A Snow Country Christmas. Linda Miller Lael
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up. I thought you liked me. How could you dangle this in front of me?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m not even that qualified. I took some animation classes in college, but that’s it.”
He smiled. “My personal feelings about you aside, from what I’ve been able to see, you’re really talented. I’d never have mentioned your name otherwise. But I’m glad I did, because the producer agrees with me. He thinks you could be a valuable addition to the team.”
Raine glared at him from those vivid hazel eyes. “You knew this would be a graphic artist’s dream. This is a calculated move.”
“Of course I did. Never underestimate me.” He had known. He understood a lot about being driven. Why else would they be exchanging emails at two in the morning?
“What kind of company are we talking about?”
She wasn’t a fool, but he already knew that. “Let’s just say you’d recognize the name.”
She blew out a breath. “I knew you were trouble. I’m so busy right now as it is—”
“All you have to do is think about it and let me know if you want a face-to-face. I’m investing, so I want it to be topnotch. It’s in my financial best interest to help him find the best artist possible.” She opened her mouth again, undoubtedly to protest further, and he held up a hand. “That’s enough business for one night, especially when it’s Christmas Eve. I’m declaring the meeting portion of our evening officially over.”
Raine blinked, then raised a brow. “In that case, I think it’s time for the dinner portion of our evening. I hope you can stand spicy food.” She got to her feet. “Bring the wine, please.”
“I thought we were having hamburgers.” He followed her toward the kitchen, bottle in hand. “But yes, I do like spicy.”
Her kitchen was as interesting as the living room. A row of unmatched antique canisters sat on the polished counter. The appliances were modern but the vintage hutch in the corner held what looked like a beautiful set of old dishes and pink crystal glasses. A mobile made from tarnished silver forks hung over the farmhouse sink—another piece of décor that was quintessentially Raine and suited the room perfectly.
His mother would undoubtedly faint at the sight, but Mick again found himself both charmed and amused.
“Good.” Raine moved efficiently between the refrigerator and the counter as she set down a plate and several containers. “Green chili cheeseburgers are my indulgence on Christmas Eve. Questionably traditional, I know, but I love them.”
He grinned for what felt like the thousandth time that night. “Are you kidding me?” he said incredulously. “I’m from New Mexico. We didn’t move to California until I was fifteen. My aunt and uncle still live in Las Cruces. I have done some self-analyzing to try and figure out if I go to visit them, or just for the food.”
She gave him a surprised look that probably mirrored his own. “Are you serious? My cousin lives in Santa Fe. I love it there. She sends me the chilis every late August or early September and I hoard them like a miser.”
“The real deal? From Hatch? Don’t tease me.”
“Oh yeah.” Raine nodded, no doubt inwardly laughing at his expression. “I roast them myself and freeze them. I would save Daisy and the pets first in a fire, but I might consider going back in for my chilis.”
He’d just gone straight to heaven. “You’ve just given me quite the Christmas present. If I can help, let me know. Otherwise I’ll just stand here and drool.”
She pulled out a cutting board from a side cupboard. “Somehow I suspect your culinary skills are limited to making reservations, but if you can slice an onion, you have a job to do.”
“That I can do.” She was right, he didn’t cook often, but then again, he traveled constantly and home-cooked meals were hard to come by when one wasn’t often home. Maybe that was part of what he liked about Mustang Creek—every aspect of the community felt welcoming and homey. If you walked into an establishment like Bad Billy’s Burger Palace, you’d be greeted by name.
He hadn’t even realized until recently that that appealed to him.
Maybe he was just getting a little restless in his life. Something was missing, and he knew he was in Mustang Creek for Christmas for more than just work.
Standing in Raine’s kitchen, admiring the shapely curves of her body under that silvery sweater, he wondered again what it was about her that had caught his attention. It had served him well in the business world to play hunches and go with his instincts, and his instincts had started humming the instant he’d first laid eyes on her. Raine wasn’t classically beautiful but she was one of those women who, whenever she walked into a room, unconsciously made everyone turn to look. Her vitality was part of the appeal, and since he himself was reserved and self-contained, he’d been fascinated from the start.
“Knife is in the drawer.” She looked up and caught him staring. Wiping her hands on a towel, she looked down as a sudden faint hint of color bloomed in her cheeks. “What?”
“You’re just so—” he cast about for the word “—alive.”
“I hope so, since the alternative is pretty undesirable.” The smile she gave him was quizzical this time.
He wasn’t about to elaborate. “True enough, Ms. McCall.”
“Knife is in the drawer, by the way.”
“You mentioned that.” He tugged open the drawer she indicated and found the object in question. “On the job.”
Mick chopped onions while she dropped the burgers in the grill pan and in less than a minute, his mouth was watering from the tantalizing smell of sizzling meat. Outside, the snow was thickening, draping the trees and the wooden fence out back in a festive wardrobe of white. The whole scene was relaxing in a way he didn’t often allow himself, a respite from the world, and the music softly playing in the background didn’t hurt one bit.
Fire in the hearth, a concerto in the background, a glass of wine, a home-cooked meal and a beautiful woman...
The perfect way to spend Christmas Eve.
“THAT WAS A real treat. I felt like I was home again.”
For someone who obviously hit the gym, Mick could eat on a par with the Carson brothers, and that was a high bar. As Red, the head hand at the ranch would say, he could really strap on the ole feed bag. Raine was happy she’d decided to make three burgers instead of just two because that third one disappeared quickly. Mick’s manners were meticulous, of course, but he had devoured his food with flattering enthusiasm.
“I warn you,” she informed him when she got up to clear their plates, “I learned all about how to make dessert from Blythe Carson. Ice cream is going to be all you get.”
“That sounds just fine to me.”
“Once you taste Bad Billy’s Lemon Drop Ice Cream, you’ll be hooked for life.” She wasn’t kidding. “There’s a reason I don’t dare keep it on hand all the time. That would be a desire to keep my girlish figure.”
He gave her a slow once-over as he rose, plate in hand. “There’s nothing I’d change, trust me. Let me help with the cleanup.”
She’d argue, but had a feeling Mick Branson didn’t lose verbal battles very often, maybe ever. He was the epitome of cool, calm and collected, with a good dose of masculine confidence thrown in. It was telling that she wasn’t sure how to handle his obvious interest, because she’d decided a long time ago to just live her life as she wished and that her untraditional approach was a healthy outlook on life, at least for her. She’d sat down with her daughter and explained that the reason she’d never married Slater was