Baby, It's Cold Outside. Cathy Yardley
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himself, remembering. More than warmth. Heat. He’d definitely felt heat from her gaze when he’d looked over to find her standing in front of him.
Which called to mind his first look at her—crisp white blouse with a discreetly low neckline, knee-length black skirt, black nylons, black boots. Combined with her tasteful jewelry and her wire-rimmed glasses, she’d looked sophisticated and proper, sort of like a professor.
He’d always had a thing for prim teacher types. They usually hid anything-but-proper desires, and he had a sneaking feeling that Miss Stanfield was no exception.
Who would have thought that Emily Stanfield, daughter of one of the founding families and walking infomercial for all things Tall Pines, would have grown up to such a hottie?
“You’re lucky I had a cancelation,” Emily said, still not looking at him. “It’s one of my smaller rooms, but I think you’ll find it quite comfortable.”
Colin cleared his throat, feeling as if she could read his mind and realize the direction his thoughts were heading. “I’m surprised your family was okay with turning the mansion into a hotel,” he said, fishing around for a safe topic.
She paused for a second. “My mother moved to Florida with her new husband. She doesn’t really care one way or the other. My father probably would’ve minded, but he died five years ago, so…”
Colin felt guilt wash over him. “Oh, jeez. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“You haven’t been here. I didn’t expect you to.”
He sighed. “And the town? They were okay with it—you opening a hotel?”
“There are some people who are still getting used to it,” she answered. “You know how Tall Pines is.”
He clenched his jaw. Everything had to be preserved, as if the smallest mailbox was some kind of historical monument. If there was a town more resistant to change, he never wanted to visit it. “Yeah,” he muttered, “I know how Tall Pines is.”
“It’s been good for the local economy, so that’s brought a lot of people around,” she said. “And, honestly, being a Stanfield helped.”
“I’ll bet.”
The name Stanfield was synonymous with Tall Pines. Still, Stanfield or not, he imagined Emily was both organized and driven enough to start her own business if she wanted to. Two years younger than he was, she’d always been visible in school: editor in chief of the school newspaper, on the yearbook committee, in student government. She had been everywhere, it seemed. Her uncle had been the mayor before he’d died, and Colin could even recall Emily handing out campaign flyers, looking like a crisp autumn morning in her plaid skirt and pink sweater.
By high school, his lone goal had been escaping the Norman Rockwell normalcy of Tall Pines, while Emily had seemed to represent everything that the small town stood for. He’d hated the town but had been reluctantly fascinated with the girl, even if she never knew it.
That fascination seemed to be alive and well, he noted with some amusement.
They drove past the town square and up the hill to where the fancier houses stood, legacies of days past, when several tycoons had had hunting lodges here. The Stanfield mansion was one of the most opulent and, decked out with Christmas lights, it looked downright regal. “Wow,” he said, taking in the picture-perfect scene.
She parked the car, sending him a quicksilver smile that caused his stomach to tighten unexpectedly. “Thanks. This hotel’s my life.”
“It shows.” She’d obviously lavished a lot of love on the place.
For a brief, puzzling second, he envied the brick building.
Okay, you’re losing it.
That was why he hated the holidays, he thought as he hefted his bags and headed for the front door. They made a guy maudlin. He lived his life exactly the way he wanted it—full of adventure, with something new happening almost every day. He had no regrets. And right now the last thing he needed was to have some confusing, sentimental thoughts about a girl he hadn’t seen in years.
The large foyer had a curving staircase to the second floor. “Evening, Phillip,” she greeted a guy in a suit who stood behind an oak reception desk. “I’m going to need a key for Mr. Reese, here. For room twelve.”
The guy—Phillip—looked ruffled. “That’s going to be a problem,” he said. “The Rivers party showed up after all. They decided to brave the weather and have the vacation.”
“Oh?” Emily looked nonplussed for a second, then she turned to Colin, her expression apologetic. “I guess there’s no room at the inn after all.”
He winced. There was no way in hell he was going back to his parents’ house. “Considering the season, I don’t suppose you’ve got a manger or something,” he joked, feeling a little desperate. “I don’t take up much room.”
She shook her head. “Even the garage is filled up with cars. Sorry, Colin. I’ll drive you back.”
“Wait a second,” he said, pulling her aside, away from the inquisitive Phillip. “Seriously. Isn’t there anyplace you could stick me? Maid’s room? Good-size pantry? I’d even be happy with a broom closet.”
She sighed. “I’d love to help you out, but…”
“You don’t understand,” he interrupted. “My six-year-old niece has been waking me up at five-thirty every morning to watch Sesame Street. My eight-year-old nephew, who’s sharing my room, has been keeping me up until two because he’s convinced that there are monsters. I’ve been crammed onto an army cot.” He could see that it wasn’t getting through to her…that no matter what his plea, she was the type who could withstand it.
He swallowed hard and played his trump card.
“My mother’s been asking me why I haven’t gotten married yet,” he said. “At every. Single. Meal.”
Emily’s eyes widened. Then she laughed—a soft, rich sound that made him feel as though he’d just been brushed by mink.
“Knowing Ava, I can only imagine. I love her, but she is…” She grinned mischievously. “Shall we say, persistent.”
“As a Sherman tank.”
She looked up at the ceiling as if mentally debating something. Then she sighed. “Okay, tell you what—I converted the attic to my own private apartment,” she said. “You can crash on my couch for tonight. But just for tonight. Tomorrow we’ll think of something else.”
Gratitude washed over him. “I owe you for this. Big-time.”
She nodded absently, then went back to the desk. “I’m going to have Mr. Reese here stay with me,” she said, and Colin watched as a look of calculation and a slow smirk crossed the clerk’s face.
“On her couch,” Colin emphasized.
“Of course,” Phillip returned blandly.
“One other thing, Phillip?” Emily asked, her voice going soft. “Did a J. P. Webster check in?”
“At around six,” Phillip said. “Room five.”
“Perfect. Thank you.”
There was an edge of excitement in her voice, Colin noticed. Unexpectedly he felt irritation. Who the hell was J. P. Webster? And why did she suddenly sound so thrilled?
“Colin, why don’t you follow me and I’ll get you settled in.”
Colin followed her to a small private elevator, taking it up to her apartment. It was roomier than he’d expected. There was a small kitchen, a living room, a bathroom and the bedroom. There was even a small fireplace. It was well decorated and obviously expensive, but it still looked cozy and inviting. To his surprise, he felt tension start to ebb out of his body.
“This