“Do you have fire wood?”
“Not yet.”
“Has Sylvie had the heater checked in a while?”
“I have no idea. She was probably too busy at the shooting range.”
Noah scratched at the stubble that flecked his jaw. “When’s the last time she had your chimney cleaned?”
“That sounds very personal.”
There was the sighing thing again. “Open the door, Emma.”
So she did.
It was strange to see him among her things and in her space once again. The small living room seemed to shrink as soon as he stepped into it. After requesting a flashlight, Noah walked to the fireplace and shined the beam into the chimney.
“It’s too dark to tell, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got a bird’s nest or something up there.” Noah stepped away from the fireplace. “Call Sid Tucker tomorrow. Tell him I sent you and to put you on his priority list.”
“Yes, sir.”
Noah took another glance around, frowning at the two camping chairs stationed in her living room like a parlor seating area. “You could at least get a couch.”
“I’ll put that on my to-do list as well.” Seeing him in her rental home, it reminded her of the plans the two of them had made. Or rather the plans Noah had made. He’d had their apartment all picked out. After they got married, they would live there while he finished law school. Then move back to Sugar Creek.
He had returned as planned.
She had gone anywhere but Arkansas.
“Good night, Emma.”
“Noah?” Emma followed him to the front door. “I enjoyed seeing Sugar Creek with you tonight.”
“The town’s finally becoming what it was supposed to be.” Noah’s gaze lingered on Emma’s. “It was there all along.”
“I guess it just needed you.”
A flicker of warmth lit Noah’s eyes. “Good night, Emma.”
“I’ll see you—” Emma’s words halted at the new focus of Noah’s attention.
He pointed above them. There over the door dangled a bouquet of mistletoe. “What is that?”
Oh, geez. “My guess is Sylvie’s version of a house-warming gift.” She could’ve sent a bundt cake.
“Knowing your grandma, there’s probably a spy cam in it.”
Nerves ignited, Emma laughed. “Pretty sure we can count on that.”
Noah took one step, placing him toe-to-toe with Emma. His eyes held hers for the span of two slow breaths. He reached out and ran a hand over Emma’s hair, letting those gentle fingers stop at her cheek. “I’d hate to disappoint her.” He pulled her close.
Emma stepped into him, slid her hands up his chest, and let her lips part.
Only to feel the press of his mouth to her cheek.
She closed her eyes. Disappointment, regret, desire. All these things flamed within her, threatening to invite the tears. Noah was no longer hers. She had walked away years ago, and he had never forgiven her.
“Good night, boss.” She patted the chest beneath her hands and stepped back. She expected to find his gaze full of mirth, teasing. Wasn’t it cute? She had thought he was truly going to kiss her.
But his darkened expression held no humor.
Without a word, Noah turned and walked away.
The cold battering against her coat, Emma stood there and watched him go.
“Emma?” Noah stopped in the driveway and turned around.
“Yes?”
“When I kiss you”—he opened his door, and light spilled onto the pavement—“there won’t be any doubt.”
Chapter Seven
“Fancy Pants has rhinopneumonitis.” Delores stood at Emma’s desk, her frown extra scowly.
Emma hit send on an email. “Well, then I guess you should get your husband some antibiotics.”
“Fancy Pants is your horse. One of the two you’ll be needing for your sleigh rides.”
Oh, no. This was very bad. This horse couldn’t be sick. How could he just quit on her? “What’s rhinopneumonitis?”
“I have no idea,” the secretary drawled. “Let me go check my horse disease dictionary.”
This woman was so getting coal for Christmas.
“I can tell you it means he won’t be able to drive a sleigh for at least a week. That’s what his owner said.”
“Where am I going to get a replacement?” Emma flopped her sandwich onto her paper plate, no longer hungry for lunch. “The sleigh rides start tomorrow.”
“That’s what they pay you big bucks for.” Delores’s sarcastic tone was as impressive as her eye roll. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
“Could you maybe get me a list of—”
“No.” She marched heavy-footed to the door. “You’re not the only one with urgent things to do.”
Ten minutes later on her way to the break room, Emma walked past an overworked Delores filing her nails and checking General Hospital spoilers. Emma held her tongue, clutched her empty coffee mug, and tromped down the hall for a much-needed refill.
“Something wrong?”
Emma’s spoon stopped its rotation in her mug, and she turned at Noah’s voice. “Are you actually speaking to me?”
“I speak to you all the time.”
She added creamer. “I think you have me mixed up with every other member of the Sugar Creek population.”
Noah walked by her and opened the white refrigerator. Today he wore dark khakis, topping it off with a navy shirt he filled out quite nicely. She would be content to stare at him all day. Especially in lieu of finding livery.
“I asked you if something’s wrong,” he repeated.
“No. Nothing.” Except the fact that she had a sleigh with no horse. She had called all over the county, and nobody had a horse that could fill in. The task was proving to be more difficult than she’d imagined. It was the one thing you couldn’t just order up from the internet.
“Are you sure about that?” Noah placed a bowl of soup in the microwave.
“Uh-huh.”
“You realize you just put your seventh sugar packet in your coffee.”
She looked down. There was a tiny graveyard of crumbled white packs all around her cup. “I’m just a little distracted.”
Noah leaned against the granite counter. “You always were so edgy at Christmas.”
“Statistics tell us that most Americans are.” Emma knew her uppity tone sounded completely ridiculous.
“But you’re kind of off the charts. It has to be hard to be in over your head with our Christmas plans while disliking the holiday so much.”
“I’m not in over my head. I’m totally fine. I can handle this. The city light tour worked beautifully, didn’t it?”
“Of course.”
And he hadn’t said thank you or good job or anything. As usual he had barely spoken to her at all. “I know you’re probably breaking out in hives from what has to be our longest conversation since I started here, so I’ll just get back to my office and get out of your way.”
“Emma, wait.”
He lightly caught her wrist. “I’m sorry if I’ve been—” He seemed to be scanning his mind for just the right word— “unavailable.”
And what a word it was. As in “I’m not here as your boss, and I’m sure not available to you in any other capacity you might be dreaming of.”
Because Emma was. Dreaming of him.
And she was thinking of him way too much.
I miss your laugh, your face smiling at mine. I’m sorry I messed up so badly all those years ago.
Last night she had dreamed she was stranded on a Caribbean beach, and he had walked across the sand, appearing out of nowhere, bringing her all sorts of sexy distractions.
And pizza. But that part of the dream wasn’t really important. The point was she needed to stop these runaway fantasy thoughts about Noah. They didn’t have a future. He didn’t even like her.
“You know you’re always welcome to stop by my office if you need somet
hing.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“Just make an appointment with Delores.” He turned back to his microwave. “She’ll put it on my schedule.”
He and Delores deserved each other. “I can handle this job on my own,” Emma said. “Don’t worry about it. I know you’re a very busy man.”
A fresh cup of coffee in hand, Emma stormed back through the lobby, but her steps faltered as the Christmas music wafted from Delores’s speakers.
“Her life was never the same, for overnight the angels came. And I’ll never forget a child’s Christmas tears . . . ”
“Turn it off.” Not caring one whit about personal space, Emma snaked behind Delores’s U-shaped desk and grabbed the woman’s hot pink mouse.
“Hey!” Delores smacked Emma’s hand. “Leggo my computer. You can’t do that.” Delores tried to edge Emma out with her voluptuous hip, but Emma had anger and adrenaline on her side.
“I’m finding another song.” Which of the twenty tabs was the music on?
“That is a good tune, and you have no right to—I said get your manicured mitts off!”
“The angels cried, when they arrived that night. . . ”
The computer would not cooperate. Where was Sylvie’s gun when she needed it?
“Stop it!” Delores cried. “You’re bringing shame to Christmas! That song is about a loving father having to watch his daughter—”
“You have no idea what that stupid song is about.” She closed out all of Delores’s screens until the music died. “That happens to be the worst holiday song ever created. What kind of person likes that sort of thing—Merry Christmas, your mom is dead?”
“I like it,” Delores snarled. “Now move away from my desk right now or I’ll—”
“I don’t want to hear that song, for the love of—”
“Emma.”
She turned and bumped right into Noah. He stood so close, her chin grazed his tie.
He looked down his straight nose and lifted a brow. “You have an audience.”
Suddenly aware of the surroundings, Emma was appalled to see the crowd in the lobby, waiting to see what the crazy news lady would do next. A couple of wide-eyed homeschooling mothers gathered their field-tripping charges close. Two city council members stood frozen at the water cooler, and if Emma was seeing it correctly, the city clerk was recording it all with her phone.
Noah pried the computer mouse from Emma’s grip and handed it back to his secretary. “No music today, please.”
Delores head bobbed with attitude. “But she—”
“That will be all, Delores.”
“But I like that song and—”
“Why don’t you take a break,” Noah suggested to his secretary.
Her lips thinned. “I already had ’em both.”
“You’ve worked so hard,” Noah said calmly. “I think you deserve another.”
The woman glowered at Emma as she reached for her purse. “You’re lucky I don’t sue you.”
“Do not even think of responding,” Noah whispered into Emma’s ear. His hand clasping Emma’s, Noah aimed that boyish grin at the small congregation. “Just a little Christmas stress.”
A curly-headed five year-old pulled a sucker out of his mouth and pointed it at Emma. “You’re gonna be on Santa’s naughty list.”
Oh, geez. She’d just had a total meltdown in public. Over that pathetic song. She was years past that sort of thing. But it had also been years since she’d heard it. “I’m fine.” Emma took a step away from Noah. “I’m sorry.”
Her feet couldn’t carry her fast enough into her office, where she shut herself inside and went back to her call list for one blasted horse. When the hot tears fell like raindrops on her desk, Emma dashed them away and tried to think of better days. As soon as she turned in her pitch for the story on Sugar Creek, she would have her job back. The fun interviews. The glamour of New York. The camaraderie of her television family.
The three-thirty wake-up times. The ratings stress. The endless airplane rides. Her hair always having to be perfect. An existence without carbs. It would be back to a life without Sylvie and her cousins, and . . . without Noah.
Emma was being silly. Of course she wanted that job back. Between being back in Sugar Creek, the holidays, and spending so much time near Noah, her head was simply addled. She needed to get away from him before that dangerous rope of attraction completely wrapped around her once again and pulled her in. Even in his frosty mood, she was a puddle of irrational want. It was better that he ignored her.
At five o’clock Emma had exhausted every avenue she knew of to find a horse.
She shut her laptop, closed her eyes, and rested her forehead on the desk.
When she heard the knock at her door, she didn’t even rouse. They could go away. Why would anyone want to talk to her anyway? She was the great Christmas organizing failure. Foiled by a horse with a problem she couldn’t even pronounce.
More knocking from the other side of the door.
“Go away,” she mumbled. “I have too much to do. Like writing my resignation letter.”
“Quitting already?”
Emma jolted to attention in her chair. “Noah.” She pulled a chunk of hair from her lips. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
The man had the nerve to smile. “Grab your coat.”
“And clear out my desk?”
“No.”
“What am I doing?”
“You’re going with me to check on an ass.”
“Did Delores have car trouble?”
She heard his faint chuckle. “We’re going to Sherman Turner’s farm and getting you a replacement for your sick horse.”
“You knew about that?”
He pulled her coat from her chair and held it out. “You should’ve asked me for help.”
With Noah’s help, Emma eased into her sleeves and felt her breath hitch when he picked up her red plaid scarf and draped it behind her neck and held the ends.
“Emma?”
“Yes?” She stared at his hands on her scarf.
“I’m sorry.”
At that she looked up, right into his deep chocolate eyes. “What for?”
“For being a jerk.”
If this was the part in the conversation where she was supposed to disagree, she wasn’t going to.
“I have been avoiding you,” Noah admitted. “This afternoon I waited for you to come to me for help, but you weren’t going to, were you?”
“No.”
“What happened between us was a long time ago.” He let the words hang between them for a moment. “And even though I would’ve picked someone a little more pro-Christmas for Melissa’s replacement, you’re doing a good job. If we’re going to make Sugar Creek a holiday destination, we’ve got to work as a team. I realized today, I’m the one not letting that happen. So . . . I’m sorry.”
Her lips lifted slowly. “And I’m sorry I attacked your secretary’s computer.”
Noah offered her his arm. “Let’s go fix this carriage situation.”
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, and together they walked outside into the darkened evening. Emma’s heart a little lighter, she leaned into Noah as the wind brushed against them. She didn’t know what he had planned to fix the no-show horse. But she felt confident that whatever he had come up with, it would work.
If only Noah could fix everything else in her life.
Chapter Eight
“So technically it was a mule.” Noah drove his truck away from Sherman Turner’s farm on a dirt road dotted with pot holes.
“Who can tell them apart?” Emma liked the way Noah bypassed the Christmas music on the radio and put on some up-beat country.
“Sherman Turner can.” Noah dimmed his brights for a passing Ford.
Mr. Turner was the father of an old high school friend of Emma’s. Emma and Breanne Turner had both played trumpet in the band and struggled through two years of debate. When Noah had called the m
an and told him Emma needed help, Sherman had only been too happy to oblige. He and Emma had caught up on life, while Noah visited with the animals. They had left Sherman’s with some free range eggs, two gallons of raw milk, and a dozen stories of Breanne’s kids. But most importantly, they’d gotten Sherman’s guarantee that his mule would be ready to pull a carriage through town at six o’clock tomorrow.
“It’ll work.” Noah gave her knee a gentle shake. “Cross this off your stress list.”
“I’m just a little out of my league with the livestock details.”
“I have one more stop to make, then I’ll take you back.”
“John Darcy is meeting me with his one good working horse, and we’re going to do a dry run with the carriage.” Emma watched Noah in the dark cab while a weather report called for rain later in the week. “Sylvie and Frannie were going to go on the carriage ride with me, but they bailed on account of some secret call with the Secretary of Defense. Would you . . . ” The skin beneath Emma’s scarf flushed hot. “Would you want to go?”
Noah’s voice rang with disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Right, stupid idea. I know. I was just thinking after that ‘Go Team’ speech you gave me today that you might want to—no, but you’re right. I’ll totally do the—I mean, forget I even asked, right?” Emma wanted to yank open the truck door and jump into a stampeding herd of cows. Except they all seemed to be gone for the night, and Noah wasn’t driving fast enough to propel her further than the barbed-wire fence lining the road.
“No,” Noah said. “I mean your grandma’s seriously still talking to the government?”
“Oh.” He hadn’t outright rejected her. But still—what had possessed her to ask Noah to go on the carriage ride? “Um . . . yes, I believe she is. She told me the call was with her insurance agent, but I don’t think she needs two burner phones for that conversation.” Emma stared out the window, letting her other question drop. Maybe he would forget she asked. Or maybe his forgetting to acknowledge it was his way of brushing her off. Or maybe—
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