’t cost that much. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t get her the same thing.”
“No, I got her something she’s really going to love… a dollhouse,” he said, proudly.
“A dollhouse?” Her voice was hesitant. “Don’t you think she’s a little too old for that?”
“Too old? She’s only nine,” he argued, though he was suddenly doubtful. He could picture her on Christmas morning, eyes bright with anticipation, tearing the wrapping off her huge present, her face falling when she saw it.
“You know her better than I do,” Zoey said. “I’m sure she’ll love it.”
“Now I’m worried.” He rubbed at the scruff of his beard, anxiety gnawing in his gut. “Maybe I can get Amy to feel her out about it.”
“Who’s Amy?” His sister’s voice was tinged with hope. “Is there something you haven’t told us? Have you started dating again?”
“I barely know this woman. We found her, broken down on our road last night. You know we’re under about two feet of snow right now. No doubt, she would’ve frozen to death out there if we hadn’t come along.”
“Darn! I’m guessing she’s another one of your nosey fans, right? I’m surprised they remember you after all this time.”
“Right.” He let out a laugh. “Cady informed me, yesterday, I’m not really famous and none of her friends know who I am.”
“Max…” From the tentative tone in her voice, he knew what she was going to say. “I know you miss Monica, but are you really done with singing, forever? It’s one thing if you don’t feel like recording and touring and all that, but I miss hearing you sing. We all do. Family gatherings aren’t the same.”
He swallowed hard. Was he ready to admit it?
“I sang this morning.” He moved the phone away from his ear, just in time.
“What?!” she shouted, and he pictured her jumping up and down. “Does this mean your moratorium is over? Please, say yes. Please.”
“I don’t know, but I think so. It felt good. Rusty, but good.”
“I’m so happy for you,” she said, with a sniff. “This is good news for you and Cady, too. You’re finally healing.”
“It doesn’t mean I don’t love Monica, anymore,” he defended.
“It’s okay to let yourself be happy. If Monica could look down from Heaven and see you right now, nothing would make her happier than seeing you happy.”
“I know.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “That’s what I’ve always told Cady. But it didn’t feel the same for me… until now.”
“What changed?”
“Good question…” Something was different, and that something started when he picked Amy up on the side of the road. “This may sound weird, but I think it’s because Amy didn’t recognize me.”
“The fan girl didn’t recognize you? Did you grow a lumberjack beard again? You know I hate that thing. Looks like critters live in it.”
“Relax—my beard is super short. I honestly think she doesn’t know who I am. She didn’t recognize You’re the One for Me when I was singing it this morning. Said she’d never heard it.”
“A woman who’s never heard of Mack McCoy.” Her laughter blasted
his ears. “I think I like this girl. That had to hurt the old ego, huh? Is that why you’re willing to sing again?”
“If my ego can survive growing up with you as my twin, it won’t suffer because one woman hasn’t heard of me,” he teased. “But since she didn’t know my story, I had to explain that Monica died five years ago. When I said it out loud, I suddenly realized it didn’t feel raw, anymore.”
“I’m really glad,” Zoey said, in the tender tone she reserved for sharing something intimate. “I’d like to see you smile again.”
“I smile,” he objected. “I smile, plenty.”
“I haven’t seen a real smile in a long time. That’s when I’ll know you’re truly happy again.”
Before he could respond, Cady bounded into the room. “Dad! Can I show Amy the stables?”
“Let’s wait until after I split some wood, and maybe we’ll take her for a ride.” Splitting wood was part of his daily exercise routine, but that wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to skip it. “Amy might want to watch how I use the splitting axe.”
“Okay,” she said glumly. “Can you do it fast?”
He waved her back to the kitchen, and murmured into the phone, “I need to let you go, Sis.”
“Hold on, Maxwell Martin McCoy,” Zoey said, like she’d caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “You’re showing off for this woman, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Puh-leeeze! You’ve been pulling this stunt since high school. Every time you brought a girl to the house, you just had to split some wood… usually without your shirt on, so you could show off your muscles.”
“I’m wearing a shirt,” he said, in righteous indignation.
“A thin, cotton shirt, I’ll bet, even though it’s below freezing outside.”
“Splitting logs makes me work up a sweat.”
A peal of delighted laughter assaulted his ears. “You like her, don’t you?”
“We just met last night.”
“True, but you avoided my question.”
She was right, but he snapped at her smug tone. “Because you’re nosey.”
“I want to meet her. What’s her name? Amy? Bring her to Christmas. Leah and Matt won’t mind.”
“She probably has plans for the holidays.”
“Find out—ask her.”
“Nosey and bossy.”
“Only if I need to be.”
“Honestly, Zoey, I just met her. I don’t know anything about her.”
“All I know is this is the first time in five years you’ve shown a spark of interest in a woman. So, whatever you do, don’t screw this up.”
Great… no pressure.
“Look how high the snow is stacked on those tree limbs,” Amy mumbled. “It’s gorgeous.”
Though the snowy landscape was, indeed, beautiful, her gaze drifted back to feast on Max’s sculpted muscles, fighting against their fabric prison as he hefted the heavy axe. But she had to remember her place. She owed this man her life, and he’d been a gracious host, not once complaining about her intrusion. The least she could do was not ogle him like a piece of meat, especially since he had a girlfriend.
Why are the nice ones always taken?
“I love working outside when it’s snowing.” His axe swung down from over his head and impacted the end of the log with a loud thwack, cracking it in two pieces. “I get my exercise without getting overheated.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away, even though she’d already been taught how to split firewood… the result of her research for a previous book, Injured in Idaho.
He stopped to take a long drink from his water bottle, and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. “Do you want to give it a try?”
She hopped up from cozy chair on the back porch where she’d been observing. “I’d love to. Do I need to put on gloves?”
His eyes grew wide. “I was half-way kidding.”
Excited to show off her skill, she clomped her way through the snow in the new snow boots she’d ordered just for this trip. Her feet would’ve undoubtedly been toasty, had she only remembered to pack socks. She reached the woodpile and stopped, all five feet four inches of her staring up at his something-over-six-feet face. “I’m stronger than you think.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” He gave her a lopsided grin, grabbed her shoulders and scooted her in front of him, his arms encircling her as he placed the axe in her hands, still supporting the weight. “Put your right hand here and your left hand here. No, down a little further… that’s it. You want to aim for the center….”
Though she didn’t need his close instruction, it was too pleasant to refuse. Acutely aware of the way his arms draped around hers, she squirmed, chanting in her mind, he has a girlfriend, he has a girlfriend.
“Let me choose a different one to split.” She handed him the axe and stepped to the safety of the stacked logs. From her previous experience, she knew some wood was much easier to split, so she picked a medium size log whose white mottled bark she recognized.
As she rolled it back to his feet, he lifted an eyebrow. “How did you know to choose a birch log instead of hickory?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She grinned up at him as she set the log on end and took the axe from his hands. “Stand back.”
She set the axe in the center of the log, then lifted her arms and thrust it down with all her might, keeping her eyes on her target. When the log emitted a satisfying crack and obediently split in two, she danced around, pumping the axe in the air. “Woohoo!”
Max chuckled, and she got another glimpse of those dimples. “Why didn’t you tell me you already knew how to split wood? What other secrets are you hiding?”
“I’m actually an undercover CIA agent,” she said, with a wink.
He gave a serious nod, stroking his short beard. “Ah… makes sense. And you’re here because…?”
“I’m tracking down a money-laundering operation, of course,” she replied, enjoying the game. “We’re looking for an international criminal who’s posing as an ordinary rancher.”
“Am I a suspect?” He stacked firewood into a canvas carrier and picked up the axe, his hand on her back, urging her back to the house.
“Impossible,” she replied. “Weren’t you listening? I said he’s posing as an ordinary rancher. You don’t fit the description.”
“Because I’m wealthy?”
The word took her by surprise. Though she should’ve reasoned a man with a huge ranch, a long private road, and an expansive house was well off, she hadn’t really thought about it in those terms. From the warm and rustic interior of the home, to his style of dress, to the breakfast he’d cooked, he didn’t strike her as a rich man.
“No, money isn’t the issue.” Following his lead, she stomped her feet on the porch to shake the snow off. “The problem is your homemade biscuits and your singing voice… definitely not ordinary.”
“I might be ordinary at ranching.”
He opened the door, ushering her ahead of him, then toed his boots off and left them on the mat by the back door, continuing in his socks. She did the same, hurrying behind him, ready to thaw her bare toes by the fire.
“I doubt you’re ordinary at anything.” Shivering, she perched on the edge of the green chair and propped her feet on the brick hearth as he added two logs to the crackling fire.
“I’m ordinary at—” He stopped, frowning at her wriggling toes. “Where are your socks?”
She chewed on her lower lip. “Socks are the one thing I forgot to pack. No big deal, though. I’m sure I can buy some in Pleasantville, tomorrow.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He dusted his hands off over the hearth, his eyebrows still knotted. “I’m sure Zoey left some you can borrow. Let me grab a pair for you.”
As he turned and strode toward a hallway she hadn’t explored, she started to object, knowing it would feel weird to wear his girlfriend’s socks. On the other hand, those socks could serve as a re
minder that Max was unavailable. Wearing Zoey’s socks will keep me from wanting him for myself.
He returned a few seconds later with a stack of socks. Then he sat on the hearth and put one of her feet in his lap, rubbing her cold toes briskly between his hands. “Let’s get these feet warmed up.”
She could only watch in shock as he used his hands to thaw her frozen foot and slid a soft, thick sock over it, repeating the process with the other foot. It felt so divine she melted on the spot, leaning against the comfy chair cushions in a boneless heap. No one had pampered her like that since before she could remember.
So much for not wanting him.
Chapter 5
“But you promised we could go for a ride.” Cady stared out the large picture window at the blowing snow obscuring the landscape.
“That was before I saw the weather report.” Max said, feeling a tad guilty that he was happy about the heavy snow. More snow increased the chance that Amy would have to stay with them even longer.
As the winds and snow picked up and the trip to the stables was postponed, Amy had suggested getting out a board game. So, their morning was spent playing Pandemic, a cooperative game that had proved both entertaining and challenging. After that, the three of them worked together to make a large pot of chili, and Amy showed them how to make cornbread with creamed corn and sour cream in the mix. Cady declared their chili delicious and the cornbread the best she’d ever had.
With the dishes done, Max had stretched out on the couch for a quick nap while Cady read a book and Amy typed away on her laptop. Still absorbed in her project, her brows bent in concentration, Amy seemed oblivious to the conversation taking place a few feet away.
“We could wrap up really warm,” Cady suggested.
“You know it’s not safe when it’s white-out conditions.” Though Max knew she was disappointed, he had to remind her about the perils of winter storms. He remembered feeling invincible when he was her age, pulling some dangerous stunts. More than once, he’d barely escaped with his life.
“I know, but I’m bored.” Her shoulders sagged as her eyes cut to Amy, whose fingers flew across the keyboard.
Love, Snow and Mistletoe: Four Sweet Christmas Romance Novellas Page 8