A Husband In Her Stocking. Christine Pacheco
would dangle from the mantel, tied together with red velvet. Presents, wrapped in every color imaginable, would have been artfully placed beneath the tree’s bottom branches, at least two packages bearing tags lettered with Kyle’s name.
Even though Grandma Aggie had passed away, Christmas still meant a lot to him. It meant a chance to be with Pam, Mark and their kids, and its absence here felt completely wrong.
Tucking a hand in a front pocket of his jeans, he turned back to face her. “Meghan?”
She looked at him over the rim of the coffee cup, steam rising to bathe her face. Although she didn’t say anything, hazel eyes questioned him.
“You don’t have a Christmas tree.”
The fireplace crackled. Snowflake lifted a paw and placed it across his head.
Softly, she said, “I don’t see the point anymore.”
“Don’t see...?”
She raised her shoulders defensively. “I live out here alone.”
Even his empty apartment had an artificial tree, which the housekeeper had dragged from a box after Thanksgiving. “So?”
“Christmas is just another day.”
“Is it?” he asked. “What about the meaning of Christmas—family, caring, sharing?”
“What about it, Kyle?” She placed her coffee cup on a coaster on the end table and looked up at him. “What makes Christmas so special? It isn’t for me.”
She blinked, as if she was trying to disguise some emotion. “I get up, have my coffee, take care of my chores, try to call my parents—the lines are usually all busy—then get to work. It’s another day.”
He heard a shallow, underlying pain, maybe tinged with regret. What was it about him—about her—that made him want to take that hurt and erase it, replacing it with something new, with warm memories?
Kyle dismissed the thought; it was as unwelcome as it was impossible.
He wouldn’t be here long enough. Besides, what right did he have to insist she celebrate Christmas? It was a personal choice.
But damn it, that foolish, sentimental urge just refused to be tamped down. The house all but cried out for attention, for warmth and spontaneity, for a family.
Too bad, he told himself ruthlessly. She wanted no part of it.
The lamps flickered threateningly. Wind howled through the windows, rattling the glass. The fire hissed and jumped. “Do you have flashlights? Maybe some candles?” If he didn’t miss his guess, the electricity would soon fail.
“In the kitchen.” She stood, seemingly anxious to be alone.
He made no move to follow her. Obviously he bothered her, probably more than she cared to admit. Truth to tell, she bothered him. More than he cared to admit.
The lights blinked again, driving him into action. It promised to be a long night. “Meghan?” he asked, following her into the kitchen. “Where’s your wood storage?”
“There’s a closet right there.”
While she gathered a flashlight and candles, he grabbed two kerosene lanterns from a shelf. In the living room, she placed everything on the coffee table, working around the oblivious Snowflake.
By the time he stacked the second load of wood next to the fireplace, the lights gave a final flicker.
Kyle and Meghan’s eyes met. Then their world faded to complete darkness.
Intimacy seemed to take on a life of its own. Kyle was very much aware of the woman standing near him.
“Kyle?”
“Right here. I’ll have a lantern lit in a sec.” The absence of light enhanced his other senses, making the sound of her voice more provocative. He noticed the soft ebb and flow of her breaths, the very feminine scent of her potent perfume and the indescribable impact of her presence.
Want flared in timing with the match he struck against a brick. Within moments, the whiff of kerosene hung pungently in the air. Mother Nature blasted the house and tension dropped over them.
“I guess you’re well and truly stuck now,” she said.
He nodded, then noticed the way dim lantern light and fire glow played on her blond hair.
Temptation.
Kyle tried to resist, told himself to resist, ordered himself to resist.
And failed.
He reached out to her, traced his fingertip down her cheek—soft, so soft. Caught in the spell of lantern light and snow, she seemed ethereal, a result of the magical season.
She stiffened but didn’t pull away.
Their gazes locked, he read loneliness in her eyes and knew it matched his own.
Snowflake belatedly barked, shattering the sensual moment. Meghan slowly moved away, then lit a second lantern. She adjusted the wick when black smoke filled the glass carafe.
He couldn’t help but notice the way her hand shook.
“I’ll...er, set up one of the bedrooms for you.”
“The couch is fine,” he said. “Don’t go to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble,” she assured him, but she was grateful for his suggestion. The farther away he was the better.
“I don’t mind the couch.”
She nodded and disappeared for a few minutes, carrying a flashlight, a lazy Snowflake her reluctant companion. Kyle sat on the couch and drank from his coffee in silence. Now that he’d spent an evening with someone special in a Colorado Christmas storm, it made him realize how empty and bleak his own life was.
Even if the snow disappeared overnight and he made it home for the holidays, he would still face January 2 as a lonely man.
Although Meghan might not celebrate Christmas, she knew the meaning of the season. She’d taken in a perfect stranger, given him food, warmth, shelter. If that wasn’t the spirit of Christmas, he didn’t know what was.
A tinder leaped, hitting the grate.
Kyle vowed to find a way to pay Meghan back for the generous gift of her hospitality.
She returned carrying blankets and sheets, even a feather pillow. The linens smelled fresh, as if dried in a breeze—not in an appliance.
While Meghan plumped the pillow, he wondered what her hair would look like spread across the soft surface.
Kyle stood and reached for the sheet she’d draped over the chair. “I’ll do that,” he said, freezing her midmotion.
After a few seconds, she said, “Thanks, but I’ve got it.” Meghan accepted the sheet from him, her fingers rubbing across his. Her eyes opened wide before she blinked and turned away.
Motions smooth and economical, she tucked the sheet between the cushions and couch back. Her cotton sweater moved with her, riding high and affording him a view of her thighs and hips.
It was going to be a hell of a long night, he realized again—and not just because of the cold.
He shook out a blanket, then spread it on top of the sheet. If he didn’t do something—anything—he would succumb to the impulse of touching her again, bothering her even more than he already had. That would be unpardonable, a breach of her hospitality.
The resolution didn’t stop him from remembering the feel of her, though.
She turned back to face him, picked up a lantern. The light shed a halo of gold around her, caressing her features the way he wanted to.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?”