When he lifted the greenery over her head, she didn’t flee for the stairs. When he slipped his arm about the small of her back and drew her toward him, she didn’t resist.
His other hand crept up, his fingers caressing her ribs. He cradled her neck, then tipped her face to his.
The warm breath advancing toward her mouth was irresistible. The aroma of pine clung to him. She caught Rayne’s warm, masculine scent even under his coat. She wanted to melt into him, to feel the length of his body pressed on hers and to dissolve into his kiss.
Something was very peculiar...her usual good sense, off kilter. Rayne was simply a man passing though her life and, in fact, leaving havoc in his wake. Besides that, a kiss under the mistletoe ought to mean something.
“This isn’t right,” she said with the ounce of protest she had left. “We barely know each other.”
“Seems a fine way to get acquainted.”
“No, Rayne.” She stepped backward. Her back felt cold where his hand had been. “This isn’t right. You and I...we’re at odds. What you want and what I want... I welcome you as a boarder, but...”
Now she did rush toward the stairs because what she was saying was not what she wanted. The fact that they were adversaries did not take away her desire to feel that kiss...and more.
Halfway up, she spun about. “I read what your grandfather offered. It was generous, but I can only decline.”
“Laira Lynne,” he called after her, but in a whisper. “You’re making a mistake.”
Clearly.
Kissing or fleeing, refusing or accepting the money, whichever way she turned seemed to be a mistake.
* * *
Rayne had come close to making a big mistake last night.
The play for a kiss, begun as a lark, had suddenly turned into something very different. He suspected that had he indulged his whim to taste Laira Lynne, his life would have been set on its ear.
Nothing would have been the same again. Sure as a dollar, once he’d done it, he wouldn’t be able to turn her out of her home.
Rayne buttoned his shirt and eased into his coat, readying himself for the morning and the task of visiting with the folks of Snow Apple Woods. Maybe this time they would listen to reason.
He stepped lightly, coming out of his room, figuring that with the house so quiet the little girls must still be sleeping.
The clang of a pot against the stove grate told him that Laira Lynne was in the kitchen. The scents of biscuits baking and bacon frying filled the downstairs.
It struck him, all of a sudden, that he wouldn’t have minded growing up in a cozy home like this one where the lady of the house warmed it with good-smelling food and a healthy dose of love. If his parents hadn’t passed on, he might have lived this life.
Coming into the parlor, he breathed in a lungful of fresh pine. He glanced toward the window where he had spent an hour last night positioning the Christmas tree so its best side would be presented to the girls when they came down the stairs.
Most of the time, he wasn’t such an early riser, but he wanted to watch when they spotted their big tree for the first time.
Cold dawn sunlight trickled through the window, turning the branches bright green...Christmas green.
He was smiling at his work, proud and feeling good about it, when he heard a quiet knock at the kitchen door.
“Daniel,” he heard Laira Lynne say. “What brings you by so early?”
Was the older man courting? He didn’t care for the way he didn’t like the idea.
“I wanted to get here before the girls woke up,” said the voice of the owner of the general store. “Here’s some hard candy and some ribbons for their stockings.”
“Oh, Daniel! Thank you so very much.”
“No need for thanks, Laira Lynne. Poor little mites. We do what we can for them. It’s going to be a tough Christmas, I’m afraid, what with losing their folks and now their home.”
“Can you stay for breakfast?”
“Like to, but no. Got to open early for the last-minute shoppers. I need to earn an income while I still can.”
“What will you do, after this?”
“Oh, I’ll get by somewhere. It’s you all I’ll worry about. Will you take the little ones back to New York City, to your family?”
“I’d hate to. Life is so different there and this is the only home they’ve known. Besides, my family is scattered and none of them are overfond of the city.”
“Same for most of us, been here since forever. Say, maybe we can all settle together someplace.”
“I’d like that, Daniel...Santa.”
He heard Daniel’s deep belly laugh, then the door closing.
A door creaked open upstairs along with whispers and giggles.
“We can’t cry if there’s not a tree this year,” he heard Lynne tell her sisters. The shuffle of ten small feet approached the head of the stairs. “It will make Auntie feel sad.”
“Maybe she got us a tiny one,” Belle said.
“We oughtn’t get our hopes up. It was cold last night and she wouldn’t be able to go all the way to the woods by herself.”
All of a sudden he heard a chorus of high-pitched screeches and a scramble of footsteps pounding down the stairway.
Laira Lynne met the girls at the foot of the steps. He watched them wrap her red plaid skirt in embraces.
“You got us a tree!” Ruthie exclaimed, swiping a tear from her cheek. “It touches the ceiling.”
“It’s Mr. Lantree you ought to thank. He and Old Mule brought this great big tree home while you were all tucked into your beds.”
The girls looked up, noticing him for the first time.
A mass of pink-and-blue flannel dashed at him.
Little-girl arms hugged him the same as they had Laira Lynne. Something shifted in his chest. It left him feeling warm inside.
“You’s not Satan’s...” Abby said.
“...spoon,” Jane completed.
Why, then, did he suddenly feel like it? In two days his grandfather expected him to toss these children out of their home.
For the first time he wondered why it was so all-fired important that the railroad have this particular land.
It was the most direct route and therefore worth more money. He heard his grandfather’s voice in his mind saying so as clearly as if the crotchety old Scrooge stood beside him.
When Grandfather had presented the plan, it had seemed so reasonable; easy money in the bank.
But Rayne hadn’t always believed that money was so all-fired important.
He glanced over at Laira Lynne. Her lovely smile was luminous while she watched the little girls she had given up everything for gather around the tree and touch its green needles.
Luckily, everyone was absorbed in welcoming the tree, and not paying attention to him. A blow to the gut could not make him quit looking at Laira Lynne.
She hadn’t done up her hair yet. It was bound simply in a green ribbon, leaving the soft strawberry-and-cream-colored waves to tumble over her shoulder and across one breast.
He’d be a grateful man if he could find the joy in his soul that shone out of hers every minute of the day...or night.
Wrenching his attention from Laira Lynne, he patted each girl on the head, then went on his way to town.
Leaving the house wasn’t easy. He felt like a bear pushed from its den in the dead of winter.
While he walked, he turned about several times in order to watch the girls through the window. They looked happy. He was glad that he had played a part in easing their grief, if only for the moment.
When the house was out of sight, he tried singing a Christmas carol, just to see if a joyful tune would dredge up an echo of the boy he used to be.
Chapter Six
At midnight, sweet silence enveloped the house. The girls, overstimulated from a day of keeping vigil at the window for any hint of a snow cloud, rehearsing their pageant carols and making a secret gift, had finally fallen asleep.
Oh, sweet peace. At long last, Laira Lynne had a moment to sit down and knit another hat. The trouble was, her eyes felt like sand. With her toes stretched toward the fireplace and the warmth wrapping her up, she was certain that she would drift off.
Or maybe not. She hadn’t slept well since reading William Lantree’s offer.
It was all well and good to refuse it and give the children one more Christmas at home, but on the other hand, she couldn’t deny that the money would give them a comfortable start somewhere else. The home was lost to them regardless of whether she took the money or not.
She glanced about the room, seeing memories everywhere. This time last year, she had been sitting beside her cousin, right here, stringing popped corn so the girls could decorate the tree.
Her cousin’s husband had placed an old locomotive carved from wood on the mantel, then decorated it with sprigs of greenery.
Laira Lynne had never understood why they put the old toy out every year. It was just something they had found in the attic when they’d moved in. To them, the locomotive was a part of the home’s history.
They had loved this house. It was hard to think of it being torn down.
Tomorrow she would search the attic for the train. Her cousin would want to give the toy one more Christmas.
Celebrate Christmas...or take the money? The question plagued her like a toothache. No matter what she did, the choice was on her mind.
She’d weep if it would solve anything.
She would hitch up Old Mule and make the day’s ride to William Lantree’s home and beg him for another day, but in the end it would do no good and she knew it.
It was well-known that when it came to money, the old man was determined that when his days on this earth were up he would leave as much of it behind as he could.
Oh, great day! Laira Lynne looked down and noticed a missing stitch in the cap. Now she would be forced to unravel four rows of work and set herself back half an hour.
She didn’t have the energy, but she would dig it up from somewhere.
No matter what, there were going to be presents under the tree.
Look for the good, she reminded herself, find the Christmas spirit. Oh, but she was tired and her back ached.
She stood up to stretch. The ball of yarn fell off her lap and rolled across the floor. It hit a chair leg, wrapped around it then spun off toward the dining room to catch the table leg.
It bounded here and bounced off there until all that was left of the tidy ball was a tangle of green wool.
Maybe a little cry wouldn’t hurt, after all. It might even relieve the emotional pressure gripping her chest. She buried her face in her hands.
Hurrying toward the front door, she opened it and stepped onto the porch where she wouldn’t wake anyone.
Only a moment into a good cleansing sob, a big, warm hand gripped her shoulder.
“Laira Lynne, is something wrong?”
Spinning about, she looked up at, really, the most handsome face she had ever seen. This reminded her of one more problem she was weeping over.
All she wanted was a simple kiss, sweet and innocent, under the mistletoe. She might as well want the moon. Just one look at Rayne’s mouth and she knew that any kiss between them would be far from innocent.
She pressed her lips together, bit them closed. In a few days Rayne Lantree would leave Snow Apple Woods, taking his railroad wealth with him. He was not going to take her heart, as well.
“What is it, sugar?” With a rough, warm thumb, he wiped the moisture from her cheek.
“My yarn is tangled all over the floor. It’s late...there’s no snow in sight, I’m tired and your grandfather’s money is tempting me like a gift from the devil.”
So was the fact that Rayne stood close enough that she smelled the masculine scent of his skin, right where his collar was open and his pulse beat in his neck. The man made her want to toss aside common sense and throw her weary heart against him...literally, her breasts against his chest.
“I can help with the yarn, at least.” He rubbed his hand down her arm and up again. “Let’s go back inside. My bare feet are about to freeze.”
Don’t glance down, don’t do it.... But she did. How could she not?
His toes were long, perfectly formed and nipped white by the cold.
Her curiosity had certainly paid off, with both a reward and a penalty. His feet were very agreeable to look at, but now that she’d done it, she couldn’t keep the vision of them out of her mind. Something about his feet being bare made the wee hours of the night seem cozy...intimate.
To make things even more titillating, beneath her skirt, her feet were also bare.
“Go sit by the fire.” Rayne pointed to the pair of chairs in front of the hearth, then he crawled about on the parlor floor gathering and untangling green yarn. “What are you knitting?”
“A cap for Ruthie.” She sat down, sighed and then picked up her knitting needles. She stretched her feet toward the flames. Did he notice that her feet were also bare and if he did... Oh, mercy, what was wrong with her? Feet were common, bare or not. It’s not as though calves or knees were showing.
“You look done in. Why don’t you finish this in the morning?”
“She’ll see it and the surprise will be ruined.” She closed her eyes, couldn’t help it. “Besides, I still have two more to knit.”
“Let me help.”
The chair creaked when he settled beside her. Knitting needles in the basket between the chairs clinked against each other.
She opened her eyes. Rayne held the needles in one hand and a ball of yarn in the other.
“How about red for this one?” He tossed the ball in the air and caught it.
“Red is perfect. That will be Lynne’s hat. I’m making it tomorrow night.”
“You work too damn hard, Laira Lynne. Tomorrow night you’ll be face-first in your dinner. I’ll do this one.”
“I don’t really have time to teach you.”
“No need to.” He looped yarn about one needle, crossed points just so and began to knit. “When I was a kid I used to spend time in the kitchen with the cook. She fed me cookies and taught me to knit.”
“What? Why would she teach a boy to knit?”
“I was lonely, and she needed someone to coddle. We’d sit by the stove for hours making socks...caps, too, while she told me stories.”
“That must have made for a lot of socks and caps.” In her mind, she saw him...a little boy hungry for tenderness.
It broke her heart. No child should lack for love.
“We gave them away at Christmas, to the children of the hands and to the orphanage.”
“What did your grandfather think of that?” Scrooge that he was.
“He never knew. He’d have made me quit visiting the kitchen if he did. A boy knitting would be worse than a girl riding herd on cattle.”
Old man Lantree really must be the tyrant that folks accused him of being.
Outside, the wind kicked up. Blustering gusts howled about the corners of the house. It was good to be inside with her toes wriggling in warm contentment.
“Maybe the wind will push some snow our way,” Rayne observed while he casually propped his foot beside hers.
His ankle turned. His skin brushed hers. She ought to yank back, tuck her toes modestly back under her skirt. The problem was, she was fascinated watching his big, rough foot brush her small, tender one.
“I hope so.” Unwisely, she answered his nuzzle by rubbing her arch against the top of his foo
t. Her response was inappropriate, but somehow she didn’t care. “It would mean the world to the girls.”
“You really don’t plan to be out by Christmas Eve?” His toes stroked the tender flesh of her arch.
“None of us do, Rayne.” She closed her eyes because she could not hold them open a second longer. “I’m sorry for how folks are. I believe you mean well...but really, money can only buy so much.”
He was quiet for a very long time. She filled her soul with the homey sounds of the crackling fire, the moaning wind and Rayne’s knitting needles tapping together.
She drifted to sleep in the chair with his foot warm against hers and listening while he hummed “Silent Night.”
Rayne Lantree, Spoon of Satan and grandson of Scrooge, just might have an ounce of Christmas spirit, after all.
* * *
The last thing that Rayne wanted to do this morning was walk to town.
With the house warm and snug, the pile of black clouds skulking on the horizon, ready to slide across the land, seemed all the more frigid.
Given a choice, he’d sit by the fire and watch while Laira Lynne and the girls began what they called the Christmas baking. Already, the six of them were elbow deep in flour, looking sweet in their white aprons.
A man could come to love a life that was anchored by home and family. He could even get used to life in a small town where neighbors were like kin.
Growing up, he’d seen the ranch hands and their families with something similar. Except for the hours he had spent with the cook, he had been on the outside of all that.
He still was, as the next hour was certain to point out.
Well, there was nothing to be done but put on his heavy coat and give his mission one more try.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Folks needed to begin gathering their belongings.
Upon reaching town, he knew his cause was hopeless. All the talk was about tomorrow night’s pageant, Santa Claus and joy to the world.
If anyone was worried about being homeless, they didn’t show it.
Clearly, there was no use trying to convince the townsfolk of anything. The Christmas spirit was upon them and all the reasoning in the world would not make them see good sense. The only thing he could do was wire his grandfather and plead for another few days.
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