would be compelled to invite her inside.
George hopped out of the car and ran around to open her door. As she stepped out, she didn’t see any sign of Christmas, no wreath on the door, no lighted tree shining through a front window. Holly slowly climbed the front steps, then reached out for the brass door knocker. She snatched her hand back. What was she supposed to say?
“Hi, I’m here to grant your Christmas wish.” She swallowed hard. “My name is Holly Bennett and I’ve been sent by Santa Claus.” She was allowed to say she worked for the fat guy in the red suit, that much her contract did state.
“This is crazy,” she muttered, turning around. A cold wind whipped around her feet and she tugged the lapels of her coat up around her face. “They’re not going to let a perfect stranger in the house.”
But the prospect of finally turning a profit was too much to resist. Perhaps she could even give Meg a well-deserved bonus this year. Gathering her resolve, Holly reached out and pushed the doorbell instead. A dog barked inside, and a few seconds later, the door swung open. The light from the foyer framed a small figure, a pale-haired boy with wide brown eyes and a curious expression. His large black dog stood next to him, eyeing Holly suspiciously. This had to be Eric Marrin.
“Hi,” he said, his hand resting on the dog’s head.
“Hi,” Holly replied nervously.
“My dad’s still in the barn. He’ll be in soon.”
“I’m not here to see your dad. Are you Eric?”
The boy nodded.
Holly held out her hand and smiled. “I—I’m…I’m your Christmas angel. Santa sent me to make all your Christmas dreams come true.” She was sure the words would sound ridiculous once they left her mouth, but from the look on Eric’s face, she couldn’t fault her choice. An expression of pure joy suffused his features and the dog wagged his tail and barked.
“Wait here,” he cried. The boy raced off into the house and returned a few moments later. He shrugged into his jacket, tugged on his mittens and grabbed her hand. “I knew you’d come,” he said, his voice breathless with excitement.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he dragged her down the front steps, the dog trailing after them.
“To see my dad. You have to tell him we can’t go to Colorado for Christmas. He’ll listen to you. You’re an angel.”
They followed a snow-covered path toward the nearest barn, the cold and damp seeping through Holly’s designer pumps. A real angel wouldn’t mind the wet shoes, but they were her favorite pair and she’d spent a week’s salary on them. She made a note to herself to use part of her budget for some cold weather essentials, like waterproof boots and socks, a necessity while working for a client who didn’t bother shoveling the snow.
“Did you talk to Santa?” Eric asked. “He must have read my letter right away. I only gave it to him a few days ago.”
Holly hesitated for a moment, then decided to maintain the illusion. “Yes, I did speak to Santa. And he told me personally to give you a perfect Christmas.”
When they reached the barn, Eric grabbed the latch on the double door, heaved the doors open and showed her inside. A wide aisle ran the length of the barn, covered in a thin layer of straw and lit from above. “Dad!” Eric yelled. “Dad, she’s here. My Christmas angel is here.”
He hurried along the stalls, peering inside, and Holly followed him, steeling herself for his father’s reaction. What she wasn’t prepared for was her own reaction. A tall, slender man suddenly stepped out of a stall in front of her and she jumped back, pressing her palm to her chest to stop a scream. She’d expected someone older, maybe even middle-aged. But this man wasn’t even thirty!
Holly looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, bright and intense, the kind of blue that could make a girl melt, or cut her to the quick. He was tall, well over six feet, his shoulders broad and his arms finely muscled from physical labor. He wore scuffed work boots, jeans that hugged his long legs and a faded corduroy shirt with the sleeves turned up. Her eyes fixed on a piece of straw, caught in his sun-streaked hair.
He took a long look at her, then glanced over his shoulder at his son who continued to search each stall. “Eric?”
The little boy turned and ran back to them both. “She’s here, Dad. Santa sent me an angel.” He pointed to his father. “Angel, this is my dad, Alex Marrin. Dad, this is my Christmas angel.”
She fought the urge to reach out and rake her hands through his hair, brushing away the straw and restoring perfection to an already perfect picture of masculine beauty. Holly coughed softly, realizing that she’d forgotten to breathe. She struggled to speak beneath his piercing gaze. “I—I’ve been sent by Santa,” she said in an overly bright tone. “I’m here to make all your dreams come true.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I—I mean, all Eric’s dreams. All Eric’s Christmas dreams.”
She watched as his gaze raked along her body, boldly, suspiciously. A shiver skittered down her spine and she wanted to turn and run. For all Eric’s excitement at her arrival, she saw nothing but mistrust in this man’s expression. But she held her ground, unwilling to let him intimidate her.
Suddenly Alex Marrin’s expression softened and he laughed out loud, a sound she found unexpectedly alluring. “This is some kind of joke, right? What are you going to do? Start up the music and peel off your clothes?” He reached out and flicked his finger at the front of her coat. “What do you have on under there?”
Holly gasped. “I beg your pardon!”
“Who sent you? The boys down at the feed store?” He turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Pa, get out here! Did you order me an angel?”
A man’s head popped out of a nearby stall, his weathered face covered with a rough gray beard. He moved to stand in the middle of the aisle, leaning on a pitchfork and shaking his head.
“She’s my angel,” Eric insisted. “Not some lady from the feed store.”
The old man chuckled to himself. “Naw, I didn’t send you anything. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be refusing that delivery.” He winked at Eric. “We could use an angel ’round this place.”
“That’s my gramps,” Eric explained.
“Who sent you?” Alex Marrin demanded.
“Santa sent her,” Eric replied. “I went to see him down at Dalton’s and I—”
Alex’s attention jumped to his son. “You went to see Santa? When was this?”
Eric kicked at a clump of straw, his expression glum. “The other day. After school. I just had to go, Dad. I had to give him my letter.” He took Holly’s hand. “She’s here to give us a Christmas like we used to have. You know, when Mom was…”
Alex Marrin’s jaw tightened and his expression grew hard. “Go back to the house, Eric. And take Thurston with you. I’ll be in to talk to you in a few minutes.”
“Don’t send her away, Dad,” Eric pleaded. His father gave him a warning glare and the little boy ran out of the barn, the exchange observed by his
