Unexpected Angel. Kate Hoffmann
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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 is parked at the end of the driveway.”
Alex nodded. “I’ll go get your bags and then I’ll show you to your room.”
“Mr. Marrin, I—”
“Alex,” he said, pulling the library door open for her. He placed his hand on her back as she passed, then helped her into her coat. His palms lingered on her shoulders for a few seconds, her silken hair brushing his skin. Reason told him he’d have to draw his hands away, but it had been so long since he’d touched a woman, smelled the fresh scent of a woman’s hair, fought the overwhelming longing to make love to—
Alex opened the front door and showed her out, drawing a deep breath of the crisp night air. The cold revived him, clearing his mind. Granted, she was beautiful—and thoughtful—and unquestionably single-minded. But the last thing he needed in his life was a woman and all the trouble that came along with a romantic relationship.
No, he’d keep his distance from this angel. And if he knew what was good for him, he’d put any devilish fantasies right out of his head.
“SHE’S AN ANGEL. I SWEAR!”
For a moment, Holly wasn’t sure where she was. Were the voices part of a dream? Slowly everything came back to her. She’d spent the night in Alex Marrin’s tack house. Though she’d anticipated a storage shed, her room looked more like a quaint B & B than a barn. A beautiful field-stone fireplace dominated one wall of her bedroom, while the others were paneled with warm knotty pine. Across from the iron bed was a tiny galley kitchen and a whitewashed table and just outside the door was a pretty sitting area, decorated with old harnesses and riding prints and yellowed photos of very large horses.
“She doesn’t have wings,” said an unfamiliar voice.
Holly slowly opened her eyes. When her vision focused, she found two little faces staring at her from close range. One she recognized as Eric Marrin. The other, a gap-toothed, freckle-faced boy, observed her as if she were an interesting lab specimen, pickled in formaldehyde and floating in a jar.
“Can she fly?” he said, lisping slightly through his missing front teeth.
“Jeez, Kenny, she’s not that kind of angel!” Eric said. “She’s a Christmas angel. They’re different.”
“What’s wrong with her hair?” Kenny asked.
Holding back a smile, Holly sleepily pushed up on one elbow. She looked at Eric then Kenny. “Good morning.” Kenny jumped back from the bed, a blush staining his cheeks, but Eric happily plopped down on the patchwork coverlet.
“This is my friend, Kenny. He lives down the road. We go to school together.”
Holly ran her fingers through her tangled hair and yawned. Judging by the feeble light coming through the window, it was still well before eight. The boys were dressed in jackets, both carrying backpacks. She groaned softly. Though her bed had been wonderfully cozy, her night had been plagued with strange and disjointed dreams. Unbidden images of Alex Marrin had been punctuated with a recurring nightmare that had her endlessly untangling tinsel and searching for the single bad bulb in a mile-long string of lights.
Why did Alex Marrin fascinate her so? Until yesterday evening, she’d been ready to spend her life with Stephan! Yes, Alex was incredibly handsome. Perhaps it was the rugged, salt-of-the-earth image. Or maybe it was the wounded look she saw, deep in his eyes, the wariness that seemed to pervade his lean body whenever he looked at her. He seemed to exude excitement and a little bit of danger.
“Does she have a magic wand?” Kenny asked, regarding her from beneath a scruffy wool cap.
Eric rolled his eyes. “Angels don’t have magic wands. Fairy godmothers do. And wizards.”
Holly should have explained to the boys that “Christmas angel” had been a metaphorical reference, a way to explain her place in this whole scheme as granter of wishes. She could have just as easily called herself a Christmas genie. “Why don’t you just call me Holly,” she suggested, too sleepy to make sense of her new job.
“We brought you breakfast, Holly,” Eric said, retrieving a battered cookie sheet from a nearby table and setting it on the bed. “Dad says I’m in charge of feeding you. Cap’n Crunch, Tang and toast with grape jelly. After you’re finished we’ll show you around the farm. I’ve got my own pony and a pinball machine in my bedroom.”
“Here you are!”
Holly glanced up to find Alex Marrin looming in the doorway of her room. He was dressed much as he had been the previous night, in rugged work clothes and a faded canvas jacket. But his hair was still damp from a shower and he was freshly shaven. She scrambled to pull the covers up over the gaping neck of her camisole, then felt a flush of embarrassment warm her cheeks.
“You’re late for school,” Alex said to the boys. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
“But Holly needs a tour,” Eric said. “We always give company a tour.”
A crooked smile touched Alex’s lips and he glanced at Holly. “She’s still half asleep.” Eric gave his father a pleading look. “I’ll show her around,” he finally replied, “when I get back. Now let’s move!”
The boys called out a quick goodbye, then rushed out. Alex’s gaze met hers for a long moment and she tried to read the thoughts behind the enigmatic blue eyes. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Enjoy your breakfast.” With that, he turned and followed the kids. With a soft moan, Holly stumbled out of bed, wrapped the quilt around her shoulders and crossed to the window, watching as they walked past the house to the driveway beyond.
Of course she was fascinated with him. He was the