Sweet Memories

by NICOLA STARKS

  any better, he would think this was a scene straight out of another era. An era in which chivalry was very much alive and kicking. He tossed back the whiskey in his tumbler and set the empty glass aside. The liquid joined the curious fire inside him and did nothing to squelch it as he'd hoped.

  “So what do you do when you’re not driving a tow truck, Mitch?” she asked. He leaned back against the cabinet behind him and crossed his arms. “You

  don’t have to do that.” “Do what?”

  “Make small talk,” he told her. “If you want, I can show you the guest room, and you can shack up there for the night. Neither Major nor I will bother you.”

  Her shoulders stiffened. “I thought making conversation would be more pleasant than listening to the wind howl. My mistake.”

  He frowned, cursing himself as she hopped down from the counter and took her drink into the living room. He didn’t know what about her amused him one moment and put his back up the next. The part of her that could sip whiskey like water intrigued him to no end, but the city part reminded him all too much of the types he used to date—the kind of woman who had been drawn to his name and the money behind it. Not the real man inside, the one he’d given up everything to save.

  He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and sighed, forcing his shoulders to level off as the breath and tension filtered out of him. Then he poured himself another glass, afraid she might be right about one thing—this was on its way to becoming a situation only hard liquor could solve.

  Chapter Six – Oh No!

  Mitch turned the heavy glass in his fingers before he slammed it down on the counter. Adding alcohol to an already explosive situation was the wrong move. He’d bustle that tempting bundle into the spare room. If she wanted to stay up, he’d see about getting the generator started.

  The small battery-operated weather radio on the counter crackled to life. “… long range forecast predicts this storm will hover over western Georgia for the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours with accumulations up to three feet…”

  “Oh. My. God.” Candy stalked into the kitchen, grabbed his glass and drank it in one gulp. Her watering eyes searched his. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’m going to get the generator started, and you’re going to bed, princess.” Mitch put the whiskey bottle in the cabinet and closed the door.

  Candy squared her shoulders so abruptly he thought he heard tendons snap with outrage.

  “Stop calling me princess, like some kind of reverse snob. My name is Candy.”

  Mitch wondered if helping this woman was punishment for old sins. He inhaled her sweetness and wanted to run his tongue over the soft skin exposed by the drooping collar of his oversized shirt.

  Instead he slapped the flashlight into her hand and pointed her toward the spare bedroom. “Go!”

  ****

  Candy watched Mitch disappear quicker than a tax refund. She wasn’t tired enough to sleep, so she wandered back into the living room and slowly piled more wood on the fire. Major sprawled like a lifeless bearskin rug in front of the hearth. He didn’t move when she stepped over him. The howling wind scraped on her nerves like sandpaper. Despite Mitch’s outrageous remarks, his strength and positive attitude kept her fears at bay.

  She turned slowly, studying the masculine furnishings in the flashlight beam. The overstuffed leather sofa and chairs suited him. To her surprise a large fir tree stood in the corner, partially decorated. She no longer bothered to decorate her apartment for the holidays, and the idea of celebrating made her stomach clench. Maybe he’d had company for Christmas. Everything else in the room shouted bachelor. Even the heavy photo frames perched on the mantel looked like he’d picked them out. Without stepping up onto the hearth, she couldn’t make out the details, but they looked like outdoor scenes.

  A loud thump followed by a muffled curse from the basement made her smile as she stifled a yawn. Finding her bed sounded more and more enticing. She wandered down the hall, looking for the guest room. After briefly glancing into Mitch’s room, she snapped the door shut. The king-sized bed covered with a fluffy goose-down coverlet looked too inviting. Her breath hitched at the idea of Mitch waiting underneath.

  Candy shook her head. She had to stop thinking of him as an attractive, sexy male. As she opened another door, several lights flickered and came on. A computer screen turned blue as electronic equipment hummed to life. A fax machine spat out a page. They must run on a backup battery. The office was better equipped than her office in Manhattan.

  She resisted the urge to check it out, slowly backing away. For a small-town tow truck driver, Mitch had an enormous amount of high-tech equipment. She rubbed her forehead. He seemed, somehow, more than he presented.

  The next door opened into what was obviously a guest room. The double bed stacked with pillows called her name.

  Mitch noisily climbed the basement stairs.

  “Candy,” he shouted. “I started the generator. The furnace will kick on in a minute and warm the bedrooms.”

  “That’s great. I was just thinking about going to bed.” Only not alone. She rubbed her arms as she walked back toward the front room.

  Mitch stood next to the door. She glanced past him at the swirling snow visible through the tiny window. Wind rattled the pane. A horrendous tearing, snapping roar shook the earth.

  Mitch stepped back, pulling her with him. The sound of metal crunching and glass shattering made her cringe. After a minute, he cautiously pulled open the door.

  Snow blew in chilling her to the bone.

  She stared at the enormous tree flattening Mitch’s truck.

  Chapter Seven – The Morning After

  Candy woke slowly, head pounding to the rhythm of a jackhammer. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth when she tried to swallow, and her stomach rolled. Breathing in short pants, she waited for the nausea to pass. Not certain if she’d be forced to make a speedy dash to the bathroom, she pried open her eyes.

  Pine paneling and an assortment of rustic furniture spun in her blurred vision. Definitely not her black lacquer Japanese style bedroom set. Where in the name of God am I? She peered toward the window. A swirl of snow slapped against the pane, and memory engulfed her. Wrecked car, know-it-all tow truck driver, candlelit room, bottle of bad whiskey. Check.

  She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples, trying to remember what came after the whiskey. A tree had fallen on his truck. That had made an impression—and not only on the truck. She’d slipped her arm around his waist, sympathy taking the edge off her anger at the whole stinking situation. Had he kissed her? The rest of the night was a blur. Firm, cool lips, soft sheets…

  She sat up abruptly, the movement reducing her to tears. Cold air hit her naked body. Staring down at her bare breasts, she let out a moan. Did I sleep with the man? Surely she hadn’t stooped so low. Surely she’d remember something so supremely stupid. Candy Wright didn’t have one-night stands. For crying out loud, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had sex, it had been so long!

  Sliding out of the bed, she tripped and sprawled across something warm and furry. Eye to eye with the dog, she blinked. Major blinked back and gave her a swipe with his tongue. His doggy breath sent bile surging up her throat. Bracing shaking arms against the hardwood floor, she fought it down.

  “Kill me now and get it over with,” she hissed. The dog licked her again.

  “Oh God.” Rising to her knees, she tugged Mitch’s wrinkled shirt and sweat pants out from under Major. Her bra and panties were beneath the bed. Teeth gritted, she dressed and cracked open the door. The hall was empty. She dashed to the bathroom.

  After brushing her teeth with a new toothbrush she found in the medicine cabinet and washing her face, she was almost convinced she’d live. If she’d done the deed with hunky Mitch, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. The man was infuriating. And sexy. He’d swept her off her feet, literally and figuratively. She wasn’t used to men who didn’t try to impress her, who ordered
her around, who couldn’t care less that she was the CEO of a successful Manhattan advertising agency. Of course he didn’t know that. He didn’t know anything about her.

  Taking a breath, she opened the door and padded down the hall to the kitchen, the smell of coffee drawing her like a magnet. Mitch turned and smiled, holding out a steaming cup. Her hand shook as she took it. Wrapping her fingers around the mug, she breathed in the fragrance of heaven. “Is the power—“

  “Nope. And the generator isn’t big enough to run the furnace and the stove at the same time.” He pointed at the green, two- burner stove set up on the table. “I dug out my old propane stove and made camp coffee.” He eyed her up and down. “You don’t look so good.”

  She grimaced and took a sip. “Thanks.”

  “It’s not that you aren’t gorgeous, even in my wrinkled clothes, but your face is a peculiar shade of green.”

  “Gee, just what every girl wants to hear after a night spent with a whiskey bottle.”

  His grin broadened. “And I thought you could hold your liquor.” “I can. I’d feel a whole lot better right now if I hadn’t held it.” “Well, Candy Cane, next time you should learn to just say no.”

  She nearly choked on her coffee. “Candy Cane! Candy Cane! No one calls me that.”

  “Hey, you told me I could last night.” His voice dropped low and sexy.

  A hard knot formed in her chest. Tears burned behind her eyes. “My mom was the only one who ever called me Candy Cane.”

  He cupped her chin in his hand and stared down at her. His voice turned gentle when he spoke. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She wanted to lean into that hand, let it caress away her troubles. Straightening her shoulders, she stepped away. “You didn’t.”

  “Your mother must be a special woman.” “She was.”

  His gaze never wavered. “Tell me about her.”

  “Nothing to tell. She worked until the day she died so that I could have a better life.” She bit her lip. “Uh, Mitch, there are a few holes in my memory of last night. After the tree fell, everything is a bit of a blur.”

  Color spotted his cheekbones, and her heart stopped beating. “I may have taken advantage.”

  She felt for the chair behind her and sank onto it. “What happened to all that talk about chivalry?”

  “It was just a kiss. Well, maybe not just. Actually, it was an incredibly hot kiss.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Oh my God, I thought you meant…” She let out a long breath. “I’m afraid I don’t remember it.”

  “Not exactly flattering. I must be losing my touch.”

  His self-deprecating expression made her smile. “Is there still hot water for a shower?”

  “As long as the gas for the generator holds out.”

  She stood and turned to leave the room, but his words stopped her.

  “Candy, you said your mother worked to give you a better life. What did she do?”

  She looked back at him, and the tightness in her chest returned. “She cleaned houses for rich people. Do you have an issue with that?”

  His eyes were hooded, completely unreadable. “Nope. It’s an honest way to make a living. What was her name?”

  “Why do you want to know?” “No reason.”

  She didn’t believe him for a minute. “Marie Wright.”

  He ran one long finger along a scratch in the granite countertop. “You said you grew up in Vermont.”

  She pressed her fingers against her temples. “For the first ten years, then we moved to New York.” Meeting his gaze, she wondered at his odd expression. “Is the inquisition over?”

  He opened his mouth, then shut it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  Sure he didn’t. Between her pounding head and her embarrassment at having kissed him, she refused to wonder why he was curious about her mother. “I’m going to take a shower, and then I’m going to go get my suitcase.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. “How are you going to do that? It’s probably five or six miles back to your car. And in case it slipped your mind, my truck looks like a metal pancake.”

  “I remember. I plan to walk.”

  He snorted. “There’s a foot of snow out there and more falling.”

  “I don’t care. I want—no—I need to change my clothes. Anyway, I could use the fresh air.”

  His smile was slow in coming and made her stomach flutter. In a good way. “Suit yourself.”

  Chapter Eight – A Cup of Hot Chocolate and a Dose of Hot Mitch

  Candy stared at her boots. They wouldn’t fit over Mitch’s wool socks, and even if they did, the thought of walking five miles in a foot of snow on those heels slipped over the border of ridiculous. She snatched them from the floor.

  “Mitch?” She stepped into the hall. “Out here.”

  She followed his voice to the living room and stopped in her tracks at the sight of him. His back was to her, the glow from the fireplace bathing him in golden light. Hunched over a box beside the tree, he pulled a tangle of lights into the air. A waft of hot chocolate teased her nose, dizzying her with memories of her childhood. She and her mother had always had hot chocolate and a fire while decorating the tree in Vermont. In New York, they hadn’t had a fireplace, but the hot chocolate tradition had continued. She didn’t do Christmas like that anymore.

  He didn’t look up. “You all set to head out?”

  The boots hung heavy in her hand. She clutched them tighter and took a deep breath to quell the nostalgia threatening her resolve. “I either need to borrow a pair of your boots, or a hatchet.”

  “Excuse me?” He looked over his shoulder.

  She lifted the boots. “The only way to walk in these babies is to remove the heels.”

  “Right. You’re going to mutilate a pair of…what? Three hundred dollar boots?”

  She snorted. “They cost a lot more than that. Do you have a pair of boots I can use or not?”

  “Candy.” He pivoted around and sat cross-legged, the tangle of lights covering his knees. “If you don’t like the sweats and shirt—you do look damned good in plaid—I’ll let you pick out whatever you want from my limited wardrobe. You don’t need to get lost in a snow storm.”

  Blond hair lit up in a halo around his head while the devil danced across his face. But the sweetness in his gaze, staring right through her, wiped away all ambition for striking out on her mission.

  “I could use some help getting these lights off the tree and packed away.” He gestured to the mess in his lap.

  “I’m not much good at holiday stuff.”

  He stood, letting the lights fall around his feet, and stepped over them. In two strides he faced her; his hands gently rubbed the tops of her shoulders. The heat beneath her shirt increased ten-fold, and she sighed.

  “You’ll get in the mood once you’ve had my hot chocolate.” He slid his hands to her arms and caressed. “Look at me, Candy.”

  She swallowed, inhaled his warmth, and tentatively inclined her face to meet his gaze.

  “You don’t have to be alone for the holidays.” “How do you know—”

  “Just a wild guess.” He brushed her hair from her cheek, his fingertips trailing sparks along her neck and collarbone on the way to her arms.

  “Maybe I like being alone.” She jutted her chin, ignoring the signals sent by her body. “Besides, I wasn’t alone. I make a point of traveling, visiting friends. Just because I’m not a homebody—”

  “There are all kinds of lonely. Believe me, I know.”

  Why was he looking right through her like that, like he knew something about her? In less than twenty-four hours, the man seemed to think he knew everything from her liquor consumption habits to her lack of holiday cheer.

  She'd turn the conversation his way, and see how he liked being under the microscope. “Are you lonely, Mitch?”

  His tongue swiped along his lower lip and the corner of his most kissable mouth ticked up. “W
ith the weather and the state of my truck, it doesn’t look like I’ll be joining any friends tonight. But I have you.”