Cara Colter - His for Christmas - Rescued by his Christmas Angel / Christmas at Candlebark Farm / The Nurse Who Saved Christmas

And, despite the fact she was the world’s best teacher, calm, patient, clear about each step and the order to do them in, those cookies were extra ugly. Sugar cookies, they were supposed to look like Christmas tree decorations. They didn’t.

He held one of the finished cookies up for her. “What does this look like?”

She studied it. “An icicle?”

“Morgan, it looks like something obscene.” He bit into it, loving her blush. “But it tastes not bad.”

She put her hands on her hips, still very much Miss McGuire, pretending that kiss of a few nights ago wasn’t hanging in the air between them like mistletoe, pretending her face wasn’t on fire. “Has anyone ever told you you’re incorrigible?”

“Of course,” he said, picked up a misshapen Santa and bit his head off. “That’s part of being a Hathoway.”

“Really?” She surveyed the cookies, apparently realized they were not going anywhere near Wesley’s welcome party, picked one up and bit into it. “Tell me about growing up a Hathoway.”

And oddly enough, he did. In Morgan’s kitchen, surrounded by the scent of cookies baking and a feeling of home, Nate told her about how it was to grow up poor in a small town.

“But,” he said, making sure she knew he was not inviting pity, “we might have been poor, but our family was everything. We were fiercely loyal to each other. My dad couldn’t give my mom much materially, but I don’t think a man has ever loved a woman the way he loves her. He would fight off tigers for her. For any of us. There was an intense feeling of family.

“And we might have been poor, but we were never bored.” He told her about working in the forge since he was just a little boy, starting on small chores, working up to bending the iron.

He told her about making their own fun, since they could never afford anything. In the summer fun was a secondhand bicycle and the swimming hole, or a hose and a pile of dirt.

“You haven’t really lived until you’ve squished mud through your toes,” he told her. “And in winter fun was a skate on a frozen pond in skates way too big because they were purchased to last a few seasons. It was tobogganing on a homemade sled, and snowball fights. It was an old deck of worn-out cards in the kitchen.”

“Like at Molly and Keith’s the other night?” she said, and he heard the wistfulness.

“Yeah, growing up was like that…” Each of his memories held Cindy and David. It was the first time in a long time he felt the richness of that friendship, instead of the loss. It was the first time he understood how much it had become a part of who he was today.

“Tell me about how you grew up,” he invited Morgan.

And then Morgan told him about her family, and how fragmented it was, how some of her earliest memories were of tension, of feeling as if she was responsible for holding something together that could not be held.

“It was like trying to stop an avalanche that had already broken free,” Morgan said. “My mom and dad eventually split when I was eleven. And it was a blessing, but it made me long for things I couldn’t have.”

“Such as?”

She smiled sadly. “I used to watch other families on the block, families on television, and long for that. To be together with other people who loved you in a special way. A way that both shut out the rest of the world, and made you able to go into it in a different way.”

He was astonished how sad he felt for her. “I’m surprised you don’t have it, if you longed for it,” he said gruffly.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.