we’re not going skiing in Colorado?”
He sent his son a grudging smile. “No, we’re not going to Colorado. But you’re going to have to deal with her. I’m not going take care of her the same way I have to take care of Thurston and the horses. She’s your angel.”
Eric hit him full force against the chest, throwing himself at Alex and wrapping his arms around his father’s neck. The boy gave him an excruciating hug and beamed up at him. “Thanks, Dad. Can I go tell her?”
Alex ruffled Eric’s pale hair, a flood of parental love warming his blood, then kissed his son on the cheek. It took so little to make Eric happy. How could he think of refusing him even a bit of joy? “Crawl back under the covers and I’ll tuck you in. Then I’ll go down and tell your angel.”
Eric gave him another quick hug, then scrambled back between the sheets. As he did every night, Alex tucked the blankets around his son, then tickled his stomach. “Who loves you the most?”
“You do!” Eric cried.
Alex brushed the hair out of Eric’s eyes, then stood. But as he walked to the door, his son’s voice stopped him. “Dad? Do you ever miss Mom?”
His hand froze on the doorknob and Alex turned around. He wasn’t sure what to say. Did he miss the fighting, the constant anger that bubbled between them? Did he miss the sick feeling he got every time she went into the city, knowing she was meeting another man? No, he didn’t. But he did miss the contentment he saw in his son’s eyes whenever Renee was near. “Your mom is very talented. She had to leave so that she could be the very best actress she could. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love you just as much as I do.”
Though his question hadn’t been answered, Eric smiled, then sank back against the pillows. “Night, Dad.”
Alex released a tightly held breath as he slowly descended the stairs, wondering at how he’d managed to dodge yet another bullet. Sooner or later, Eric would demand explanations and Alex wasn’t sure what to tell him. So far, he’d always managed to evade the truth. But could he tell an outright lie to his son?
He turned into the library and stopped short. Holly sat primly on a leather wing chair staring at the dying embers of a fire in the fireplace across the room. She was like a vision from paradise and Alex found himself tongue-tied. She’d removed her coat and tossed it over the back of the chair, revealing a pretty red jacket, cinched in at her tiny waist and a slim black skirt that revealed impossibly long legs. He’d never met a woman quite as cool and sophisticated as her. But though she appeared to be all business, there was an underlying allure that was hard to ignore. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he muttered. “If you’ll just tell me where your things are, I’ll get you settled.”
She straightened at the sound of his voice then neatly crossed her legs. Alex stood beside his desk and let his gaze drift along the sweet curve of her calf. When she cleared her throat, he snapped back to reality and silently scolded himself. If Holly Bennett would be hanging around this holiday season, he’d have to prevent all future fantasizing!
“Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice, “for allowing me to stay.”
“I suppose I should be thanking you,” Alex replied. “Eric requested you be offered a guest room, but—”
“Oh, no!” Holly cried. “I have a budget. I can afford to stay at a hotel. And I’ll rent a car to get back and forth.”
“If you’ll let me finish,” Alex said. “I agreed that you can stay for the next three days. I can’t imagine you’ll need any more time than that. And you can stay in the tack house. It’s quite nice. There’re a couple of guest rooms with private baths and small kitchenettes. And you can use the pickup to get around. I can use my dad’s old truck.”
“But I’ve been hired to stay through Christmas day,” she replied. She stared down at her lap, then glanced back up at him. “I know this is a little strange, me barging into your lives. Believe me, this is not the typical job for me. But I do intend to do it right and that will take more than three days.”
“How long can it take to put up a Christmas tree and a few strings of lights?” he demanded.
She looked at him disdainfully, as if he’d just asked her to build the Queen Mary III overnight. “Actually, Mr. Marrin, the job will take quite a bit of time and attention. You have no decorations up and, from what your father tells me, you don’t have any in storage. Between the exteriors and the interiors, there are at least three days of planning to be done. And with the budget, I can do some very special things. And I’ve got baking to do and menus to plan and if you’d like to throw a party or two I’m perfectly capable of—”
He held out his hand to stop her. “Slow down, Betty Crocker.”
“Martha Stewart,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Betty Crocker is a face on a cake box. I’m really much more like Martha Stewart.” She sighed impatiently and stared at her hands.
“All right. Why don’t we just see if everything goes all right, then we’ll talk about extending your…earthly incarnation. But first, maybe you’d like to tell me who’s financing your visit.”
She shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I told you, I don’t know.”
“Don’t know, or can’t say?”
“Both,” Holly murmured.
A long silence spun out between them as Alex watched her intently. She shifted in her chair, and for a moment, he thought she might bolt. “She left two years ago,” he said, meeting her shocked gaze coolly. “Four days before Christmas. That’s what you’ve wanted to ask, isn’t it?”
“It—it’s none of my business,” Holly replied as if questioning her curiosity was nothing more than an insult. “I don’t think it’s necessary for me to become personally involved in your lives to do my job. I’m here to give your son, and you, a perfect Christmas. I’m very good at my job, Mr. Marrin, and I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
“This is for my son,” Alex replied. “Not me. Eric misses his mother around the holidays. Things have been difficult for him. He doesn’t see much of her.”
The meaning of his words couldn’t have been clearer. He wasn’t looking for another wife and he didn’t want Holly Bennett to pretend to be Eric’s mother. He watched as she rose to her feet, her demeanor growing more distant with each passing moment. “If that’s all, then I’ll be saying good night. I’ve got a busy day in front of me tomorrow. If you’ll just point me in the direction of the tract house—”
Alex chuckled. “Tack house. It’s where we keep the saddles and bridles. We call that tack.”
“I’m going to be sleeping in a storage shed?” she asked.
“I assure you, Miss Bennett, it’s quite nice. Now, where are your things?” Alex asked.
“My things?”
“Your halo and harp? You know, all your angel accoutrements?”
“My luggage is in the car. The driver
