comparison.
She took the plate from the warming oven. ‘Mince pie, anyone?’ she offered stiltedly, her gaze still lowered so that she didn’t actually have to look at Gideon.
‘Thanks.’ David put down his mulled wine and helped himself to one. ‘I don’t know about the rest of you, but I intend going up to bed as soon as I’ve had these; I’m absolutely bushed.’
‘So am I,’ Molly agreed quickly, having no intention of lingering down here and possibly being drawn into a late-night conversation that would include Gideon.
‘I’m just going to take Merlin out for a last stroll,’ Sam told them. ‘Crys spent hours making those mince pies, so you had better keep me one, Molly.’ He grinned.
‘Will do,’ she assured him lightly. ‘Mince pie, Gideon?’ she offered abruptly, still not quite looking at him.
‘Thanks,’ he murmured huskily, his hand briefly coming into Molly’s lowered line of vision.
It was a strong-looking hand, the fingers long and artistic, the nails kept short, his wrists wide, covered in soft blond hair, making Molly wonder if he had that same downy hair on the rest of his body. It was a thought guaranteed to make her completely lose her appetite—for mince pies, anyway.
‘Aren’t you having one?’ Gideon prompted softly.
‘Er—no.’ Her mouth had gone so dry she would probably choke on what she knew was mouthwatering pastry. ‘I had one earlier, while you were out,’ she dismissed, turning away.
Her hand shook slightly as she took a much-needed sip of her mulled wine. She recognized that the situation between Gideon and herself was becoming intolerable if she could no longer even look at him.
‘As it’s after midnight—Happy Christmas, Molly.’ David moved to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘And many of them,’ he told her warmly as he stepped back.
‘You, too.’ She smiled, her heart suddenly fluttering as she wondered if Gideon might decide to do the same; she wasn’t sure how she would respond if he did.
But she was saved from answering that question by the kitchen door opening. Sam stood in the doorway, his expression one of impatient exasperation.
‘Merlin has run off and isn’t responding when I call him,’ he bit out irritably. ‘Would the two of you mind coming out and helping me look for him?’ He looked at Gideon and David.
‘I’ll come,’ Molly offered, having taken one look at David’s face and realised he still wasn’t too sure of the Irish Wolfhound’s temperament. ‘David is exhausted, and I could do with a walk in the fresh air anyway,’ she added as she put down her glass and collected her coat and scarf from the back of the door.
‘I owe you one,’ David told her ruefully as she followed Sam and Gideon outside.
She paused to grin at him. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be able to think of some way in which you can repay me.’
‘Think away,’ he invited. ‘After all, I have to keep my leading lady happy, don’t I?’ he added teasingly.
Molly was still grinning as she closed the kitchen door behind her. Although her smile faded as she turned and found herself face to face with Gideon.
Hie mouth twisted derisively as he looked down at her. ‘How touching.’
Molly opened her mouth to give a sharp reply to his obvious sarcasm. And then closed it again. What was the point? Gideon was never going to have a good opinion of her, so why bother to even try?
‘We’re supposed to be looking for Merlin,’ she reminded him abruptly.
‘Of course.’ He gave a mocking inclination of his head, putting his hand out in a gesture for her to precede him.
Molly was glad to move away from the light given out by the kitchen window, knowing her cheeks were flushed, her eyes overbright—and not from the chill of the cold night air, either.
‘Molly…?’
She froze at the sound of Gideon’s voice, her shoulders tense as she slowly turned to face him, her expression wary. ‘Yes?’ she prompted reluctantly.
He was scowling darkly, drawing in a harsh breath before answering. ‘Nothing.’ He shook his head impatiently. ‘Let’s go and look for this silly dog.’
But ten minutes of shouting and looking proved completely unsuccessful. Merlin was nowhere in sight. Sam was looking worried rather than impatient when the three of them once again joined up outside the house.
‘He’s probably gone off chasing rabbits again,’ Molly reassured lightly. ‘You know how he loves to do that.’
‘Maybe,’ Sam answered slowly. ‘I just—’ He broke off as a whining and scrabbling noise suddenly became apparent to them all. ‘What the—?’ He strode determinedly round the side of the house, with Molly and Gideon following him just in time to see him open the door to the garden shed, and a relieved Merlin rushing out into the darkness to jump up at him ecstatically.
‘Panic over,’ Gideon drawled ruefully as they strolled over to join Sam and the happily barking dog.
‘Shh, Merlin, you’ll wake Peter up,’ Sam murmured, still stroking the dog as he looked around distractedly.
‘Everything okay?’ Gideon prompted concernedly.
‘Hmm.’ Sam nodded, straightening. ‘I’m just wondering how Merlin got shut in the shed in the first place, that’s all.’ He shrugged. ‘Probably I just left it open earlier and it blew shut behind him,’ he decided.
‘He’s safe now. That’s the important thing,’ Molly said encouragingly as she linked her arm with his. ‘Let’s all go in out of the cold, hmm?’ She smiled reassuringly.
But her inner thoughts were less assured. Those strange telephone calls today—definitely not from any mistress of Sam’s! The car headlights she had seen at the end of the driveway earlier—and now Merlin somehow getting himself shut in the garden shed.
It was that ‘somehow’ that bothered her.
Sam might have forgotten to shut the shed earlier. And Merlin might have wandered inside. And the wind might have blown the door shut behind him.
It just seemed to Molly that there were an awful lot of ‘mights’ in the scenario…
‘WAITING up so that you can tell Father Christmas personally that you’ve been nice rather than naughty?’ an all-too-familiar voice drawled mockingly as Molly sat alone in the kitchen two hours later, drinking a mug of coffee.
She had drawn in a sharp breath at the first sound of Gideon’s voice, and released that breath in a heavy sigh as she registered the deliberate insult in his words. ‘My mother always told me that if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything
