to town.” He paused as though waiting for her response.
Mary couldn’t find her voice to say no, her throat clogged with unshed tears.
“If it makes you feel better, we can go Dutch.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her lips forming the word no. But one look into deep brown, twinkling eyes and she couldn’t resist. Much as she hated to admit, she needed help. Maybe by having breakfast with the man she could get to know him better before she committed to his offer. She swallowed the lump and blurted, “How about the Christmas Towne Diner at eight o’clock? It’s just across the street.”
“Sounds good.” He gave her half a smile. “Good night, Mary Christmas.” Then he closed his door behind him, the deep resonance of his voice lingering in the hallway, warming Mary’s insides.
Their rooms were located across the hall from each other, and for some reason that idea disturbed Mary, not like an irritant, but like a full-body awareness. She was far too conscious of Nick’s good looks, broad shoulders and brown-black eyes. Not to mention, the more she was in his company, the more she seemed to rely on him. And she didn’t want to rely on anyone but herself. She’d relied on her father for so long, she’d forgotten to have a life for herself. The time she’d been in Seattle slammed that observation home. She didn’t know how to be alone and she still didn’t like it, but she was trying.
Mary spent the next hour calling everyone she knew in North Pole, asking if they’d seen her father. Those she managed to speak to replied with the same news. Not since yesterday.
Discouraged, she gathered her toiletries and made a run down the hallway for the bathroom. As she reached the door, it opened and Nick St. Claire stepped out. With a towel thrown around his hips and nothing else, he could melt the heaviest snowfall. Water dripped from his midnight-black hair. A particular droplet landed on his chest and tangled in the dark, crisp hairs.
Mary focused on that drop, her mouth going as dry as Arizona in August.
“It’s all yours,” he said.
Her mouth dropped open and she forced her gaze upward to his eyes.
Nick’s grin made Mary’s face burn. “The shower. It’s all yours.”
Snapping her jaw shut, Mary pressed her brows together. How could this stranger throw her into such a state of moronic confusion? “Of course.” She stepped around him, bumping into his bare arm. The scent of soap and shampoo wafted across her senses.
As she reached the security of the bathroom and closed the door behind her, a soft chuckle echoed in the hallway. Mary snapped the lock over the doorway and leaned against the wooden panels. Surely he didn’t think his bare chest and broad shoulders had her confused. Did he?
Her face burned hotter. Damn, the man was trouble. She should never have agreed to meet him in the morning at the diner. As soon as she finished in the shower, she’d tell him she’d had something come up and that she couldn’t have breakfast with him. Squeezing her eyes tight, she inhaled and exhaled, concentrating on banishing the image of a shirtless Nick from her memory. As if!
She hurried through her shower and teeth brushing. Still practicing what she’d say to Nick, she stepped out of the bathroom.
A big man bulked out in a winter-white parka, ski mask and snow pants barreled down the hall and slammed his shoulder into her before exiting out the rear of the building.
Mary banged into the wall, her breath knocked out of her. Pain smashed into her shoulder blade and radiated through her back and she cried out.
Nick’s door sprang open and he raced out into the hallway. “Mary! What happened?” He reached her in three long strides and grabbed her shoulders, his hands spreading warmth through the thick fleece of her bathrobe.
“I’m all right. Someone just ran into me and left through the back exit.”
Noise from a room down the hallway caught their attention and they both turned. The sound came from her room.
Nick grabbed her hand and ran to his room, shoving her inside. He held out his hand. “Give me your key.”
Wordlessly, she handed him the key from her pocket.
“Stay here,” he commanded, and then he closed his door, leaving her alone inside.
Unable to stand by patiently by herself, not knowing what was going on, Mary eased the door open and peered out into the hallway.
Nick slipped the key into the doorknob as quietly as possible and stepped to the side of the door before he flung it open.
Crouching behind Nick’s door, Mary could see straight into her room. The window stood wide-open, a flurry of snowflakes and wind blew through the confined space, turning the warmth of the quaint little room with its handmade quilts into an icebox. Other than the antique furniture, the room stood empty.
Mary stepped out into the hallway, wrapping the robe around her, chills setting in. Someone had been in her room. The thought made her shake all over.
Nick brushed the snow off the sill and pulled the window closed, latching the lock in place. When he turned to see her, he frowned. “I thought I told you to stay put.”
Her back straightened and she moved into her room with more purpose. “It’s my room. My things are in there.”
“Yeah, but it could have been dangerous.”
Despite her desire not to show any weakness, a big shiver made her shake from her head to her feet. She pulled her robe tighter. “I could see there wasn’t anyone in it.” Her mouth firmed into a tight line. “Besides, you don’t have to yell at me. You’re not my boss or my father.”
“I wasn’t yelling,” he yelled. His forehead creased into a deep frown before the hint of a grin wiped it away. “I’d rather you stayed in my room until we figure this out.” He hooked her elbow and led her out into the hallway.
She only half resisted, not wanting to stay in her room by herself. Somehow it felt as if the entire B and B had been violated and was no longer a secure place. She let him lead her into his room, where he tossed on a sweater, his winter coat and snow boots.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To follow the footprints.”
“By yourself?” She grabbed his arm, stopping him from zipping the jacket. “What if those guys are dangerous?”
Nick shook off her hand, slid the zipper up to his neck and ducked around her, grabbing a gun from the dresser by the door. “Just stay here.”
The gun sent another wave of chills across her skin and Mary stood where Nick left her, wondering what the hell she’d gotten into by coming home to North Pole. And just who was this gun-toting mystery man named Nick St. Claire?
A blast of arctic air hit Nick like a freight train. He staggered at the force and bent into it, pushing through three feet of snow to the side of the B and B where Mary’s
