Beneath the Mistletoe. Susan Crosby
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it again, hoping this wasn’t the secluded hideaway of a paranoid, gun-toting, bigoted survivalist.
The door finally opened to reveal the most gorgeous man Lucy had ever seen in person. Around thirty. Thick, dark hair, navy-blue eyes, chiseled features, body to die for. What little breath the cold had left in her lungs escaped in a long, appreciative sigh.
Thank you, Santa.
She blinked ice-tipped lashes to clear her vision, just in case she was imagining this apparition of masculine perfection. But no. He was still there, and still fabulous—even if he did wear a less-than-welcoming frown.
“What is it?” he asked, and his deep voice was as beautiful as his face—if a teensy bit grouchy.
“We’re stranded,” she said simply, motioning toward the two vehicles in his driveway. “We need shelter.”
He looked glumly at the ice growing thicker on the ground by the moment. “There’s a motel about fifteen miles down the road,” he offered without much optimism.
“We won’t make it fifteen more feet. It’s treacherous out there—and the old couple in the pickup need to come in out of the cold. Surely you and your family would allow us to come in for a little while?”
“No family,” he muttered. “It’s just me.”
Maybe there really was a Santa Claus. Pushing a long, dripping curl out of her face, Lucy gave him a smile that stung her frozen skin and tried to look less like a wet stray cat. “We would certainly appreciate your help.”
Even as she spoke, another northbound car—this one a beige sedan—skidded into the driveway, gravel spewing as the driver brought the car to a sliding stop only inches from the tailgate of the pickup truck. There was just enough light for Lucy to see that the car held a woman and two children.
The man in the doorway let out a resigned sigh. “I guess you can all come inside.”
His enthusiasm was underwhelming, but Lucy forged on. “We’ll probably need your assistance getting everyone in safely. The ground is as slick as a skating rink, and that’s an elderly couple in the truck. Looks like two small children in the back seat of the sedan. It’s going to be tricky.”
He nodded morosely. “I’ll get my coat. You can come in, if you want. You’re hardly dressed to be traipsing around in an ice storm.”
“I have a hat and a heavier coat in the back of my car. You’ll need my help, I think.”
His eyes swept the length of her five-feet, two-inch, 105-pound frame, making it clear he didn’t know how much help she could offer. But he merely shrugged and turned to fetch his coat.
Lucy frowned at the man’s retreating back. The guy might have the looks of a Tom Cruise, but he apparently had the heart of an Ebenezer Scrooge.
Maybe Santa hadn’t been quite so generous to her this Christmas, after all.
When Banner had opened his front door in response to the completely unexpected chime of the doorbell, his first thought had been that a lost Christmas elf had somehow wandered onto his front porch. The top of her wet red head came barely to his chin. She had enormous green eyes set into a pixie face with a ridiculous excuse for a button nose, a full mouth that looked incongruously sexy in the center of all that cuteness, and a curvy little figure that made him rethink his former appreciation of tall, busty blondes.
When he had learned that she was the first wave of an invasion of strangers into his cherished privacy, he had been tempted to close the door in her cute little face. But even he wasn’t quite that mean, despite what some people might say to the contrary. His ex-wife, for example.
The weather was vicious. Gusts of wind slapped him across the face with icy hands. He pulled his Sherpa collar more snugly around his jaw. His wide-brimmed hat kept his hair dry, but the freezing rain blew sideways, getting him pretty wet everywhere else. He thought wistfully of his warm, dry, peaceful living room, where he had just been sitting with a crackling fire and a good book.
So much for the quiet, lazy winter evening he had been anticipating.
The elf seemed to be taking charge of the rescue. She stopped by her car, where she quickly swapped her stylish leather jacket for a heavier hooded parka. Then she slung the shoulder strap of a bulging duffel bag over one shoulder before slamming her trunk and stuffing her keys into her pocket.
“Dry clothes,” she shouted over the storm. “We’re all going to need them.”
He nodded and picked his way cautiously to the pickup. The driver’s door was already open and a skinny, rather frail-looking man climbed out. “My wife needs help walking,” he called out.
Banner nodded. “Hold on.”
He and the elf looked toward the beige sedan, in which the woman driver was stuffing two young children into coats, hats and mittens. “Can you give her a hand while I help the other couple in?” Banner asked the redhead.
“Yes,” she called back. “You go ahead. We’ll be fine.”
A hiss of air brakes, the skid of tires on ice, and the unmistakable sound of crumpling metal made Banner whirl toward the highway. A large, southbound delivery truck had missed the curve just before his driveway, the cab plowing into the shallow ditch.
Hissing a curse, Banner started to run toward the truck, but he slowed when he saw the driver climb out of the cab, obviously uninjured. Enveloped in a heavy coat, with a broad-brimmed oiled-leather hat pulled low over his face, the mountain of a man trudged toward them.
“You okay?” Banner called out.
A booming bass replied, “Disgusted but undamaged.”
Banner nodded. “I’m trying to get everyone inside,” he said as the large man drew nearer. “Got some women and kids and an old couple here. I could probably use your help with some of them.”
“You bet.” Banner caught a glimpse of sandy beard as the man moved closer, one big foot sliding on the ice but quickly regaining traction.
Turning back to the parked vehicles, Banner saw that the elf and the mother had the children out of the car. The redhead hovered protectively over the little ones while their mother dragged a couple of suitcases out of the sedan. The large man moved toward them to offer assistance.
Banner turned his attention to the elderly couple. The old man was standing inside the open passenger door of the pickup, helping his wife unfasten her seat belt. Moving closer, Banner saw that the woman was even more fragile than her husband. She had snowy-white hair and a wrinkled face that had faded to a soft caramel color. The shapeless cloth coat she wore wasn’t heavy enough for the weather, and Banner wasn’t sure how much her visible tremors were due to age and how much to the cold.
“She uses a walker,” the old man explained, nodding to the silver contraption folded and stowed behind the seat.
“That won’t do any good on rocks and ice.” Banner moved closer, noting that the woman probably didn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. “Why don’t I just carry you in, ma’am? I won’t drop you.”
“He looks like a strapping young man, Mother,” the woman’s husband said. “Let him carry you inside where it’s warm.”
“All right.” Her voice was thin yet surprisingly strong. “But don’t you go throwing your back out, son.”
As if she weighed enough to make that a concern, Banner thought, moving in to slide his arms beneath her. He’d hauled bags of dog food that weighed more. She put her arms around his neck and held tightly as he lifted her, his feet solidly planted beneath him.
The older man pulled a blanket out of the cab and draped it over his wife’s head, providing some protection from the falling ice. Banner tucked it snugly around her. The old man reached for the walker. “I’ll bring this. And we have suitcases under the tarp in the back.”
“Leave