behind a pile of down comforters to conceal themselves and holding their breaths as Twinkie’s jingling elf boots passed by. When Holly was sure they were safe, she pulled Eric to his feet. “Maybe it would be best if we didn’t tell anyone else about your Christmas angel,” she suggested.
“Why?”
Holly scrambled to come up with a logical reason. “Because we wouldn’t want all the other kids to ask for their own angels. There are just so many angels to go around and we wouldn’t want anyone to be disappointed.”
Eric nodded solemnly. “Yes. Maybe that would be best.”
As they searched out the tree trimming department, Holly glanced down at Eric and smoothed his mussed hair. He looked up at her and smiled, his whole face radiating joy. How different he was from his father, Holly mused. While Eric Marrin wore his emotions on his sleeve, his father hid them behind a stony face. While Eric was friendly and outgoing, Alex Marrin was aloof and indifferent.
She sighed softly. She’d stepped into the lives of these two males intending to do her job and make her $15,000. But this was more than a job. It was a chance to make a real difference in Eric’s life, to give him something that he’d been missing. If the contract were canceled tomorrow, Holly knew she’d never be able to abandon the job. She was already falling under the spell of the little boy’s charm.
She drew a steadying breath. Now, if she could only avoid doing the same with his father.
A FRESH DUSTING OF SNOW had fallen that morning and, in the waning light of day, it sparkled like tiny diamonds. Alex drew a deep breath of the cold afternoon air. As he looked out over the rolling land, the thick trees and wide meadows, he smiled. This was his land, his future—and the future of his son. Nothing could tear him away from this place. Not even a woman.
Renee had tried to draw him away, to force him into her life in New York City. But when he’d insisted they come back to Stony Creek when she got pregnant, she’d had no choice but to agree. From the day she set foot on the farm, he knew she didn’t belong. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when she left six years later, but it did.
He glanced back at Holly, who trudged through the snow in his footsteps, Eric at her side. The two of them, bundled against the cold, held hands, Eric staring up at Holly as if she really were an angel sent from above. But to Alex, she’d become a siren sent by the devil himself, sent to torment and tempt him with her beauty and her allure. She didn’t belong here, either. Even dressed in insulated boots and a thick wool field jacket, she still looked like a city girl.
He vowed to maintain his distance from her again and again, but at every turn, she was there, asking him questions, seeking out his help. He’d had his resolve sorely tested trying not to touch her while he drove them back from their shopping spree at Dalton’s last night. And when she thanked him for carrying her parcels into the house, he’d fought an overwhelming urge to bend a little nearer and kiss her. Even this morning at breakfast, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of her, preoccupied with a covert inventory of her pretty features.
And now, even with the cold air and the bright sunshine, he wanted to pull her into his arms and tumble into the snow. Instead he was forced to focus on the task at hand—finding three suitable Christmas trees for the house. He stopped to stare up at a twelve-foot balsam pine, then waited for Holly and Eric to catch up.
“How about this one?” he asked.
Holly’s gaze skimmed over the height and width of the tree, then she slowly circled it, taking in its every detail. She’d already rejected the past forty-seven trees he’d shown her and if she rejected another, he’d be hard-pressed not to toss her in the nearest snowbank and continue the search without her.
“I don’t know,” Holly said. “It seems a little bare on the other side. And it’s really not very thick.” She sighed. “It would be much more efficient if we just went to a tree lot and bought three trees. We just don’t have the time to search.”
Alex ground his teeth as he attempted to bite back a sarcastic retort. This is precisely why he didn’t shop with women. Whether they were looking for something as complex as panty hose or something as simple as a damn Christmas tree, they always had to turn it into a major production. “We’ll put the bare spot against the wall,” he said. “No one will know it’s there.”
“I’ll know,” Holly said. “And it won’t be perfect.”
“Nothing I show you is going to be perfect,” Alex replied. “It’s not supposed to be perfect. The reason we’re cutting our own tree is that we always cut our own tree. It’s family tradition.”
“You don’t have to get mad,” Holly shouted. “I’ll find a tree. It will just take time. Sometimes my father and I would search for days for just the perfect tree.”
Alex stopped and slowly turned to Holly. “Days? We’ve been out here four hours and that’s three hours longer than you deserve. It’s getting dark, you’ve seen hundreds of trees. Balsam, white pine, Scotch pine. Ten-feet tall, twelve-feet tall, thick and thin, short needles, long needles. Just tell me what you want!”
“I want something special,” Holly said. She crossed her arms over her breasts and stared at him, her nose rosy, her eyes bright. “Perfect.”
“Perfect. The only perfect thing you’re going to find in this woods is a perfect lunatic with a perfectly honed ax and a perfectly sharpened saw, and a perfectly reasonable reason to murder you if you don’t pick out a tree right now!”
She gave him a haughty look, refusing to back down. “If you’re going to be so belligerent, why don’t you just go back to the house?”
“Belligerent?” Alex asked. “You think this is belligerent?” He reached down and picked up a handful of snow, packing it with his gloved hands.
Holly held out her hand to warn him off. “Don’t even think of throwing that at me.”
Alex ignored the warning, taking her words as a challenge. When he refused to put the snowball down, Holly scrambled to make her own ammunition, enlisting Eric’s help. Alex released a tightly held breath. Though he’d derive great pleasure in giving her a faceful of snow, it wasn’t going to get them out of the woods any faster. “All right,” he said, tossing his snowball aside. “Truce. But you’ve got thirty minutes to find a decent trio of trees or I’m going to leave you out here to freeze.”
“Hey, Dad, you’re a poet and you don’t even know it!”
Alex turned on his heel and started down the trail once again. But the shock of cold snow on his bare neck stopped him short. With a low growl, he slowly faced them. They both looked guilty as sin, satisfied smiles pasted on their rosy-cheeked faces. He raised his brow at Eric and his son tipped his head toward Holly.
In one smooth motion, he scooped up a handful of snow, packed it tight and took a step toward her. He was about to show her exactly who wore the pants around Stony Creek Farm. Holly let out a tiny shriek, then spun around and headed for the safety of a small tree.
Eric grabbed up a snowball and threw it at Alex, hitting him on the thigh. Alex scowled at his son. “So that’s the way it is. You’re going to side with the girl?”
“She’s my angel and I have to protect her.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “And this is war!” Eric let out a piercing battle cry, then scampered over to Holly’s hiding place.
