One Week to Win Her Boss (Snowflake Valley)

by Barbara White Daille

  “Sounds like a real fun time,” Derek said dryly.

  His change in tone surprised her. “It will be fun,” she replied, trying not to go on the defensive. She’d done that when Michael had talked about her family’s holiday photos. This man was part of Michael’s family. “It’s always a fun time,” she went on, hoping to win him over to the joys of living in the valley. Maybe if one of the DeFrancos believed, a second would follow…

  “Yeah, well,” he said, “I’ll try to reach Mike some other time. Don’t bother telling him I called. We’ll let it be a surprise when I get in touch.” He gave that odd laugh again, then hung up.

  Frowning, she replaced the receiver. She had barely turned back to the groceries when the door swung open again and Michael entered, carrying an armload of logs.

  With a glance at Penny, who now lay sleeping in her carrier on the kitchen table, he set the logs quietly into the wooden box beside the door. He sat on the bench to remove his snow-covered boots. “Man, it’s cold out there.”

  “They’re predicting another storm,” she told him.

  “I heard that on the radio. That’s another thing I would think you’d get tired of in this town, except when you want to ski. Not a lot of alternatives. Snow and bad weather, bad weather and snow.”

  “You can have bad weather anywhere. And the snow is beautiful when it first falls.”

  “Like a Christmas card.” His laugh sounded strained, reminding her of Derek’s. Why did she feel she should ignore the man’s request and tell Michael his brother had called?

  He gathered up the armload of logs. “I’m going to start a fire. Maybe it’ll keep the lodge so warm, the snow will melt as soon as it hits.”

  Scrooge, she thought but didn’t say. She watched him walk out the door.

  He would come around to her way of thinking. Soon.

  Again, she thought of telling him about his brother’s call. Maybe hearing someone in his family cared about getting in touch would make him feel better about them.

  Or maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. She really had almost gone overboard about the Winter Festival. She imagined Michael’s reaction to that conversation. Definitely not good. It was probably best just to follow Derek’s request and say nothing at all.

  Why keep rocking the boat? Why make trouble, when she had so few days left with Michael? She planned to show off Snowflake Valley to him during the festival. She planned to show him off, too, in town and at the Snow Ball.

  I don’t want to want you.

  But oh, she wanted him. Until he left, she was determined to spend as much time with him as she could. And more…

  She wanted him to want to spend his free time with her and Penny.

  …

  They made salmon, rice, and asparagus for supper. Michael volunteered to handle the lemon and dill salmon in the broiler. Amber looked like she might turn down the offer, but finally said she would take care of the side dishes.

  After supper, she closed the dishwasher door with a bang. “That’s it,” she said. “I’m running it tonight instead of waiting until the morning.”

  “Sounds good.”

  And they sounded like an old married couple sharing a nightly ritual. Once, the thought of falling into a rut like that would have made him run for the hills. Now, it gave him a sense of closeness to her.

  He didn’t want the sense of it, he wanted the actuality. But after last night’s conversation—and last night’s kiss—he knew better than to try to get near her again.

  She carried Penny out of the kitchen into the living room. Through the slice of doorway that he could see from his seat at the table, he eyed them both snuggling together on the couch. Trying not to think about snuggling with Amber himself, he turned to the laptop he had left on the kitchen counter.

  After an hour of scrolling through computer files and seeing nothing on the screen, he gave up. And gave in. He raided the kitchen pantry and the cabinet near the sink.

  When he walked into the living room carrying the long-handled pot he’d found, Amber looked up from the book she had been reading. Her eyes widened. “What’s that?”

  “Looks like a saucepan to me.”

  “And what are you planning to do with it?”

  He held out the bottle of cooking oil he’d gotten from the pantry. “Make some popcorn. Any problem with that idea?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. As long as we add lots of butter. That is, if you’re planning to eat it and not string it up to decorate the Christmas tree.” She raised her brows.

  “Yeah, I’m planning to eat it. But I didn’t bring any butter.”

  “I’ll get some.”

  “Sounds good.”

  There they went again, with that old-married-couple conversation. He took it as an encouraging sign.

  He readied the pan and held it over the fire, heating the oil. Amber returned with a chunk of butter on a plate and one big bowl for them to share.

  She curled up on the end of the couch closest to him. “The salmon you made was great. I thought you said cooking from scratch wasn’t on your resume.”

  “Shoving something under the broiler isn’t really much of a stretch.”

  “For some people it is. So, where did you learn to cook? Boy Scouts?”

  He shook his head. “No. I was never a Scout. I learned out of self-preservation after Mama died.”

  “Your grandmother,” she clarified.

  “Yeah.”

  “Didn’t your stepmom cook?”

  He gripped the handle of the pot. She sat there watching him, waiting for him to answer. Instead, he shook the pot over the fire. Corn kernels began pinging like buckshot against the lid.

  She couldn’t have known her innocent question would bring back memories he didn’t want to have. Or would lead the conversation in a direction he didn’t want to go.

  Chapter Twelve

  The living room filled with the scent and sound of popping corn. Over the noise, Amber waited. Having Michael answer her question suddenly meant more to her than the answer itself.

  He came to sit beside her on the couch. She moved a stack of magazines on the coffee table. When he set the pot on top of them, she added the butter to the hot popcorn and waited some more.

  “My stepmother didn’t do much of anything if she could help it,” he said finally. “At least, not when my dad was working.”

  “And when he was around…”

  “Which wasn’t often.” He shrugged. “She lucked into a good situation by marrying my dad. When he was around, she made things look good. When he was off at work…well, my grandmother was born to take care of a family. Mama DeFranco had already been running the kitchen and the rest of the house for so long, ever since my mom died. When my dad remarried, she just kept doing what she had always done.”

  “Taking care of you and him,” she said softly.

  “And then later, everyone else.”

  “You said she passed away when you were nine.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How old were you when your mother died?”

  “Four.”

  Her eyes blurred from sudden tears. She thought of Michael at that age. She thought of leaving Penny and never seeing her grow up. “You were so young to lose her.”

  “She was so young to go.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago. I don’t think of her that often.”

  She could see in his face that he was thinking of his mother now, that he hadn’t forgotten her, that he never would. Her heart hurt for him. He’d had to deal with that loss, and then to face having a woman come into his life who apparently hadn’t even tried to fill the gap.

  “You mentioned brothers,” she said tentatively.

  To her disappointment, he didn’t answer. Grabbing the spoon she had brought from the kitchen, she stirred the popcorn, and transferred it into the bowl. And waited.

  Finally, he said, “That’ll be getting cold.” He reached for the bowl and
set it onto his lap.

  She would need to scoot closer to him to be within reaching distance of her snack. Maybe he had planned it that way.

  And maybe she spent too much time in wishful thinking. After all, he hadn’t made a move toward her since he had kissed her in this very room last night.

  Why not drown her sorrows in popcorn? She took a handful, loving the buttery slickness and the sting of salt. She ran her tongue across her bottom lip and dug in to the bowl again. When she looked up, Michael sat staring at her.

  Swallowing hard, she almost choked on an unpopped kernel. He leaned over to brush his mouth against hers. She responded eagerly, automatically, liking the burst of buttery, salty flavor on his lips even more than she had on her own.

  He tucked his fingers beneath her chin, tilting her face up as though he wanted to kiss her—to taste her—more thoroughly. And oh, she wanted that, too.

  But she’d shared kisses and more in a relationship that had gone wrong. She couldn’t risk that now. With Michael, she wanted everything to go right.

  She sat back, shaking her head. “We agreed this wouldn’t happen again.”

  His smile turned her insides softer than heated butter. The feeling was almost—but not quite—enough to make her forget he didn’t like family and kids and Christmas.

  “What do you mean, ‘happen again?’” he asked. “This is the first time we’ve ever shared a bowl of popcorn. At least, as far as I can remember.”

  He was teasing her, and she was certainly used to that from her brothers and sisters. But this was different. Much different. “I’m not talking about the popcorn, Michael.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Sharing a snack and…and any other things might be fun for the moment. But we don’t share enough—of life in general—to make this anything permanent. And I’ll confess,” she said reluctantly, her cheeks heating, “right this minute, doing the right thing is hard enough for me. Don’t make it any harder.”

  “You think it’s easy for me?”

  Her heart gave an erratic jump. Maybe she meant more to him—

  No. Don’t go there. He’d already told her just how he felt. Wishing wouldn’t change things. A miracle might. But until that happened…

  She grabbed the bowl and held it out to him. “Let’s just stick to our agreement. And our snack.”

  …

  Michael shook hands with the man standing beside the skating rink, then patted his toddler son’s head. Nothing to it. Just as Mayor Corrigan had said.

  “You think you have a chance at winning King of the Snow Ball?” the man asked.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know about me, but Amber’s a sure win for Queen.” He draped his arm around her and admired her cheeks, pink either from the cold or his compliment. Only one way to find out. And here they were, out in public—the perfect place to uphold their agreement. He kissed her cheek. Sure enough, the pale pink became a rosy glow.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll do my best, too.”

  The man headed to the concession stands.

  Michael gestured around them. “We’re not alone, that’s for sure.” He took a seat on a nearby wooden bench and grunted in satisfaction as he leaned down to tie the laces on his skate.

  After more donation pickups that morning and another brown-bag lunch in her classroom, Callie had announced they had the rest of the day off. The entire group of Barnett siblings convened a meeting to decide what they would do with their free time. He had never seen such an organized bunch—but he had to admit they’d been on the mark about this afternoon. Not ten minutes yet, and being here at the skating rink had already gotten him more than a few handshakes and promises of support for the ball.

  And it was going to get him closer to Amber.

  Bending down for the second skate, he gave another grunt of satisfaction.

  “Need help with those laces?” she asked mildly.

  He caught the glint of mischief in her eyes. Just like with the snowball fight, she thought she was up against a rookie. She had no idea he’d made a sacrifice play, letting her win. Why not, when their kiss in the snow meant he’d taken the trophy. “Think I can handle it, thanks. Seven years of ice hockey gives you plenty of practice putting on your skates.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “All right, let’s go.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Show me your stuff.”

  She started across the ice at an easy pace, then picked up speed as they moved into the middle of the rink. He matched her glide for glide. For good measure—and his own pleasure—he slipped his arm around her waist. He took her free hand in his and held it against his chest. “Looks like you’ve done a few turns on the ice, too. What position did you play?”

  “Very funny. Ice hockey wasn’t my thing.”

  “Let me guess. Figure skating. And you sure have the—”

  “Hush,” she said, but he heard the laughter in her tone. “I never did that, either. But I know where you’re going with the line, and trust me, I’ve heard it a million times before.”

  “Guess I’ll have to try for something more original, then.”

  “Or quit while you’re ahead.”

  “No fun in that.”

  Her brothers suddenly came up on either side of them. They expertly glided backward into the space ahead of him and Amber, but far enough away to give them all enough room to skate. “Not bad,” he said with a nod.

  “We’re naturals.” Josh laughed. “Too bad Amber doesn’t have our skating genes.”

  “Yeah,” Drew said. “We wanted to warn you, you’re taking a real chance with her.”

  “You’re a good man, Michael,” Josh told him, “and we’d hate to lose you in an unfortunate accident.”

  They were joking, he knew, and still their pretended concern about his safety felt good. “Thanks. I’ll keep my eyes open.” But maybe not his hands in place.

  When the boys skated off, he smiled down at Amber. The sun glinted off her golden-brown hair and made her eyes sparkle. His breath caught in his chest.

  She rolled those beautiful eyes. “Everybody’s a comedian,” she said grimly.

  “They’re just watching out for you.”

  “Please. That show of male solidarity was them looking out for you.”

  Male solidarity. Something he’d never experienced with his own brothers. Funny that he should get an offer of it from hers.

  In front of them, a snow-suited little girl took a tumble. Holding Amber’s waist more firmly, he swung her to arm’s length in front of him, moving her wide of the girl, who sprawled on the ice, laughing. Amber frowned. With the way she felt about kids, she’d be concerned.

  As they sailed on, he looked over his shoulder. “No worries. Someone already helped her up. She’s skating again. But she’ll be hurting tomorrow,” he predicted.

  “It always hurts worse once you have time to sit and think about it.”

  He didn’t understand her tone but knew he didn’t like the sound of it. Resettling his arm around her waist, he leaned close and said, “I’d rather think about impressing you again.”

  “Who said you did that a first time?”

  “Now, that sounds like a challenge.” He glanced over his shoulder, looked forward, spotted a break in the stream of skaters. He raced toward the opening, sweeping Amber along beside him. Then he skated around the rink, tracing the oval again and again, always ready for the chance to power up his speed. After a while, Amber was laughing and gasping from the effort of keeping up with him. He’d gotten short of breath himself. But not from the exercise.

  He angled across a free area to bring them away from the stream of skaters. When they reached the edge of the rink, he deposited her on a bench and stood in front of her. “Now tell me that didn’t knock your socks right off.”

  “How could it?” she returned. “I’m not wearing socks.”

  No. She wore a pair of snug red tights that matched her flippy little skirt. His hands itched to go where they
definitely shouldn’t, especially not with most of her family and a rink full of people looking on. Instead, he dropped onto the bench beside her and took her hand in his again. He grasped the cuff of her glove and tugged, turning it inside out as he stripped it off her.

  Her eyebrows rose. “My hand will get cold.”

  “Not if I keep it warm.” He kissed her palm.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, the last word cracking in the middle.

  “I just told you. Keeping your hand warm.”

  “I said it will get cold. It’s not there yet.”

  “No problem. I can wait. Meanwhile, got any place else that’s ready for attention?”

  She shivered visibly. Probably from sitting on the concrete bench in only that short skirt and tights. But he wanted to believe something else had brought about her reaction. “Looks like you’re cold now.”

  “Nothing a cup of hot chocolate won’t cure.”

  “We can do that.” Smiling, he leaned closer. “Or we can do something else and save the chocolate for a chaser.” It was well past time for a mouth-to-mouth kiss. The look in her eyes told him she thought so, too. He leaned even closer.

  Suddenly, that message in her eyes changed.

  She rose to her feet and returned to the ice. As she powered away from him, her legs flashing, her hair flying, her skirt flipping around her hips, he was the one left shivering on the concrete bench.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Michael watched Amber disappear into the crowd. He could have followed her, would easily have caught up. But she had run off because he was ready to kiss her. She had liked the idea at first—he’d swear to that. Then she’d abruptly changed her mind.

  Holding her on the ice had given him ideas he shouldn’t have had. Had made him think about things he shouldn’t want but did.

  No, he had to stop kidding himself. He had wanted her long before he’d tied on his skates today.

  Callie crossed the ice toward him, raising her hand in salute. She dropped onto the bench where Amber had been sitting.

  Normally he’d have no problem with hanging out with one of the Barnetts. But right now, he had a feeling Amber’s big sister had something on her mind. Something that—like Amber’s abrupt departure—he wouldn’t like at all.