Christmas Sanctuary

by Lauren Hawkeye

  She didn’t respond, simply looked at him sidelong from beneath a thick fringe of lashes far darker than her ponytail. He got the point.

  “Mike’s on a backcountry camping trip,” he explained, crossing his arms over his chest. Salt Spring Island was mild compared to some of the places he’d lived, but it was still December and he was wearing only an undershirt. “He’ll be gone for a few more days.”

  “What on earth is a backcountry camping trip?” Her words dripped with suspicion, as though she was certain that he was making up an excuse. “There’s snow on the ground.”

  “There is,” he agreed, entertained by the surprise on her face. “Lots of people around here like to do the whole communing with nature thing. They head off into the woods and hang out for a while. Even in the snow.”

  “Why?” Her tone was horrified, and Nick couldn’t hold back a laugh. While she’d inherited her father’s looks, it was clear to him that the similarities stopped there.

  He shrugged and, because he could, reached out to tug at a ribbon of her blond ponytail. She reached up to bat him away, but then their stares met and she stopped moving.

  Click. A connection, one he couldn’t explain, snapped into place so firmly that Nick could almost hear it. Yeah, there was something here—that inexplicable something that drew certain people together.

  He wanted to kiss her. The realization was strange. He liked to spend time with women; he certainly enjoyed having them in his bed, but he wasn’t all that big on kissing—it was usually all about a means to an end for him.

  But this woman? He wanted, really wanted, the taste of her lips on his own. It was just his luck that she was his best friend’s daughter.

  The sound of tires crunching over gravel grated in the still air, dissolving the moment. Turning away, he raked a hand through his hair as the cab he’d called pulled up in front of the studio.

  “You’re insane, Nick!” The driver was Meg, a twenty-something single mom who had her toddler daughter Lily strapped in the backseat. “Don’t you know it’s winter? Put some clothes on! We know you’re sexy, already!”

  He barked out a laugh, not entirely disappointed by the slight stiffening of Emma’s spine. She felt it, too, that thread between them—he knew she did.

  Both of them ignored it as he jogged back down the driveway to retrieve her suitcase and stuff it in the trunk. Meg waited as Emma, her expression comical, slid into the backseat beside the sleeping toddler.

  “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.” What he was really sorry for was not giving her that kiss, but he again pictured Mike and kept that thought to himself, watching as she settled back in her seat. At the last moment she bolted back up, opening the door.

  “Your jacket. Here.” She started to tug on the sleeves, but he shook his head.

  “Nah, it’s just an old thing.” He waved a hand in the air. “You keep it. You’re going to need it.”

  “I…thank you.” She tilted her head as if puzzled by his sudden generosity. Truth be told, he was a little confused, too, and the feeling didn’t dissipate as she pulled the door closed again and the cab drove away.

  Nick stood there at the end of the driveway for several minutes, hands stuffed in his pockets, the wind turning his skin to ice. He needed to get back to work—he had a big show coming up in Vancouver—but if he’d been blocked before, he was completely out of the zone now.

  He knew what he needed. He was a big believer in the saying that salt water cured all, whether it was tears, sweat, or the sea. Burgoyne Bay would offer two of the three.

  He was going on a hike.

  Chapter 6

  The cabin she’d rented was so completely surrounded by forest that Emma felt as though she was the one backcountry camping.

  In reality, she was only a few minutes’ walk from the end of Main Street, a handy thing since she hadn’t yet figured out how transportation worked on the island.

  If she were honest with herself, she would admit that a very small part of her, a fraction that had always smarted from not having a father around, had been filled with hope for this trip. Hope that there would be an open, running-into-each-other’s-arms kind of first meeting. Hope that Michael would be so eager to get to know his adult daughter that he would invite her to stay with him. She wouldn’t need to rent a car, because she’d be at her father’s side all the time, soaking up twenty-six years’ worth of affection.

  “Not so much,” she muttered to herself as she flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. The mattress was so soft that she didn’t even bounce, instead sinking into the hand-pieced quilt bit by bit as she focused on the cheap foil tree garland that management had draped on every available surface of the tiny cabin.

  Yeah. Instead of a warm, loving father figure, she’d found an irritable, inappropriate welder. Okay, a hot inappropriate welder, but still. The shattering of her private reunion dream and the inexplicable chemistry between her and said hot, half-naked welder had left her at loose ends.

  On some level, she approved of how protective the welder—Nick—had been of Michael. That kind of friend was hard to find. She should know, because she didn’t have one. The closest she’d ever come was Matthew.

  Just thinking of his name ruffled her feathers. A few days and a bit of distance had made her grateful that her hand had been forced—she and Matthew had come together because it had been expected, the next logical step to their lifelong friendship. The longevity of their friendship was why his betrayal had really stung.

  Yes, he and her mother had always been close. Still, she’d never imagined that he would take her mother’s side over her own. And she believed, wholeheartedly, that a husband and wife should be a team, should present a united front.

  Just thinking of it all had her anger simmering just below the surface of her skin. This feeling of betrayal—that must have been why she’d been so attracted to Nick. Her pride had taken a hard blow, and a bit of a flirt with a sexy man had been like holding a box of cookies in front of someone four weeks into a Paleo diet.

  Cookies. Why hadn’t she packed that tin of Christmas cookies from Agnes? She could use a rum ball or three right about now.

  “Ugh!” This wouldn’t do. The pleasant warmth from meeting Nick, the anger at Matthew and her mother—she was ready to claw at the walls. She was fixing to get out and do something.

  The corner of the cabin featured a small, boxy desk stacked high with takeout menus and brochures for local activities. She flipped through the latter slowly, scowling at all of the athletic adventures advertised within.

  If it was to be believed, when the residents of Salt Spring Island weren’t creating world-renowned art, they were surfing, swimming, jogging, hiking, and reveling in all their sporty awesomeness.

  Casting a look down at the yoga pants she’d changed into after she’d hauled her suitcase into the cabin, Emma snorted at herself. Wearing the stretchy things was the closest she came to working out, thankyouverymuch. Her gangly limbs had never been anything but clumsy whenever she tried to play sports or exercise.

  But what else was there to do? When she’d packed, she never imagined she’d have several days with nothing to do but wait.

  Above her head, one of the strands of silver tinsel pulled loose, reaching down to tickle at her face. She batted at it with a growl.

  The Christmas decorations everywhere were driving her buggy, too. They were just a reminder of every traumatic thing that had happened in the past week, and even worse—that Christmas was right around the corner, and, for the first time in her life, she didn’t know where she would be celebrating it, or with whom.

  As if to taunt her, the loose strand of garland detached from the ceiling completely, tangling in her hair as it shed tiny icicles of foil all over the floor. Emma shouted, startled, before knocking the thing to the floor and stomping on it.

  That decided it. Digging through her suitcase, she tossed aside tailored slacks, cashmere sweaters, even a silk cocktail dress—what h
ad she been thinking?—until she unearthed the only other warm item she’d packed, a long-sleeved thermal she’d purchased just for the trip. Yanking off the tags, she dropped them into the trash bin before stripping off her T-shirt and replacing it with the thermal. Over this she layered the chunky knit sweater she’d been wearing earlier and, after a moment of hesitation, Nick’s jacket. After another moment, she gave in to the urge and buried her nose in the fabric, taking a good sniff.

  The predominant smell was, she assumed, some kind of fuel, or whatever powered that torch. Mixed with it, though, was something smoky and, she was positive, a musky note that she thought might be pure Nick.

  And what the hell was she doing, sniffing a stranger’s jacket?

  “Idiot,” she muttered to herself as she slipped her feet into her boots. Throwing open the door to the cabin, she looked down at her pretty leather ankle booties with their adorable little kitten heels.

  Probably not the best choice of footwear for the snow that spread out before her like a scene from Rudolph—the stop-motion animated classic that she still watched every holiday season. But it was either this, high-heeled pumps, or fuzzy slippers, so these were probably the best choice after all.

  She was going on a hike.

  Chapter 7

  The beach stretched out on either side of him—beige pebbles, white sand, and bleached wood worn smooth from the tide. Nick brushed the sugar sprinkle of snow off one of these logs and seated himself with a groan, stretching his tired legs out in front of him.

  The hike had been exactly what he’d needed. Burgoyne Bay was just challenging enough to tire his body, which in turn emptied his mind. Sitting on the deserted stretch of beach, watching lace-tipped waves crash onto the shore, he was the closest to content he’d been in recent memory.

  It still surprised him that the ocean brought him peace, considering how his mother had died. Maybe that was why, actually—perhaps on some level he felt as though the waves brought him closer to the parent who’d lost her life in them.

  Oh, no. He wasn’t going down that path, not today. Not when he’d finally carved out a little slice of peace, a rare commodity for his busy and often chaotic mind.

  Sucking in a deep breath of icy air, he savored the solitude. And of course, because he was very nearly happy in his isolation, a voice from above sliced through the quiet.

  “Have mercy!” a woman shouted from the trail above him. Nick sighed, closing his eyes as he looked up at the sky. He couldn’t logically be upset with someone for hiking along a public trail, but it was the same feeling that came when he ran on the treadmill in the island’s one small health club and out of all the other machines in the place, the newcomer selected the one right beside his. Just an annoying invasion of space.

  The squawking from above continued, and, accepting that his solitude was over, he twisted on his seat, shading his eyes and scanning the rock face above him. A flash of pink flickered through the greenery, moving forward, but it wasn’t until the last switchback of the trail that he was able to see the entire figure.

  It was a woman, a slender one who was breathing hard as she rounded the corner. Squinting, he watched with some amusement as the obviously novice hiker stopped for a moment, panting and pressing her hand to what was probably a cramp in her stomach.

  He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he watched her suck it up and start again. She stumbled, holding out her arms to regain her balance with a honey-coated yelp, and he realized who he was looking at.

  Emma. Mike’s daughter. Inexplicably irritated to see her here, interrupting his self-reflection, he stood and called up to her.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Startled, she stopped, eyes scanning the beach below her. Her lips twisted into an expression of displeasure when she spotted him, and once more he felt that perverse attraction, all because of her mouth. “There are beginner trails all over the island. You’re going to hurt yourself!”

  This was clearly the wrong thing to say, because she simply glared, squared her shoulders, and pushed forward for another few steps. He watched her halting progress with a mixture of admiration and scorn.

  She still wasn’t dressed for the weather, though it gave him an odd sense of pleasure to see his jacket hanging open over her pink sweater. Still, she needed a proper ski jacket. Mittens. A toque, for God’s sake. And she was wearing…he squinted, sure that he was seeing wrong.

  Nope. She was wearing the same boots she’d had on earlier, the fancy little things with the heels. Heels. On a hike.

  Her pants were the only acceptable part of her outfit. In fact, he found he could offer no complaint at all on that front.

  What did women call those things? Yoga pants. Yeah. Thank God for yoga pants and the way they showed off those impossibly long legs of hers.

  A gust of frigid wind blew off the ocean, interrupting Nick’s admiration of Emma’s legs and making even his seasoned Canadian blood chill. Watching as she started to shiver so hard he could actually see it from down below, aggravation grated.

  “Where the hell are your mittens? Your toque?” Shouting up, he ground his teeth together. “Haven’t you ever heard of frostbite?”

  Maybe Mike had no idea that he had a daughter, but Nick would be damned if that daughter would lose her nose or a toe to the cold before he could find out.

  “What is a toque?” Her blond ponytail swished as she lifted her chin in the air, now close enough for him to see the way the cold had made her icy pale skin scarlet. “That’s not even a word!”

  “This is a toque!” Pulling a spare knit cap out of his pocket, he waved the red fabric through the air. “Get down here and put this on!”

  “Well, bless your heart,” she drawled, in that unmistakable voice of hers. Was it weird that it both irritated the hell out of him and turned him on at the same time? “We don’t have toques in Georgia. Whatever was I thinking?”

  “Clearly, you weren’t.” Damn it, if she didn’t get down here and put his “toque” on before she turned into an icicle, he’d go up there and cover that blond head for her. “Emma, I’m serious. What were you thinking, going for a hike without a winter jacket or proper boots? Look at you. You’re freezing.”

  “I don’t know who you think you are, but I reckon I’ll do—no!” Whatever she was about to say cut off as she took another step downhill. Nick’s stomach flipped as he watched, almost in slow motion, as her ankle rolled and she fell.

  Chapter 8

  Shit.

  Without thinking, Nick took off across the sand. His already sore muscles screamed as he pumped his limbs, the driftwood and sand of the beach giving way to the stone of the trail as he climbed the slight hill of the hiking path.

  “Damn it all to hell!” Emma had sunk down to a crouch, her left ankle clasped tightly in her hands. “That hurts!”

  “Let me see,” he started, kneeling beside her. The frozen ground sent chilly fingers through the thick fabric of his cargos, cold enough to make his bones ache. Up close, the scarlet flush on Emma’s pale skin was unnaturally bright, and he knew that she must be freezing. “Come on, now, we need to make sure it’s not broken.”

  “Don’t touch me!” Batting his hands away, she scowled. Hissing with exasperation, he held up his hands in surrender, palms out, as she struggled to her feet.

  “You should let me check—”

  “It’s not broken!” Temper heightened her color, but he could hear the thread of pain beneath the words as she rotated her ankle experimentally, wincing. “Just twisted. Damn it.”

  “Let me—” he started, but she silenced him with a hand flung out as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. He refrained from rolling his eyes, just barely, as she held it up to the sky.

  “There’s no reception here.” He patted his pocket, where his own phone was stored. “Unless you let me help you, how do you think you’re going to get home?”

  She jutted her chin into the air. The saucy tilt of her head brought her face i
nto profile, emphasizing the kissable fullness of her lips, and for a moment he was distracted enough to stop arguing.

  What was it about this woman? What made her so different from all of the others he’d met?

  “Then I’ll walk.” Determination on her face, she took a cautious step forward, grimacing when she put weight on her injured ankle, and he felt a strange little flutter in his stomach. This was it, this was why, right here.

  Most of the women he’d dated would have let him help with more eagerness than the situation warranted—they’d have used the opportunity to wangle dinner, a movie, an hour in his bed. Hell, they might have even faked the twisted ankle in the first place. This might have sounded conceited if he’d said it out loud, but he figured it was just the truth.

  But Emma? The way she’d reacted to him earlier made it clear that she felt the spark between them, too. Still, he’d been an ass, and now she was making him work for it.

  It was perverse of him, but he admired her fire.

  “So, you have no cell reception. And I’m guessing you started the hike downtown.” Glancing sidelong at him through that fringe of lashes, she pinched her lips together, and he tried to ignore the fact that he thought it was hot. “Your choices are to hike all the way back in those ridiculous shoes, in the cold, or to let me give you a ride.”

  She didn’t reply. He watched as her breath puffed from those full lips in white clouds.

  He was shocked when she turned as quickly as she could manage and started to limp her way back up the hill.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Huffing with exasperation, he studied her retreating figure. Defiance was written in every line of her body, and he was reminded, suddenly and strongly, of Mike.

  It seemed that stubbornness ran in the family. And even if Mike didn’t know about Emma, when he found out, he wouldn’t be likely to forgive Nick if he didn’t do something to remedy this situation.