Maid Under the Mistletoe

by Maureen Child

  She’d told herself at the time that Holly would be better off without him than with a man who clearly didn’t want to be a father. Yet here was another man who had claimed to want nothing to do with kids—her daughter in particular—and instead of complaining about her presence, he was working with her. Showing the little girl how to build...something. And Holly was loving it.

  The little girl knelt on a stool at the workbench, following Sam’s orders, and though she couldn’t see what they were working on from her vantage point, Joy didn’t think it mattered. Her daughter’s happiness was evident, and whether he knew it or not, after only one day around Holly, Sam was opening up. She wondered what kind of man that opening would release.

  The wind whipped past her, bringing the scent of snow, and Joy shivered deeper into her parka before walking into the warmth of the shop. With the blast of cold air announcing her presence, both Sam and Holly turned to look at her. One of them grinned. One of them scowled.

  Of course.

  “Mommy! Come and see, come and see!”

  There was no invitation in Sam’s eyes, but Joy ignored that and went to them anyway.

  “It’s a fairy house!” Holly squealed it, and Joy couldn’t help but laugh. Everything these days was fairy. Fairy princesses. Fairy houses.

  “We’re gonna put it outside and the fairies can come and live in it and I can watch from the windows.”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  “Sam says if I get too close to the fairies I’ll scare ’em away,” Holly continued, with an earnest look on her face. “But I wouldn’t. I would be really quiet and they wouldn’t see me or anything...”

  “Sam says?” she repeated to the man standing there pretending he was somewhere else.

  “Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “If she watches through the window, she won’t be out in the forest or—I don’t know.”

  He was embarrassed. She could see it. And for some reason, knowing that touched her heart. The man who didn’t want a child anywhere near him just spent two hours helping a little girl build a house for fairies. There was so much more to him than the face he showed to the world. And the more Joy discovered, the more she wanted to know.

  Oh, boy.

  “It’s beautiful, baby.” And it was. Small, but sturdy, it was made from mismatched pieces of wood and the roof was scalloped by layering what looked like Popsicle sticks.

  “I glued it and everything, but Sam helped and he says I can put stuff in it for the fairies like cookies and stuff that they’ll like and I can watch them...”

  He shrugged. “She wanted to make something. I had some scrap wood. That’s all.”

  “Thank you.”

  Impatience flashed across his face. “Not a big deal. And not going to be happening all the time, either,” he added as a warning.

  “Got it,” Joy said, nodding. If he wanted to cling to that grumpy, don’t-like-people attitude, she wouldn’t fight him on it. Especially since she now knew it was all a front.

  Joy took a moment to look around the big room. Plenty of windows would let in sunlight should the clouds ever drift away. A wide, concrete floor, scrupulously swept clean. Every kind of tool imaginable hung on the pegboards that covered most of two walls. There were stacks of lumber, most of it looking ragged and old—reclaimed wood—and there were deadfall tree trunks waiting for who knew what to be done to them.

  Then she spotted the table and was amazed she hadn’t noticed it immediately. Walking toward it, she sighed with pleasure as she examined it carefully, from the shining surface to the twisted tree limb base. “This is gorgeous,” she whispered and whipped her head around to look at him. “You made this?”

  He scowled again. Seemed to be his go-to expression. “Yeah.”

  “It’s amazing, really.”

  “It’s also still wet, so be careful. The varnish has to cure for a couple of days yet.”

  “I’m not touching.”

  “I didn’t either, Mommy, did I, Sam?”

  “Almost but not quite,” he said.

  Joy’s fingers itched to stroke that smooth, sleek tabletop, so she curled her hands into fists to resist the urge. “I’ve seen some of your things in the gallery in town, and I loved them, too, by the way. But this.” She shook her head and felt a real tug of possessiveness. “This I love.”

  “Thanks.”

  She thought the shadows in his eyes lightened a bit, but a second later, they were back so she couldn’t be sure. “What are you working on next?”

  “Like mother like daughter,” he muttered.

  “Curious?” she asked. “You bet. What are you going to do with those tree trunks?” The smallest of them was three feet around and two feet high.

  “Work on them when I get a minute to myself.” That leave-me-alone tone was back, and Joy decided not to push her luck any further. She’d gotten more than a few words out of him today and maybe they’d reached his limit.

  “He’s not mad, Mommy, he’s just crabby.”

  Joy laughed.

  Holly patted Sam’s arm. “You could sing to him like you sing to me when I’m crabby and need a nap.”

  The look on Sam’s face was priceless. Like he was torn between laughter and shouting and couldn’t decide which way to go.

  “What’s that old saying?” Joy asked. “Out of the mouths of babes...”

  Sam rolled his eyes and frowned. “That’s it. Everybody out.”

  Still laughing, Joy said, “Come on, Holly, let’s have some lunch. I made soup. Seemed like a good, cold day for it.”

  “You made soup?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh. Beef and barley.” She helped Holly get her jacket on, then zipped it closed against the cold wind. “Oh, and I made some beer bread, too.”

  “You made bread.” He said it with a tinge of disbelief, and Joy couldn’t blame him. Kaye didn’t really believe in baking from scratch. Said it seemed like a waste when someone went to all the trouble to bake for her and package the bread in those nice plastic bags.

  “Just beer bread. It’s quick. Anyway,” she said with a grin, “if you want lunch after your nap, I’ll leave it on the stove for you.”

  “Funny.”

  Still smiling to herself, Joy took Holly’s hand and led her out of the shop. She felt him watching her as they left and told herself that the heat swamping her was caused by her parka. And even she didn’t believe it.

  Four

  Late at night, the big house was quiet, but not scary at all.

  That thought made Joy smile to herself. She had assumed that a place this huge, with so many windows opening out onto darkness, would feel sort of like a horror movie. Intrepid heroine wandering the halls of spooky house, alone, with nothing but a flashlight—until the battery dies.

  She shook her head and laughed at her own imagination. Instead of scary, the house felt like a safe haven against the night outside. Maybe it was the warmth of the honey-toned logs or maybe it was something else entirely. But one thing she was sure of was that she already loved it. Big, but not imposing, it was a happy house. Or would be if its owner wasn’t frowning constantly.

  But he’d smiled with Holly, Joy reminded herself as she headed down the long hallway toward the great room. He might have wished to be anywhere else, but he had been patient and kind to her little girl, and for Joy, nothing could have touched her more.

  Her steps were quiet, her thoughts less so. She hadn’t seen much of Sam since leaving him in the workshop. He’d deliberately kept his distance and Joy hadn’t pushed. He’d had dinner, alone, in the dining room, then he’d disappeared again, barricading himself in the great room. She hadn’t bothered him, had given him his space, and even now wouldn’t be sneaking around his house if she didn’t need something to read.

>   Holly was long since tucked in and Joy simply couldn’t concentrate on the television, so she wanted to lose herself in a book. Keep her brain too busy to think about Sam. Wondering what his secrets were. Wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Wondering what the heck she was doing.

  She threw a glance at the staircase and the upper floor, where the bedrooms were—where Sam was—and told herself to not think about it. Joy had spent the day cleaning the upstairs, though she had to admit that the man was so tidy, there wasn’t much to straighten up.

  But vacuuming and dusting gave her the chance to see where he slept, how he lived. His bedroom was huge, offering a wide view of the lake and the army of pine trees that surrounded it. His bed was big enough for a family of four to sleep comfortably, and the room was decorated in soothing shades of slate blue and forest green. The attached bath had had her sighing in imagined pleasure.

  A sea of pale green marble, from the floors to the counters, to the gigantic shower and the soaker whirlpool tub that sat in front of a bay window with a view of the treetops. He lived well, but so solitarily it broke her heart. There were no pieces of him in the room. No photos, no art on the wall, nothing to point to this being his home. As beautiful as it all was, it was still impersonal, as if even after living there for five years he hadn’t left his own impression on the place.

  He made her curious. Gorgeous recluse with a sexuality that made her want to drool whenever he was nearby. Of course, the logical explanation for her zip of reaction every time she saw the man was her self-imposed Man Fast. It had been so long since she’d been on a date, been kissed...heck, been touched, that her body was clearly having a breakdown. A shame that she seemed to be enjoying it so much.

  Sighing a little, she turned, slipped into the great room, then came to a dead stop. Sam sat in one of the leather chairs in front of the stone fireplace, where flames danced across wood and tossed flickering shadows around the room.

  Joy thought about leaving before he saw her. Yes, cowardly, but understandable, considering where her imaginings had been only a second or two ago. But even as she considered sneaking out, Sam turned his head and pinned her with a long, steady look.

  “What do you need?”

  Not exactly friendly, but not a snarl, either. Progress? She’d take it.

  “A book.” With little choice, Joy walked into the room and took a quick look around. This room was gorgeous during the day, but at night, with flickering shadows floating around...amazing. Really, was there anything prettier than firelight? When she shifted her gaze back to him, she realized the glow from the fire shining in his dark brown eyes was nearly hypnotic. Which was a silly thought to have, so she pushed it away fast. “Would you mind if I borrow a book? TV is just so boring and—”

  He held up one hand to cut her off. “Help yourself.”

  “Ever gracious,” she said with a quick grin. When he didn’t return it, she said, “Okay, thanks.”

  She walked closer, surreptitiously sliding her gaze over him. His booted feet were crossed at the ankle, propped on the stone edge of the hearth. He was staring into the fire as if looking for something. The flickering light danced across his features, and she recognized the scowl that she was beginning to think was etched into his bones. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine.” He didn’t look at her. Never took his gaze from the wavering flames.

  “Okay. You’ve got a lot of books.” She looked through a short stack of hardbacks on the table closest to him. A mix of mysteries, sci-fi and thrillers, mostly. Her favorites, too.

  “Yeah. Pick one.”

  “I’m looking,” she assured him, but didn’t hurry as he clearly wanted her to. Funny, but the gruffer and shorter he became, the more intrigued she was.

  Joy had seen him with Holly. She knew there were smiles inside him and a softness under the cold, hard facade. Yet he seemed determined to shut everyone out.

  “Ew,” she said as she quickly set one book aside. “Don’t like horror. Too scary. I can’t even watch scary movies. I get too involved.”

  “Yeah.”

  She smiled to herself at the one-word answer. He hadn’t told her to get out, so she’d just keep talking and see what happened. “I tried, once. Went to the movies with a friend and got so scared and so tense I had to go sit in the lobby for a half hour.”

  She caught him give her a quick look. Interest. It was a start.

  “I didn’t go back into the theater until I convinced an usher to tell me who else died so I could relax.”

  He snorted.

  Joy smiled, but didn’t let him see it. “So I finally went back in to sit with my friend, and even though I knew how it would end, I still kept my hands over my eyes through the rest of the movie.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “But,” she said, moving over to the next stack of books, “that doesn’t mean I’m just a romantic comedy kind of girl. I like adventure movies, too. Where lots of things blow up.”

  “Is that right?”

  Just a murmur, but he wasn’t ignoring her.

  “And the Avengers movies? Love those. But maybe it’s just Robert Downey Jr. I like.” She paused. “What about you? Do you like those movies?”

  “Haven’t seen them.”

  “Seriously?” She picked up a mystery she’d never read but instead of leaving with the book, she sat down in the chair beside his. “I think you’re the first person I’ve ever met who hasn’t seen those movies.”

  He spared her one long look. “I don’t get out much.”

  “And isn’t that a shame?”

  “If I thought so,” he told her, “I’d go out more.”

  Joy laughed at the logic. “Okay, you’re right. Still. Heard of DVDs? Netflix?”

  “You’re just going to keep talking, aren’t you?”

  “Probably.” She settled into her chair as if getting comfy for a long visit.

  He shook his head and shifted his gaze back to the fire as if that little discouragement would send her on her way.

  “But back to movies,” she said, leaning toward him over the arm of her chair. “This time of year I like all the Christmas ones. The gushier the better.”

  “Gushy.”

  It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “You know, the happy cry ones. Heck, I even tear up when the Grinch’s heart grows at the end of that little cartoon.” She sighed. “But to be fair, I’ve been known to get teary at a heart-tugging commercial at Christmastime.”

  “Yeah, I don’t do Christmas.”

  “I noticed,” she said, tipping her head to one side to study him. If anything, his features had tightened, his eyes had grown darker. Just the mention of the holiday had been enough to close him up tight. And still, she couldn’t resist trying to reach him.

  “When we’re at home,” she said, “Holly and I put up the Christmas decorations the day after Thanksgiving. You have to have a little restraint, don’t you think? I mean this year, I actually saw Christmas wreaths for sale in September. That’s going a little far for me and I love Christmas.”

  He swiveled a look at her. “If you don’t mind, I don’t really feel like talking.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to. I like talking.”

  “No kidding.”

  She smiled and thought she saw a flicker of a response in his eyes, but if she had, it wasn’t much of one because it faded away fast. “You can’t get to know people unless you talk to them.”

  He scraped one hand across his face. “Yeah, maybe I don’t want to get to know people.”

  “I think you do, you just don’t want to want it.”

  “What?”

  “I saw you today with Holly.”

  He shifted in his chair and frowned into the fire. “A one-time thing.”

  “So you said,
” Joy agreed, getting more comfortable in the chair, letting him know she wasn’t going anywhere. “But I have to tell you how excited Holly was. She couldn’t stop talking about the fairy house she built with you.” A smile curved Joy’s mouth. “She fell asleep in the middle of telling me about the fairy family that will move into it.”

  Surprisingly, the frown on his face deepened, as if hearing that he’d given a child happiness made him angry.

  “It was a small thing, but it meant a lot to her. And to me. I wanted you to know that.”

  “Fine. You told me.”

  Outside, the wind kicked up, sliding beneath the eaves of the house with a sighing moan that sounded otherworldly. She glanced toward the front window at the night beyond, then turned back to the man with darkness in his eyes. She wondered what he was thinking, what he was seeing as he stared into the flames. Leaning toward him, she locked her hands around her up-drawn knees and said, “That wide front window is a perfect place for a Christmas tree, you know. The glass would reflect all the lights...”

  His gaze shot to hers. “I already told you, I don’t do Christmas.”

  “Sure, I get it,” she said, though she really didn’t. “But if you don’t want to, Holly and I will take care of decorating and—”

  He stood up, grabbed a fireplace poker and determinedly stabbed at the logs, causing sparks to fly and sizzle on their wild flight up the chimney. When he was finished, he turned a cold look on her and said, “No tree. No decorations. No Christmas.”

  “Wow. Speak of the Grinch.”

  He blew out a breath and glared at her, but it just didn’t work. It was too late for him to try to convince her that he was an ogre or something. Joy had seen him with Holly. His patience. His kindness. Even though he hadn’t wanted to be around the girl, he’d given her the gift of his time. Joy’d had a glimpse of the man behind the mask now and wouldn’t be fooled again. Crabby? Yes. Mean? No.