Cara Colter - Meet Me Under the Mistletoe

She turned toward Molly, proffering the carrots.

Sam did not take the hint. He came and took one of the carrots from the bunch in her hand, uninvited.

“I can manage,” she said too snappishly, and took a step toward Molly, who snorted and leapt away.

“Maybe I better just stay until you have her under control. I don’t want you to hurt that hand any worse than it already is.”

And again, that forbidden place of wanting breathed itself awake within her. Wanting someone to lean on, someone to share with, someone to laugh with, someone to love...

But when she looked at the fiasco of her now-ended relationship with Darren, it seemed to Hanna all that wanting had led her to a poor relationship choice; all that wanting had left her vulnerable, weak instead of strong, way too ready to read things into situations that were not really there.

So she said uninvitingly, firmly, “I can manage on my own.”

And she felt both exceedingly irritated and exceedingly vulnerable when Sam said, his voice a seductive croon, “Come on, sweetie. Give it up.”

For a moment her heart stood still.

Then she threw back her shoulders and tossed her head. Sweetie, indeed! It was as bad as being called Elfie! She was not starting her new relationship with Sam Chisholm in the very same way as her old one.

No, wait. Relationship was way too strong. They might reach a business agreement. In the distant future.

But not if he was going to be like that. What did he mean, give it up ? Give up what? Her precious hold on control?

Hanna sucked in a deep breath, and turned to face him. She meant to tell him in no uncertain terms not to call her sweetie, and to tell him she didn’t intend to give up anything.

Maybe not even her family farm.

She was contemplating with alarm the troubling thought that she might be reluctant to part with the farm, when she realized Sam was totally ignoring her, and sidling toward Molly.

“Sweetie,” he said again, his voice that same croon, though now there was absolutely no mistaking he was talking to the horse, “Give it up.”

* * *

Sam held his breath as the pony took one tentative step toward him, and then another.

He glanced over his shoulder at Hanna. “Ah,” he said, wagging an eyebrow at her, “that old irresistible charm.”

That desire to tease her had come back to him as naturally as if nearly a decade had not passed.

And her reaction was about the same as it always had been. Hanna folded her arms over her chest. She was unaware she was favoring her hurt hand, and letting him know in no uncertain terms that his irresistible charm was wasted on her.

It suddenly occurred to Sam she might have thought he was calling her sweetie.

She wouldn’t like that any more than she had liked being called Elfie. The very thought filled him with an almost irresistible urge to continue teasing her.

But then sanity regained its foothold and Sam knew the last thing he needed in his life was the complication of teasing a girl like Hanna Merrifield. She was the kind of girl who would see teasing as interest and interest as the potential for things to go deeper and further.

And he knew what deeper and further with her would mean.

She was the kind of woman who would deny she needed traditional things. But she would need them nonetheless. Hanna Merrifield would need an old-fashioned courtship, followed by a wedding with her floating down the aisle in a white gown. And then there would be babies and a house with a picket fence.

She would need a man who knew how to give her those things, as if by second nature. A man who had grown up with those concepts of family as ingrained into him as his own name.

Hanna’s man, when she settled on one, would probably come from a farm not unlike this one, one that had been in the same family for generations, and had produced stable, trustworthy, hard-working men of the earth who liked sipping cocoa and bringing home the family tree for Christmas.

Even while the thought of those things created a physical sensation in him—a throbbing ache at the back of his throat— Sam was not like that man. In fact, he already knew he was the man least likely to give her the cozy traditional life—cocoa and the Christmas trees she had so obviously missed even while she denied herself the pleasure of having one—and he knew that because he had already failed, spectacularly, in the traditional department.

“I’m divorced,” he told Hanna bluntly. There was no sense her thinking the teasing—or worse, the electricity that had jumped between them when their hands had touched—could ever mean anything.

He did not miss Hanna’s slight flinch at the word divorce , confirming what he already knew.

“That would interest me, why?” she said coolly.

“I just know my charm to be completely superficial and unworthy of a girl like you. Don’t worry about me trying to exercise it on you, though I don’t mind trying it out on the pony.”

Despite how she wanted to hold the fact that she was a career accountant out in front of her like a shield, he knew she was solidly traditional. Her dreams were written all over her.

“What do you mean, a girl like me?” she asked, her voice stiff, as if he’d insulted her instead of giving her a gift.

“You want things a guy like me could never give you, Hanna.”

“I don’t want you to give me anything! You don’t know me well enough to make presumptions about what I want,” she said huffily. “You never did, and you don’t now.”

He went on as if she had not protested. “You’re a forever kind of girl. When you get married, you will never ever get divorced, will you?”

“I’m never getting married, so it’s a stupid question.”

“You? Never getting married?” It was too easy to picture her amongst the Christmas trees, with a doting husband, two or three chubby babies in a sled and a golden retriever gamboling through the snow. “That’s ludicrous.”

“It isn’t,” she said, tilting her chin up, her eyes flashing dangerously. “Just because I never made it to the altar doesn’t mean that you are the only one with a failed relationship under your belt. I was engaged for two years.”

Despite her attempt to say it lightly, as if it didn’t matter one little bit to her, a world of pain swam in her eyes.

“That louse,” he growled.

“Wh-wh-what do you mean?” she stammered.

“He dumped you.”

Her mouth fell open, and then snapped shut. “How do you know?”

“Because if you said yes to a proposal, that would be as good as taking a vow to you. You would hang in there long after you’d figured out it was a mistake.”

“I never thought it was a mistake,” her tone was tight and did not invite any more comments.

“Louse,” he said again.

“No,” she said firmly. “He did me a favor. I love being single.”

He said nothing, and she apparently felt driven to continue.

“Not that I would want you to interpret that as an invitation to exercise your charms on me.”

“I won’t,” he said.

“I have been able to absolutely devote myself to my career.”

“Terrific,” he muttered. Sam knew he should let it go right there, but he couldn’t. Hanna Merrifield in love with her job? As an accountant? Ludicrous! He had to let her know he did know things about her...and they were things she would do well to know about herself.

“It is,” Hanna said stubbornly. “Terrific.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re acting as if you know me!”

“You’re a certain type. You’re the type of girl who stays inside and drinks cocoa on a snowy night,” he said softly. “You long for the very things you have denied yourself, like a Christmas tree.”