A Little Bit of Holiday Magic

by Melissa McClone

He took a step closer. “Something’s got you wigged out.”

  Grace rubbed her lips together. “The sheriff thinks you should, um, check me. See if we...I...need to go to the hospital.”

  That would do it. “Good idea.”

  “No. I don’t. Need to go, that is.” Her gaze still avoided his. “I’m a little sore. Nothing else.”

  Liam played with Peanut, seemingly oblivious to everything else.

  “Most people are sore after an accident.” Bill didn’t know if she was afraid of going to the hospital or of him. He’d guess the latter, but wished she’d look at him so he could try to see if something else was going on with her. “The rush of adrenaline can mask injuries. You should be examined.”

  Grace nodded, but looked as if she’d rather face a dentist and gynecologist at the same time than be checked by him. She ran her teeth over her lower lip.

  “I promise I don’t bite,” he teased.

  She blushed. Her bright red cheeks made her look like a teenager.

  He motioned to a chair. “Do you want to sit?”

  “I’d rather stand.”

  Figures. When Bill was on a call or out in the field on a rescue mission, he tried to keep the patient at ease. Joking around with Grace wasn’t working. He’d try talking to her. “Where do you live in Georgia?”

  “Columbus.”

  “You don’t sound Southern.”

  “I grew up in the Midwest. Iowa.”

  “Cornfields and the Iowa Hawkeyes.”

  Her amber eyes twinkled. “And country fairs.”

  “Let me guess. You were the Corn Queen.”

  Her grin brightened her face. Not only pretty, unexpectedly beautiful.

  Air stuck in his throat. He struggled to breathe.

  She struck a royal pose, lifting her chin and shifting her shoulders back. “Corn Princess.”

  Bill had no idea why he’d reacted to her. Must be tired. “Sash and tiara?”

  “Corn-on-the-cob scepter, too.”

  “Real Iowan corn?”

  “Only the finest.” She gave Liam a royal wave. “I was the envy of the corn court until an unfortunate incident with one of the 4-H goats.”

  “Poor goat.”

  “Poor corn.” She made an exaggerated sad face. “After the goat encounter, I was a princess without a scepter.”

  Okay, this was more like it. Smiling and joking and raising Bill’s temperature ten degrees. “So what brings her highness out of the land of sweet tea and juicy peaches across the Mississippi River and over the Rockies to the verdant Pacific Northwest?”

  She stared at Liam. Her eyes softened. “Astoria.”

  “Ah. Nice little coastal town, if you don’t mind being at sea level.” Bill preferred living in the mountains. “Do you have family there?”

  “No, but I thought why not try something different.”

  Her voice sounded shaky. Nerves?

  Or something more? “That’s a big move.”

  She shrugged, but tight lines formed around her mouth. “I’ve moved a lot.”

  “I’ve moved twice, not counting my stint at the fire academy. Once from my parents’ house to an apartment, then into this house.” Bill stood next to Grace. The top of her head came to the tip of his nose. “Show me where you’re sore.”

  She pointed to her left shoulder, where the seat belt would have hit.

  He touched the spot. “Does this hurt?”

  “Slightly tender.” She glanced at his hand on her, then looked away. “I can’t remember all the moves we’ve made. My husband was in the army.”

  Was. Past tense. She hadn’t said ex-husband, but she wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Bill knew some folks didn’t wear rings. Others lost them. Or pawned them. “Is your husband waiting for you in Astoria?”

  She bent down and stroked Liam’s hair. “He’s...dead.”

  Her words cut Bill at the knees. He opened his mouth to apologize, to say something, anything, but nothing came out. She was so young with a kid.

  Just like Hannah, Nick’s wife.

  A million memories rushed back, memories Bill had hoped to forget. The smell of death when his rescue team had found the bodies of Nick and Iain, still roped together. The sound of grief when he’d spent days at Nick’s house, trying to comfort the Bishop family. The taste of regret when Bill had realized nothing he did or said would make things better for Hannah and her two young kids.

  He had felt so useless back then. He forced himself to breathe now. At least he could do something for Grace. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.” The words came automatically, as if programmed in and spoken without thinking.

  Her gaze, full of affection, remained on Liam, who kept himself entertained with the toy elephant.

  Bill thought he could reach out and touch the love she was sending her son. A small knot formed in his chest. Ached behind his ribs. He didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like how he wanted to hold Grace until she looked at him the same way.

  Not that she would. He had a habit of failing the women in his life. Just like his dad.

  “Columbus, Georgia.” Bill forced the words from his dry throat. “Is that where your husband was stationed?”

  “Yes. Fort Benning. Damon was a Ranger. He was killed in action in Afghanistan two and a half years ago.”

  Damn. That sucked. “A real hero.”

  “Yes. Highly decorated. He loved what he did.”

  Grace’s affection for her late husband filled her voice. Love never played into Bill’s relationships. He much preferred the other L word. Lust. Love was too messy, too complicated. It was capable of causing pain and grief, like Grace must have endured with her husband’s death. “Our service members have paid a high price in the Middle East, but your husband leaves behind a legacy of memories, and Liam.”

  Her gaze went from her son to Bill. “Is there, um, anything else you need to check?”

  He looked at his hand on her shoulder. Damn. Still touching her. He lowered his arm. “Any headache or sore neck now?”

  “No.”

  If her headrest wasn’t set properly she could have whiplash. He rubbed his hands together so they wouldn’t be cold against her skin, and stepped behind her. “I’m going to move your hair to check your neck.”

  “That’s fine.” Her tight tone made him think otherwise.

  Bill pushed her long wet hair over to one side. His fingertips brushed her neck.

  She inhaled sharply. Tensed.

  “Sorry.” He liked the feel of her soft skin. If only she wasn’t so cold. But he knew ways to warm her up. Lots of ways.

  Stop. Right there.

  Bill might have the reputation of being a player, but he didn’t play with patients. He touched her neck again. “Does this area hurt?”

  Her back stiffened. “Not really.”

  He wasn’t buying it. “You feel something.”

  “Nothing major.” She sounded nonchalant, as if she had a splinter in her finger, nothing more. “A dull ache.”

  He moved his hand lower. “What about here?”

  “Very dull. Almost nothing.”

  He moved in front of her. “Show me where the seat belt hit you.”

  Grace pointed to her left shoulder, then diagonally across her chest and over her hips.

  “Does your abdomen or lower back hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Hips?”

  “All good.”

  “We can hold off a trip to the hospital tonight. Depending on how you feel tomorrow, you might want to see a doctor.”

  “Okay.”

  “Time for you to get out of those wet clothes. You can change in the bathroom. First door on the right.” Bill motion
ed to Liam. “The little dude and I will make cocoa.”

  Liam clapped the elephant’s paws together. “Cocoa. Cocoa.”

  Bill offered her the phone. “Take this with you. You can call whoever you need to, and let them know what’s happened.”

  Sadness filled her gaze. “Thanks, but there’s no one to call.”

  With that, Grace walked down the hall. Denim clung to her hips, showing off her curves and the sway of her hips.

  Nice butt.

  Hot.

  Whoa.

  Not going to happen. Not with a mom. Definitely not with a widow.

  He liked rescuing damsels in distress, but only long enough to see them back on their feet and be rewarded for his efforts. He might help moms, but he didn’t date them. Ever.

  Mothers with children equaled commitment.

  He’d rather hang in base camp, drinking and playing cards, than attempt that summit. Married friends might be happy, but they had provided enough beta on the climb. Marriage took commitment and hard work. An instant family wasn’t on Bill’s list of peaks to bag.

  Hot or not, Grace and her son were his houseguests, period.

  The bathroom door closed.

  Liam sidled up next to Bill, pressing against his leg.

  He glanced down. “Guess it’s you and me, kid.”

  Liam held up his elephant.

  “And Peanut.” The expectant look in the little boy’s eyes reminded Bill of the schoolkids who toured the station on field trips. Sitting behind the steering wheel wasn’t enough. Sirens needed to blare and lights flash. And helmets. The kids all had to wear the helmet. “I bet you want another cookie.”

  “Please. Cocoa, too.”

  Kids were the same whether they came from Hood Hamlet, Oregon, or Columbus, Georgia. “Marshmallows or whipped cream?”

  “Both.”

  A small hand clasped Bill’s larger one. Squeezed.

  Warmth shot up his arm. Boy, that felt good. And not because Liam’s tiny fingers weren’t so cold any longer.

  Inquisitive eyes full of adoration gazed up at Bill, making him feel like a superhero.

  Something tugged inside his chest. Something he’d never experienced before. Something he didn’t understand. He shook off the unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling.

  Must be all the excitement around here.

  This wasn’t the evening he’d expected to spend. A cute kid wanting to make hot chocolate with him in the kitchen. A pretty mom changing into his pajamas in the bathroom. But Bill was not unhappy the way tonight was turning out.

  Company and cookies and cocoa beat decorating the Christmas tree any day.

  Even at midnight.

  * * *

  It’s going to be okay.

  In the bathroom, Grace repeated Damon’s words. She stripped out of her clothes and dried herself off with a blue towel hanging on the rack.

  Why wouldn’t it be okay?

  She was naked, standing in a strange man’s house, about to put on a strange man’s pajamas, wondering if the strange man was too good to be true.

  According to the sheriff, Bill Paulson was a kind, caring, generous man. She shouldn’t be surprised, since she believed Damon had helped her find this refuge from the storm.

  But she doubted her late husband would appreciate the hum racing through her body. A hum that had nothing to do with the drive or the crash or the strangeness of the night, and everything to do with her handsome rescuer. The only way to describe the feeling was first-date jitters. Except this was no date. And Bill...

  He reminded her of Damon. The two men had similar coloring and take-charge personalities. Bill exuded the same strength, confidence and heat as her husband.

  Too bad the similarities ended there.

  Damon had always been attractive, but his looks became rugged over the years due to scars from shrapnel and a nose broken twice. Not exactly world-weary, but not happy-go-lucky like Bill Paulson, whose gorgeous features belonged on the pages of an outdoor magazine layout. Bill wasn’t quite a pretty boy, especially with the sexy razor stubble, but close.

  No doubt she was in shock.

  That would explain her noticing every little thing about him. Reacting, too.

  Touching Bill’s hand had felt good, his skin warm and rough against hers. His touching her had felt even better, his hand on her shoulder, calming and sure, as if it belonged there.

  But when he’d touched her neck...intimate, almost sexual, albeit unintentional...

  She missed...that. A man’s touch.

  Don’t think about him.

  At least not that way.

  Annoyed with herself, she shrugged on the pajama shirt. The soft flannel brushed her like a caress. The friction of fabric over dry skin warmed her, even though the pajamas were too big.

  The sleeves hung over her hands. She rolled them to her wrists, then fastened the front buttons with trembling fingers. Her hands didn’t shake from the cold, but from the situation.

  Nerves.

  She stepped into the pants. The hems pooled at her feet. She cuffed them.

  The waistband slid down her hips. She rolled the top, determined to make this work.

  Nerves weren’t her only issue. A touch of guilt, too.

  Something’s got you wigged out.

  Yeah, him.

  Of all the houses on Mount Hood, she would pick the one belonging to a firefighter and mountain rescuer. The hottest guy she’d been alone with since, well, Damon had deployed.

  Grace grimaced at her starstruck reflection. Had she looked this goofy while talking to Bill? She hoped not. Either way, she was being silly, acting like a teenager with a crush, not an adult, not a mom.

  So what if Bill Paulson was a nice piece of eye candy? So what if he had a killer smile? So what if the concern in his bright, baby-blue eyes for her and Liam had sent an unexpected burst of heat rushing through her veins?

  Tomorrow he would be one more person who had passed through her life. Nothing more.

  All she had to do was survive tonight.

  How hard could that be?

  Grace shuffled from the bathroom and down the hallway, the carpet runner soft beneath her feet.

  In the living room, a sense of warmth and homey goodness surrounded her. She’d been so frantic earlier she hadn’t noticed the house. Now she took in the hardwood floors, beamed ceiling, river rock fireplace, wood mantel covered with photographs, and beautifully lit Christmas tree.

  She wiggled her toes.

  More cabin than house.

  Inviting and comfortable.

  The kind of place she’d dreamed of living someday. The kind of place where a kid could grow up happy. The kind of place a family could call home.

  The scent of the Christmas tree hung in the air along with a touch of smoke from the burning fire. The beer bottle on the wooden end table and the gigantic leather recliner seemed typical for a bachelor pad, but the couch with color-contrasting pillows and coordinating throw blanket seemed out of place for a guy living alone. A far cry from her cheap apartment in Columbus.

  Was there a girlfriend or wife in the picture? Maybe an ex who had lived here and decorated?

  Male laughter, rich and deep and smooth, washed over her like water from a hot shower, heating her from the outside in. Forget feeling warm; she was downright feverish.

  She’d forgotten the appeal of a man’s laugh, the happiness and humor contagious. A higher pitched squeal joined in. That laugh, one she knew better than her own, brought a smile to her lips.

  Liam.

  Her chest tightened.

  He could be such a serious boy. She was pleased he was having so much fun.

  Grace entered the charming kitchen, with its dining area separat
ed by a breakfast bar.

  Bill sat at the table with her son, who was wrapped in a blanket, his little hands around a mug. Peanut sat on the table with his own mug in front of him.

  What kind of guy would fix a cup of hot chocolate for a stuffed animal?

  The sheriff had told her Bill Paulson was a cross between an Eagle Scout and an X Games champ. Yeah, that seemed to sum him up.

  Grace moved behind Liam. She placed her hands on his narrow shoulders. “It looks like you boys did fine on your own.”

  Bill stood, his manners excellent. “Your cocoa is on the counter.”

  She noticed the steaming mug. “Liam doesn’t drink his very hot.”

  “I’ve been around kids. I put ice cubes in his and Peanut’s cups in case they decided to share.”

  She appreciated his treating Peanut like a living, breathing elephant, not a stuffed one. “Liam could spill on your blanket.”

  “It’s washable. Isn’t that right, little dude?”

  Liam looked up at Bill. Her son had a case of hero worship. “That’s right, big dude.”

  “Okay, then.” Grace took her cup from the counter and sipped. “This is delicious.”

  Bill raised his cup. “My mom makes her own cocoa mix.”

  Liam took another sip. “It’s yum.”

  Interesting. Her son seemed perfectly content to be away from her. Usually he didn’t want to be out of eyesight.

  A twinge of regret pinched Grace’s heart. She’d done everything she could to be a good parent, but that didn’t seem to be enough. Liam liked having Bill—a man—around. Well, her son better enjoy the company because tomorrow they would be on their own again.

  “You have a very nice home.” She wouldn’t expect a single guy’s house to be so clean, with homemade cocoa and cookies at the ready. “Thanks for everything.”

  Bill gave her the once-over.

  Grace knew better than to be flattered, especially since she couldn’t tell what he thought of her. Probably not much, given she was wearing his baggy pajamas, had no makeup on and her hair was a scraggly mess.

  Her appearance wasn’t due only to traveling. She hadn’t cared how she looked since Damon died. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had her hair cut. She hadn’t thought about her hair, her nails, her looks.