Unexpected Angel. Kate Hoffmann
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They followed a snow-covered path toward the nearest barn, the cold and damp seeping through Holly’s designer pumps. A real angel wouldn’t mind the wet shoes, but they were her favorite pair and she’d spent a week’s salary on them. She made a note to herself to use part of her budget for some cold weather essentials, like waterproof boots and socks, a necessity while working for a client who didn’t bother shoveling the snow.
“Did you talk to Santa?” Eric asked. “He must have read my letter right away. I only gave it to him a few days ago.”
Holly hesitated for a moment, then decided to maintain the illusion. “Yes, I did speak to Santa. And he told me personally to give you a perfect Christmas.”
When they reached the barn, Eric grabbed the latch on the double door, heaved the doors open and showed her inside. A wide aisle ran the length of the barn, covered in a thin layer of straw and lit from above. “Dad!” Eric yelled. “Dad, she’s here. My Christmas angel is here.”
He hurried along the stalls, peering inside, and Holly followed him, steeling herself for his father’s reaction. What she wasn’t prepared for was her own reaction. A tall, slender man suddenly stepped out of a stall in front of her and she jumped back, pressing her palm to her chest to stop a scream. She’d expected someone older, maybe even middle-aged. But this man wasn’t even thirty!
Holly looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, bright and intense, the kind of blue that could make a girl melt, or cut her to the quick. He was tall, well over six feet, his shoulders broad and his arms finely muscled from physical labor. He wore scuffed work boots, jeans that hugged his long legs and a faded corduroy shirt with the sleeves turned up. Her eyes fixed on a piece of straw, caught in his sun-streaked hair.
He took a long look at her, then glanced over his shoulder at his son who continued to search each stall. “Eric?”
The little boy turned and ran back to them both. “She’s here, Dad. Santa sent me an angel.” He pointed to his father. “Angel, this is my dad, Alex Marrin. Dad, this is my Christmas angel.”
She fought the urge to reach out and rake her hands through his hair, brushing away the straw and restoring perfection to an already perfect picture of masculine beauty. Holly coughed softly, realizing that she’d forgotten to breathe. She struggled to speak beneath his piercing gaze. “I—I’ve been sent by Santa,” she said in an overly bright tone. “I’m here to make all your dreams come true.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I—I mean, all Eric’s dreams. All Eric’s Christmas dreams.”
She watched as his gaze raked along her body, boldly, suspiciously. A shiver skittered down her spine and she wanted to turn and run. For all Eric’s excitement at her arrival, she saw nothing but mistrust in this man’s expression. But she held her ground, unwilling to let him intimidate her.
Suddenly Alex Marrin’s expression softened and he laughed out loud, a sound she found unexpectedly alluring. “This is some kind of joke, right? What are you going to do? Start up the music and peel off your clothes?” He reached out and flicked his finger at the front of her coat. “What do you have on under there?”
Holly gasped. “I beg your pardon!”
“Who sent you? The boys down at the feed store?” He turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Pa, get out here! Did you order me an angel?”
A man’s head popped out of a nearby stall, his weathered face covered with a rough gray beard. He moved to stand in the middle of the aisle, leaning on a pitchfork and shaking his head.
“She’s my angel,” Eric insisted. “Not some lady from the feed store.”
The old man chuckled to himself. “Naw, I didn’t send you anything. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be refusing that delivery.” He winked at Eric. “We could use an angel ’round this place.”
“That’s my gramps,” Eric explained.
“Who sent you?” Alex Marrin demanded.
“Santa sent her,” Eric replied. “I went to see him down at Dalton’s and I—”
Alex’s attention jumped to his son. “You went to see Santa? When was this?”
Eric kicked at a clump of straw, his expression glum. “The other day. After school. I just had to go, Dad. I had to give him my letter.” He took Holly’s hand. “She’s here to give us a Christmas like we used to have. You know, when Mom was…”
Alex Marrin’s jaw tightened and his expression grew hard. “Go back to the house, Eric. And take Thurston with you. I’ll be in to talk to you in a few minutes.”
“Don’t send her away, Dad,” Eric pleaded. His father gave him a warning glare and the little boy ran out of the barn, the exchange observed by his glowering grandfather. The old man cursed softly and stepped back into the stall. When the door slammed behind Eric, Alex Marrin turned his attention back to Holly.
“All right,” he said. “Who are you? And who sent you?”
“My name is Holly Bennett,” she replied, reaching into her purse for a business card. “See? All The Trimmings. We do professional decorating and event planning for the Christmas holidays. I was hired to give your son his Christmas wish. I’m to work for you through Christmas day.”
“Hired by whom?”
“I—I’m afraid I can’t say. My contract forbids it.”
“What is this? Charity? Or maybe some busybody’s idea of generosity?”
“No!” Holly said. “Not at all.” She reached in her coat pocket and took out Eric’s letter, then carefully unfolded it. “Maybe you should read this.”
Marrin quickly scanned the letter, then raked his hands through his hair and leaned back against a stall door. All his anger seemed to dissolve, his energy sapped and his shoulders slumped. “You must think I’m a terrible father,” he said, his voice cold.
“I—I don’t know you,” Holly replied, reaching out to touch his arm. The instant she grazed his skin, a frisson of electricity shot through her fingers. She snatched them away and shoved her hand into her pocket. “I’ve already been paid. If you send me away without completing my duties, I’ll have to return the money.”
He cursed softly, then grabbed her hand and pulled her along toward the door. Holly wasn’t sure whether to resist or go along with him. Was he going to toss her out on her ear? Or did she still have time to argue her case?
“Pa, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he muttered. “I’ve got some business to take care of with this angel.”
2
“I WANT HER TO STAY!”
Alex ground his teeth as he stared at his son standing on the other side of his bed. Eric, dressed in his cowboy pajamas, had folded his arms over his chest, set his chin intractably and refused to meet Alex’s eyes. He used to see Renee in his son, in the dark eyes and wide smile. But more and more, he was starting to see himself, especially in Eric’s stubborn nature. “I know I’ve made some mistakes since your mother left and, I promise, I’ll try to make things better. We don’t need this lady to give us a nice Christmas.”
“She’s not a lady,” Eric said with a pout. “She’s an angel. My angel.”
Alex sat down on the edge of the bed and drew back the covers. “Her name is Holly Bennett. She gave me her business card. When was the last time you heard of an angel who had a business card?”
“It could happen,” Eric said defensively. “Besides, her name doesn’t make a difference. It’s what she can do that counts.”
“What can she do that I can’t?” Alex asked. “I can put up a Christmas tree and tack up some garland.” He patted the mattress