Her Holiday Secret. Jennifer Greene

      Two

      When Andy pulled in Maggie’s drive two days later, he told himself the visit was justified. White Branch had little serious crime, but like any other community, there were always problems and always the potential for more. Part of the reason Andy loved his job was the power—not the power of his badge and gun, but the power to head off trouble before it started. If he had to flash a badge, he always figured he’d failed. Keeping a mean, keen eye on brewing trouble was an effective way of preventing disasters from escalating. For that reason, he regularly cruised certain neighborhoods. When anyone had an accident or traumatic problem, Andy just traditionally followed up to make sure things were okay.

      Maggie had been in one hell of an accident.

      Ergo, it was perfectly reasonable for him to accidentally be driving down River Creek Road and to stop by to see how she was.

      Maybe the memory of those velvet-green eyes had hung out in his sleep for the last couple nights. Maybe she was the first woman since his four-year-old divorce who’d itched on his mind like a mosquito. Maybe that spirit and gutsy humor of hers had gotten to him—especially since she’d looked so vulnerably battered in that hospital bed. And yeah, maybe a peek at the alluring, shadowed swell of one breast in the dip of her hospital gown had mangled with his mind some, too.

      But that had nothing to do with it.

      Checking on people was simply his job.

      As he pushed the gearshift to park, though, Andy thoughtfully scratched his chin. Maggie was there. Standing by her front door. And she’d spotted his truck driving in and turned her head to face him, so it was a little late to slither back out of her driveway and hide himself in the nearest avalanche.

      It would definitely seem, however, that she was having absolutely no difficulty recovering from her injuries... judging from the enthusiastic way she had her arms around another man.

      She dropped her arms from the guy, and with a look that was half curious, half puckish, promptly took a step toward Andy’s truck. As she was obviously coming to greet him, he didn’t figure he could pull a disappearing act for at least a couple minutes. He swiftly pushed open the door and climbed out.

      A bitter wind instantly burned his cheeks and crawled down his collar. Judging from the thick, murky clouds roiling in from the west, he guessed they’d have a fresh foot of snow by morning. Shame he hadn’t taken those ominous clouds as an omen—or else picked up a premonition from those dancing green eyes of hers. Andy was inclined to give himself a whack upside the head. No thirty-four-year-old man—with a brain—should need any such omens to guess Maggie wasn’t likely to be lacking male company.

      “Well, hi again, Sheriff. This visit’s a surprise. Did you think of something to arrest me for after all?”

      He’d love to level a charge on her—notably disturbing the peace. His peace. But that wasn’t something he was willing to confess. “I didn’t figure I had to worry about you robbing any banks for a couple of days...you had enough bruises to keep you out of trouble at least that long. But I started thinking how remote your place is here and just thought I’d stop by. With your car out of commission, I wasn’t sure if you had any wheels yet or might have needed some help.”

      “That was really nice of you. And I’ve certainly been trying to cause more trouble, but my nephew’s been coming over every day by snowmobile to pitch in, bringing groceries and shoveling snow and everything else. Colin, come meet Sheriff Gautier. And Andy, this is Colin Marks, my sister Joanna’s boy....”

      Her smile had a lot of mischief in it, enough to make a man feel as though he’d been struck by lightning if he wasn’t careful. Andy was still trying to recover from that smile when her words sank in. Nephew. Boy. And then the kid edged in front of her with a mannerly hand stuck out.

      The boy was six-two—Andy’s own height—with a cowlick sticking from his crown that probably added another inch, and the tea-brown hair and green eyes that easily labeled him as Maggie’s kin. It was just the height and shoulder breadth that had Andy first assuming he was a grown man. A second look would have noted the gangling limbs and kid’s awkward nerves, but Andy really hadn’t been noticing much but Maggie. “Nice to meet you, Colin.”

      The kid shied back from the handshake, almost tripped over his own feet. “Nice to meet you, too.” Those eyes skittered away from him fast. “Maggie, I got to be going. Mom’ll be wondering where I am.”

      Andy had a cop’s sixth sense that something was a little off, something more happening than just a teenager’s awkward nerves, but maybe that was a mistaken first impression. The boy was obviously in a hustle to be gone. Maggie gave him another warm hug, and seconds later Colin was pelting for the snowmobile parked beyond her door. The machine engine roared on and the boy disappeared in a wake of snow.

      “Fifteen?” Andy guessed his age.

      “On the button. And I’ve got one other nephew, Rog. He’s a year younger. Colin’s more the high energy devil. He can get a wild hair now and then—but he’s got a good heart. They both do. Their dad died last year, really threw both kids and my sis for a long painful loop. And before I tell you any more family history you don’t want to hear—are you gonna keep an invalid outside freezing like this, or come in and have some coffee?”

      “You don’t look like much of an invalid.” She looked breathtaking, in his objective opinion, but that wasn’t to say Andy was buying her instant recovery quite at the wholesale price she was selling it. Her hair was worn loose and smooth to her shoulders, the silky brown color shot with honey and sunshine. She’d brushed it over her right temple, but he could still see the blotchy jewel colors of a bruise hiding beneath. A little careful makeup was obviously intended to conceal the circles under her eyes, and her red jacket collar was pulled up over a bandage on her neck. Maggie clearly didn’t want anyone worrying about her—and that smile and full-of-hell spirit could easily distract a man from believing she’d ever been hurt.

      “Well, all my best bruises are out of sight. They’re so brilliantly colorful at this point that I’d love to show ’em off...but I’m afraid I won’t do a strip search without a warrant, even for you, Sheriff.” She hesitated. “Of course if you brought a warrant...?”

      “Damn. No. But if you give me a second, I’ll try to think up some charges—”

      She chuckled. “Well, in the meantime, you like your coffee black or prettied up?”

      “Black’d be great—but I don’t want you going to any trouble.”

      “Nonsense, I’m freezing and could use something hot to drink myself. Come on in—and no, you don’t have to take off your boots. This floor’s seen snow before.”

      He stomped in behind her, shrugging off his jacket and placing it on a hook, next to where she hung hers. Under the outer gear, she was wearing a red turtleneck sweater over jeans and thick socks. Practical, comfortable clothes, but the loose cut of her jeans still showed off the curve of her fanny, and the sweater faithfully outlined ripe, firm breasts.

      He was only watching her—he told himself—to judge if she were really as recovered from the car accident as she made out. Her movements seemed a little careful and deliberate to him, and he noticed she unconsciously pressed a palm to her ribs, as if the bruises there were still giving her trouble. Still, she was obviously getting around okay... which made it all too easy to shift his eyes to body parts that had nothing to do with any judicious, altruistic motives.

      Forcefully he cut his attention to safer territory, while she bustled around finding mugs and coffee. It wasn’t hard to inhale her place in a single gulp.

      The main floor was all open space, with the kitchen two steps up from the great room. The kitchen had brick walls, with an old-fashioned baking oven built into one. A vanilla-colored counter served as her table. Pots hung from a metal turnstile overhead, and spaghetti sauce simmered on the stove, the scent hot and spicy. Somehow he didn’t