Snowbound with the Single Dad

by Cara Colter

  “I’ll just call Grandpa. He’ll come for us in the tractor.”

  She glared at her phone.

  “Let me guess,” Aidan said quietly. “We’re already in the twilight zone of no service.”

  “He’s going to be so worried. Should we walk?”

  Aidan squinted out into the snow. “No, I don’t think so. It’s getting dark, the storm is making visibility really poor. The road is going to disappear again fairly shortly. There are just too many stories of people getting lost in stuff like this. I’d rather sit tight until morning.”

  “My grandfather will be worried about us.”

  “You know, your grandfather strikes me as a guy who has dealt with a lot of stuff in his time. He’s used to this country, to bad weather, and poor roads and nonexistent communication, and nature throwing a kink in the best-laid plans. I think he’ll be okay, and I think he’ll make it okay for Tess and Nana.”

  And then something else sank in, at least for her.

  That a person could do whatever they wanted, have any plan they wanted, but there were bigger forces to contend with.

  Sometimes, no matter how badly you wanted to be home for Christmas, it just was not going to happen.

  “What is that over there?”

  Noelle followed his gaze. A shape was barely visible through the blowing, thick snow.

  “Oh!” she said. “We’re at the old honeymoon cabin.”

  He turned and gave her a look. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not kidding at all.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  NOELLE ACTUALLY FELT herself blushing under his incredulous gaze. It wasn’t as if she had planned for them to happen upon the honeymoon cabin!

  “A honeymoon cabin in the middle of nowhere,” he said, his voice threaded through with disbelief.

  “It’s not really in the middle of nowhere,” Noelle said. “All this land used to be McGregor land. My grandfather sold it this year. There’s no one left to ranch it.”

  He reached out and squeezed her hand at the emotion in her voice.

  “Anyway, we’re quite close to the old property boundary. My great-great-great-grandfather built the first cabin right there to bring his new bride home. If legend is correct, he’d talked his old sweetheart into coming from Scotland to join him. Later, they built the bigger house in a place closer to water and more protected from the wind.”

  “Well, let’s go see if it’s habitable. It would probably be a more comfortable place to spend the night than the truck.”

  But when she got out of the truck, her weak ankle turned again. She tried to muffle her little cry of pain, but Aidan, who had gone ahead, came back immediately. “Wait here a sec. I’ll go see if it’s locked.”

  “No one around here would lock a cabin. For the very reason we find ourselves in now. Somebody might need it.”

  “In that case...”

  He swooped her up in his arms and plowed through the snow, holding her tight to his chest. He made her feel light as a feather, protected, cared for.

  He went up the snow-clogged steps, managed to wrestle the door handle open while juggling her in his arms, and then—

  “Don’t!” she said.

  But it was too late. He had carried her over the threshold of the Honeymoon Cabin.

  She giggled and buried her head in his shoulder. It was too easy to imagine being carried over this threshold by him in different circumstances.

  He gave her a wry look, and then set her down at a chair at the sturdy table by the woodstove. He went back to the vehicle and retrieved the emergency kit, which had a flashlight in it. He shone the beam around.

  Noelle hugged herself against the deep chill permeating the cabin. Despite the cold in the room a certain warmth shone through.

  It was just one simple room, but it was lovely. She was surprised to see the red plaid curtains over the one window looked new. They were so homey. There was a matching tablecloth on the table. She lifted a corner. Hand-sewn.

  A large, colorful rag rug, the kind her grandmother had made, covered the main area, but she had never seen one quite this large before.

  Over in one corner was a bed hewn from logs, the mattress and bedding rolled tight and wrapped in plastic against invading rodents.

  In the opposite corner was the kitchen—a few shelves with crockery and pots and pans, a counter, an old enamel bowl.

  “It became a tradition,” Noelle said slowly. “Everyone had their honeymoon here. My parents were probably the last ones.”

  She looked again at the new window coverings and at the tablecloth. She stared at the rug. She noticed, even in the dark, that there were framed embroideries on the walls.

  It wasn’t even on her grandparents’ land anymore, but somehow she knew. Her grandmother, thinking Noelle was going to marry Mitchell, had asked to use it, and had gotten it ready for them. It had probably been one of the last things she’d done.

  Noelle began to cry. Aidan came and put his arms around her, held her tight.

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s okay. It’s been a long day.”

  “A long, good day,” she said, forcing her voice past the tightness in her throat. “I was crying because I think my Grandma McGregor got this ready for me, before she died. For my honeymoon.”

  “If I ever find that guy,” he promised fiercely, “I’m going to smack him right on his sunburned bald head.”

  She hiccupped through tears and laughter. “No, don’t do that. I’m not sorry I’m not marrying Mitchell. Not anymore.”

  She contemplated that for a second. When exactly had she begun to understand it was a blessing that he had gone? When had she begun to see that, in settling for an imitation, she could have missed the real thing?

  For the first time, she felt forgiveness for Mitchell. Something in him had known it wasn’t quite right.

  It was still lousy that he had cleared the bank account, but in retrospect, it had been a small price to pay for an extremely valuable lesson.

  “I’m beginning to see that it was not going to be right for me. They’re not sad tears,” she finally managed to hiccup. “I just, for a moment there, felt so close to them. I can feel their love in the room.”

  “I can feel it, too,” he said softly, coming and standing behind her, draping himself over her chair to hold her.

  She reared her head back to look at him. “What? You can? Aidan Phillips? Mr. Cynic?”

  “Maybe it’s a Christmas thing,” he said, smiling. “Okay, let’s get some heat happening.”

  He let her go and went to investigate the wood heater. “There’s kindling,” he said, surprised. “And some wood, enough to get us started, anyway.”

  “These cabins are always left ready to use. You just never know when a stranger might need shelter.”

  He turned and looked at her. “It’s kind of like finding a manger, isn’t it?”

  The skeptic in him seemed to be completely gone. Gone since he had shared his secrets last night. “Yes,” she whispered. “It is.”

  They were silent, both of them feeling the sacredness, a connection to each other and to a shared moment of finding shelter in an unexpected place on a night when it was so needed.

  Aidan got the fire started, and soon the flames were crackling. The heat in the small space was instant.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “I was a Boy Scout, you know.”

  That must be where he had learned the value of good deeds! He went back into the storm and soon was back in the cabin, arms laden with supplies from the vehicle.

  Then Aidan found an ax and went outside. While she listened to the steady rhythm of him chopping wood, Noelle got up from the chair and limped around the small space. She found oil for the lamps and lit them. She looked through the cupboards. Tinned goods were n
ever left, because they could freeze and explode. A mouse had been in the boxed soups and biscuit mix.

  “Aidan?” She limped out to the porch. There was already wood stacked neatly there. What was he doing? Over the ferocious howl of the wind, she could hear him chopping away in the darkness.

  He must not have seen the wood stacked on the porch. Despite being a Boy Scout, he was a city guy—he wouldn’t know you couldn’t burn a freshly cut tree.

  Favoring her leg with the twisted ankle, Noelle went into the storm herself, filling several buckets with snow. Then she began the task of melting it into water on the stove. While that was happening, she got the mattress out of the wrapping and made the bed. It was a lovely feeling, making the cabin homey for Christmas Eve.

  Still. One bed. Again. She was not sure tonight would end the same as last night had. Noelle was not at all sure she could any longer keep from loving him in every sense of that word. She ached for him. She ached for the taste of his lips and the feel of his hands, and for the steadiness of his eyes on her. She ached for a completeness between them.

  She heard him on the porch.

  The door flew open, and Noelle saw that Aidan had not been chopping firewood in the forest. Not at all.

  He had found them the perfect Christmas tree and he wrestled it in the door, leaving puddles of snow as he crossed the floor.

  “For you,” he said. He dropped the tree and went back to shut the door against the storm screaming in through it.

  Noelle was glad he had turned his back for a moment. She had to compose herself. Somehow, Aidan going out into the storm to get this tree, for her, meant more than the necklace she still wore around her neck.

  Aidan went back to the tree. Because of the unevenness of how the trunk had been cut, standing it up proved a near impossible task, but created waves of laughter between the two of them. As they contemplated their options, together, Noelle could feel the bonds deepening between them.

  Finally, with one of the tree’s branches nailed to the wall to keep it from falling over, it was ready for decorations. They made decorations out of anything they could find. There was a ball of string on one of the lower kitchen shelves and so they strung pine cones they found close to the cabin. They made snowballs out of napkins and garlands out of toilet tissue. They cut angels and snowmen and stars from a stack of bright green paper plates they found.

  When they couldn’t fit one more thing on their beautiful tree, they pulled the table close and sat down admiring it. They drank hot chocolate and ate all her stocking stuffers for supper.

  On one of the shelves they found a deck of cards, and he showed her how to play some poker hands. And then she showed him how to play Ninety-Nine. And then, in honor of Tess, they played Go Fish and Crazy Eights.

  It was the best Christmas Eve she had ever had. As the wind shrieked outside and snow pelted the windows, here inside the cabin there was a richness in the air itself. It was cozy. There were no distractions, no cell phone service, no need to “check” the constant incoming media. There was no TV and no computers. There was simplicity. Warmth. Food. Each other.

  They laughed until they hurt as they played the card games, and made up new rules, and said silly things, and playfully cheated, and made up excuses to touch each other’s hands.

  But then the laughter died.

  And was replaced by something else when his hand lingered on hers just a little too long. Their eyes met and held. A sizzling awareness leaped up between them, like embers that had smoldered harmlessly and suddenly burst into flame.

  Noelle could barely breathe as desire chased every other thing from her mind: every worry, every past heartache, every thought for the future, gone. Obliterated in the need to strengthen the connection between them.

  He put pressure on her hand, increasing it until she followed its command, out of her own chair and onto his lap. She raked his beautiful hair with her hands, loving the silken feel of it. He touched the tendrils of hers with a certain gentle reverence.

  But then the gentleness—if not the reverence—was gone. Replaced by heat. And hunger.

  He placed his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his.

  Sweet, sweet welcome. At first, it was tenderness and joyous exploration. It was taste and scent and sensory overload. When it felt as if she might explode for the sensation, it intensified again, becoming something more, more urgent, more compelling, uncontrollable and unstoppable.

  A command as ancient as time.

  Noelle felt a primal need burning within her, to know him in every way it was possible for a woman to know a man. The Christmas cottage faded. The tree and the warm glow of the oil lamps disappeared from her consciousness. All that existed in her world was Aidan.

  Aidan and his chocolate-flavored kisses. Aidan and his deep blue eyes. Aidan and the scrape of his whiskers across her sensitive skin. Aidan and the fresh-cut pine smell that clung to him. Aidan and the way his hands felt as they brailled her face and her earlobes and her neck and the dip between her breasts.

  Her hands went under his shirt and touched his naked flesh. His skin was molten and silky. His muscles were enticingly hard beneath her fingertips.

  He stood up from the chair, with her in his arms, and carried her to the bed. He set her down on it with exquisite tenderness, and then he stood staring at her, the brightness of his eyes clouded with desire. She held out her arms to him, and with a groan of pure surrender, he came down, lowering himself on top of her.

  She felt the full length of him, his sinewy strength. She shuddered with wanting.

  He plundered her then with his tongue. He plundered the insides of her ears and the hollow of her collarbone. He ran his tongue down the length of her neck and lower.

  And then his lips found hers again.

  And all innocence was lost.

  This was a man. Pure, 100 percent, unadulterated man. He was a warrior. And a prince. He was unleashed, barely tamed. He was a man who knew what he wanted.

  She welcomed this side of him.

  She welcomed him to lose his legendary control. She reveled in the fact that she was the one who had made it happen. But just as she felt victory close, he pulled away from her. Panting, he sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  “Yes, you can,” she whispered, her voice raw with need.

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Why?” she asked devastated. “Why?”

  * * *

  Why? Aidan looked at her beautiful face, flushed with longing. For him. But it was wrong on so many levels.

  She did not even know this about herself, but Noelle McGregor was not this kind of woman. At all. She was the kind of woman that asked more of a man. Demanded more of a man. That a man with any moral fiber at all had to ask himself very hard questions before he took it to the next level.

  She’d already been with one man who was completely unworthy of her. Who had not asked the hard questions.

  Where was it going? What could he offer? Did he have honorable intentions for the future?

  Aidan had to look at this realistically. They had known each other days, not weeks, not months. It seemed impossible to feel this strongly about her, to have her feel this strongly about him. Was the intensity of this experience, of being snowbound together in this little cabin, creating illusions that could not stand up to the test of reality?

  And yet, when he looked at her, that word, forever, seemed for the first time in a long time like something he could actually hope for.

  And if he was prepared to offer forever, in what way was it honorable to do this first? She was a woman who deserved a slow courtship. Who deserved to be cherished and honored and respected. Who deserved I do.

  And before that, even, who deserved to be buried under gifts that caused her wonder. She deserved to be courted: to be taken dancing. And fo
r candlelit dinners. And for long walks. And on journeys of delight.

  Perhaps it was being a single dad to a daughter that made him so aware of the right way to do things. He wanted to give Noelle everything he hoped a worthy suitor would someday give Tess.

  When he looked into her face, Aidan knew he’d been given the best Christmas gift of all. The one he had always hoped for and had come, over time, not to believe in.

  He had fallen in love with Noelle McGregor.

  Or it felt as if he had.

  But if it was true, it needed to survive the intensity of what they had experienced over the last few days.

  He could not hold out that hope to her until he was 100 percent certain it was true.

  “What?” she whispered, reading every thought that crossed his face with consternation.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said to her softly, giving her the best present he knew. Honoring her.

  He moved away from her slowly. He knew he dared not look back at her, lying on that bed, her eyes imploring him. Aidan put on his jacket and his boots. He opened the door to the scream of the wind and the relentless pelting of snow.

  The best thing for both of them would be if it cooled down between them, if they made no decisions while in this fever of wanting.

  “I’m going to sleep in the truck,” he told her.

  Walking away from her willingness was just about the hardest thing Aidan Phillips had ever done.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHRISTMAS. AIDAN WAS astounded that that was his first thought. His neck hurt from sleeping in the truck, and he was cold. He had turned the engine on and off through the night, but it was currently off.

  Then he knew why it had been his first thought.

  Impossibly, he could hear the sharp jangle of bells. He sat up on the seat and peered out the windshield, but it was covered in a thick layer of snow. The sound of bells grew louder, and then a little girl’s laugh.

  Aidan tumbled out of the truck. The sun had come out and nearly blinded him with its brilliance, the fresh, deep snow sparkling with a million blue lights.