Helen Lacey - Marriage Under the Mistletoe

Trevor looked at him oddly, but continued to smile. “I guess. My dad was the sporty one.”

“Mine, too,” Scott replied, and passed the ball on.

The teenager grabbed the basketball, aimed, concentrated and shot it at the hoop. It missed and rebounded directly into Scott’s hands. “My dad’s dead.”

Scott lobbed the ball back through the hoop once it bounced. “Mine, too.”

Trevor grabbed the ball and took another shot. The ball curved around the edges of the hoop before dropping to the side. “Yeah...it sucks.”

They continued to shoot hoops and talk for several minutes, until a taxi pulled up outside the house and two elderly women emerged. As they walked slowly up the driveway, Trevor groaned under his breath. The women approached on quickening feet and Scott watched their progress with a broad grin.

It took them precisely five seconds to persuade Scott to help them carry their bags from the footpath and into the house. Trevor smiled as if he’d been given a Get Out Of Jail Free card and went back to shooting hoops.

There were about a dozen shopping bags from various retail outlets, and Scott guessed the two women had spent the day scouting the stores in Bellandale. The perfectly groomed pair were obviously the Manning sisters who Evie had told him about on the long drive from the airport. They regarded him with such blatant curiosity it felt as if their two sets of eyes were burning a hole through his back as he walked up the half dozen steps and opened the front screen door while juggling the parcels.

Once they’d stepped over the threshold, Scott closed the door and followed them through the house. Vanilla. The scent hit him immediately. Evie.

The living room was large and immaculately presented, but it was the huge, ornately decorated Christmas tree that held his attention. It was a real tree—the kind he remembered from when he was young and his father was still alive. Memories banged around in his head. They’d go out together and find the perfect tree, strap it to the roof of his father’s Volvo and make the trip home laughing, because they both knew his mother would insist on moving the tree around for hours before she finally settled on a spot to showcase her decorating efforts. And they laughed because, inevitably, the tree ended up in the same position every year.

Funny, he didn’t think about those days much anymore. He tried not to think about how much he still missed his father. He’d been a good man, and a good dad. But reckless. And that recklessness had contributed to his death. A desk jockey by day, his father would pursue one adventure after another on the weekend. Sailing, skiing, climbing. Ultimately, it was the climbing that killed him. His death had galvanized something inside Scott. At eighteen he had been determined to join the fire department and approached the job responsibly. He didn’t take risks. He followed the rules.

And those rules didn’t include fantasizing about Evie Dunn.

A widow. A single mom.

Two very good reasons to keep his head.

The Manning sisters thanked him for his help, and Scott was just about to make a quick exit when Evie walked into the room. She smiled at him and his chest tightened unexpectedly. He smiled back, saw her cheeks flush and then quickly she diverted her gaze. His thoughts lingered on how pretty she was. And all that incredible, seriously sexy hair. She started talking with the sisters, but he could feel the vibration of her awareness of him like a drum beating. Because she appeared to be trying not to look at him.

Scott had placed the bags near the foot of one of the sofas, and Evie and the elderly sisters began unloading the contraband. He stood back and watched, amused by the clear delight the three women displayed as bags were opened and items unwrapped. Evie’s animated expression was addictive and he couldn’t look away. He watched her unload parcels and sigh her appreciation for the treasures as she unwrapped close to a dozen shiny glass ornaments and garlands and laid them carefully on the sofa. Scott snatched a glance at the tree behind him and quickly realized something. Evie loved Christmas. He could easily imagine her trimming a turkey, wrapping gifts with matching paper and ribbon, singing carols on Christmas Eve and doing all the things that made the festive season special.

A magnet, Callie had called her. Someone who draws people in.

Was that what she was doing to him? But Scott was convinced it was just physical attraction. He’d been attracted to women before. Some he’d dated. Some he’d slept with.

Evie looked across at him briefly and the smile curling her lips made his stomach roll over. Her cheeks flushed again, brighter this time. Scott’s fingers itched with the sudden urge to reach out and touch her face, to trace the line of her jaw and her delicious-looking mouth. Her lips parted, as if she knew he was thinking about them...wondering, imagining if they tasted as sweet as they looked. Her tongue came out and moistened her lower lip. The kick of it rushed to his feet, traveled up his legs and hit him square in the groin.

With his heart hammering behind his ribs, Scott looked at the two elderly women still fussing over their parcels and knew he had to get away from Evie...and fast. He cleared his throat and quickly excused himself.

By the time he’d returned to the private quarters and headed for his room, his breathing was back to normal. He sat on the edge of the big bed, took a deep breath and clenched his fists. I’m not going to get involved here. I’m going home soon—back to my life—back to everything I know. Three weeks, Jones...I gotta keep it together.

* * *

Evie lingered in the largest downstairs bedroom later that afternoon. She had guests arriving soon—a newly married couple who were staying for a week. The bedroom was her favorite in the house—big and airy and decorated in the palest hues of purple, lavender and white. It had its own bathroom and small sitting area, and the enormous bed was scattered with half a dozen cushions in various shades of mauve. She fluffed a couple of pillows, straightened the white lace bedspread and fiddled with the vase of lilac-and-cream miniature roses that sat on the dresser.

She thought about Scott. Her blood pumped when she remembered how he’d looked at her. The air had smoldered with a kind of throbbing, consuming, slowly building heat.

This is so crazy...he’s twenty-seven years old, for heaven’s sake.

Evie took a deep breath, straightened the already straight bedspread and headed upstairs. Back in her own room she looked out the window and saw her son shooting his basketball into the hoop. Scott was with him. They were talking and throwing the ball. She heard a shout of laughter from her son and it tightened something in her chest.

Oh...no...I’m not going to like him. But seeing him with her son made her like him. Not just lust, she thought, something else, an awareness of him on another level.

And Trevor’s laughter made Evie ache inside. She knew her son longed for regular male company, a man’s influence...a father’s influence.

Imagining Scott in that role was foolish. He’d be gone in three weeks.

Her guests arrived about ten minutes later. In their mid-fifties and obviously in love, Trent and Patti Keller were all smiles when Evie showed them to their room. A tiny stab of envy knotted tightly and she tamped it down.

Evie gave them a tour of the house, and introduced them to the Manning sisters, who were reading in the front living room. She told them dinner was at seven and left her guests together.

Upstairs, Evie showered, slipped into white cotton cargo pants and an emerald-green collared T-shirt and low-heeled sandals. She raked a comb through her hair, applied a little makeup and headed from her room. She stopped outside Scott’s bedroom. Dinner’s at seven in the main dining room. Please join me and my guests. Her knuckles hovered millimeters from the door. Just ask him.