A Family Christmas. Carrie Alexander
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the other hand, he could be way off base.
“Hold on,” he said when Tess started to rise. “You’re sure Rose said that, in so many words?”
“What—the marriage and kids part? I don’t remember her exact words. But it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Tess slid sideways in her chair, eyeing him doubtfully. “Evan. What are you suggesting?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. Rose’s business was her own, as long as she didn’t make trouble.
“Be nice,” Tess warned as she stood.
“Of course.” He glanced up. “When haven’t I been?”
“Oh, every now and then. Like whenever you see wrongdoing.” Tess looked worried. “I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn. You’re thinking that there’s something wrong with Rose.”
“No, I’m not. Honestly.” Evan rose, towering over the petite librarian by nearly a foot. He tapped her under the chin. “I’ll give the woman a fair chance.”
“Does that mean Lucy will get the lessons?”
“Maybe. We’ll see what Rose thinks. She might not be willing.”
“Turn on that charm of yours.” Tess tossed a saucy grin over her shoulder as she walked back to the main desk, reminding him why he liked her so much. Connor Reed was a lucky guy to have won her heart.
“What charm?” He considered himself to be a standard-issue, salt-of-the-earth type. A good guy. He worked hard, loved his daughter, paid his bills, did what was right. Solid, but nothing spectacular. Krissa had married him for that, and six years later asked for a divorce for the same reasons.
Tess only shook her head fondly. “Ack. You’re such a guy.”
There was nothing he could say to that, so he went to collect his pink, sparkly, princess-loving daughter, who at times still seemed like a foreign species to him.
“AHEM. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
Rose opened her eyes, recognizing the voice with a flip of her stomach. “Evan,” she said. Her throat rasped. “Uh—” She scrambled to set aside the mop and cleaning supplies she’d cradled in her arms while she sat on the stone step outside her cottage to savor the last of the afternoon sun.
“Let me.” Evan took the mop while she dropped the dust rags into the scrub bucket she’d emptied nearby. “Fall cleaning?”
“We had guests in two of the cottages—bird hunters. They left this morning, so I was cleaning up the—” She stopped and shrugged, aware that she was giving away more information than necessary. That wasn’t like her, but Evan made her nervous. “Y’know.”
It had been more than a week since she’d run into Evan and Lucy in the library. Seeing him on her home territory was strange, particularly when he’d been on her mind so frequently. She might have believed that she’d conjured him up if he didn’t seem so solid and strong and real. He wore a jacket over a blue Alouette Gale Storm sweatshirt, dark jeans and running shoes. His hair was so neat, his jaw so cleanly shaved, the whites of his eyes so bright that she felt grungy and dowdy by comparison. Which she was. That hadn’t bothered her before. Much.
“Deer season next month,” he said, handing her the mop. “You’ll be full up, I suppose.”
“We have several bookings, but it’s not like the heyday when my dad was here to be the guide.” She wouldn’t have been able to stay if that had been the case. Even their occasional guests were a trial for her. She was wary of all men, but especially strangers, and was on constant alert until they were gone. A lesson learned the hard way.
“That’s a shame.” Evan scanned the woods. Fragrant pine boughs swayed in the breeze. “It’s a picturesque location. Great piece of property.”
Maxine’s Cottages overlooked a particularly nice, secluded section of the Blackbear River—a wide S-curve bubbling with rapids, with a steep slope to the water’s edge, mature forest and no other homes in sight.
“Yeah.” Although her mother had entertained several generous offers, none of them involved keeping the cottages open for rent. Maxine still expected that one of her boys would come home to take over. Rose, under no such delusion, had collected business cards from Realtors and land developers in anticipation of the day her mother saw reason. She did have an attachment to her cottage and the riverside setting, but she’d sacrifice them in a heartbeat if given the opportunity to get out of Dodge.
She stated the obvious. “The place hasn’t been kept up, unfortunately.” All that she could manage was keeping the rooms clean and the grounds trimmed. Paint was peeling off the wood trim, shingles were missing, the faulty plumbing was a constant trial. There wasn’t the money to hire pros, so she tackled the bigger jobs as she could. Her friend and handywoman Roxy had offered to help out, but Rose was uneasy about accepting handouts.
Evan barely glanced at the slipshod maintenance before he turned his gaze on her. His eyes were brilliant, the color of a mug of icy root beer shot with sunlight. Under his perusal, the skin on her cheeks became warm and tight.
“Do you have any plans for the business?”
Rose shook her head. “I’d shut down tomorrow if my mother would allow it. She’s the one in charge.”
“Ahh.” He nodded. “I just met Maxine, over at the main house. She said it would be okay if I came out here to find you. I called the other day, but I guess you didn’t get the message?”
“Sorry.” Rose looked down and mumbled. “My mother must have forgotten to tell me.”
“No problem. I was curious to see your place close up anyway. Never stopped before, even though I’ve driven by a number of times.” His gaze went to her little stone house. “This is the one from the painting you gave to Lucy, isn’t it?”
“Yes. My quarters, for now.”
“Lucy calls it a fairy-tale house. I can see why.”
Rose turned to look at the cottage. While there was nothing fancy about the humble place, it had charm. The stone walls were thick and covered in moss and ivy. Along the side that had a southern exposure, climbing roses grew, dressed for autumn in yellowed, curled leaves and the hard red globes of rose hips. Soon the remaining leaves would fall, revealing the twist of thorny vines. Inside, Rose would build a fire in the woodstove and huddle under layers of wool blankets, hibernating for the winter.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Evan said.
She half laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t get many visitors.” Suddenly she winced, realizing she’d fallen down as a host. “Shi—er, sugar. Pardon my manners. I should have asked you to sit. We can go—” No, not inside. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No, thanks. Let’s just sit out here.” Evan didn’t look around for a chair. He lowered his tall frame onto the step where’d she’d parked earlier, then glanced up expectantly.
Of course. She couldn’t remain where she was, standing in front of him. But the step was small and she didn’t like to get too close to strange men, or any men at all, for that matter.
She plopped into the grass, crossing her legs in front of her.
He smiled. “You’ll get cold, sitting on the ground.”
“I’m used to it.”
“All right.” He had an easy manner that smoothed out some of her hackles. “This won’t take long.”
She said nothing, waiting. She hoped he wasn’t going to suggest dinner again. Even though, all week, she’d wondered what might have happened if she’d said yes.
In the end, she’d decided that the only sure outcome was that at least one well-meaning meddler would have made it a mission to warn Evan away from her, and that was too humiliating