Navy Christmas. Geri Krotow
in your records and use it for personal business. You didn’t give me your phone number yourself.”
“I appreciate your professionalism, uh, Commander Scott—or was it Captain?”
“I’m a Commander.” His mouth twitched.
“I didn’t want to demote you. I’m not familiar with medical practitioners for the most part, and then when you add the Navy, I get even more confused. We’re used to being around Marines. Well, we were.”
“Understood.”
She took a step closer. “Ronald, it’s okay.”
Her words were superfluous as Ronald had already deemed Jonas safe with an invisible doggy stamp of approval. He lay at Jonas’s feet, his belly exposed for a rub. Jonas obliged and she didn’t miss how nice his hands looked against Ronald’s silver-brown coat.
Couldn’t the dog at least pretend to have more of a vicious edge around strange men? Step-cousins included?
“We’re not blood relatives, not cousins, by the way.” There. It was out; let him go after her about the house.
“You mean like you, Pepé and Dottie.”
He looked up at her as he spoke, continuing to stroke Ronald’s underside. When he stood she had to look up. He was at least a foot taller than she was. And his gaze—a girl needed to watch how she interpreted his attention. Why couldn’t Jonas look more like a toad?
“I didn’t let you off the hook at the clinic. I’m sorry.” She owed him that much.
“Don’t be. I earned your wrath. And although I don’t deserve it, I’d like to start over with you.”
Serena smiled.
Jonas responded with a grin and held out his hand. “Jonas Scott, Dottie’s youngest stepson. Pleased to meet you.”
His hand was warm and strong as it enveloped hers. She liked his firm handshake—certain but not overbearing.
“Serena Delgado. Dottie’s biological niece.”
She met his gaze at the same moment a spark seemed to travel from where their hands joined up her arm. Judging from the interest in his eyes he’d felt it, too.
This wasn’t what she’d bargained for, this instant attraction she was experiencing with Jonas.
“Hey, what about me?” Pepé stuck out his hand in front of Jonas.
“Nice to see you again, buddy.” Jonas shook Pepé’s hand with the solemnity reserved for equals.
“Mom, can I go inside and play?”
“Sure, but no computer or television. Keep it to your toys or books.”
“But it’s a holiday vacation, Mom!”
“Take it or leave it, mi hijo.”
Pepé ran back inside, Ronald on his heels.
“You’re good with him.”
“Hmm.” Serena shifted on her feet, not sure where to go next. She didn’t remember ever feeling so completely exposed with another person.
Jonas was practically a stranger, yet he knew her life. He knew her father had abandoned her before she’d even been born, that she was a widow and single mother. He’d drawn conclusions about how she’d come to have the house. He probably thought she’d finagled it out of Dottie.
Yet she knew so little about him. Except for what Dottie had told her. Dottie had made Jonas out to be perfect.
Serena knew that wasn’t possible.
At the clinic he had played the straight man, the professional. He didn’t dare comment on her role in his family’s business in that setting.
Except for the venting session that she’d overheard, he’d behaved.
“You know who I am, Jonas. You know my family situation. You might even think you’ve figured me out. But I don’t know a whole lot about you.”
His blink indicated she’d hit her target. She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh but it felt good, if just for a moment. Let him judge her; she had as much right to be here as he did.
Didn’t she?
They might be unofficial cousins, of a sort, but the attraction between them glittered. Maybe she had too much Christmas on the brain, but she was mesmerized by the vision of a long, gold tinsel garland wrapped around both of them and drawing them closer.... Who needed mistletoe?
“Mom, is Jonas related to Auntie Dottie, too?”
“I thought you were playing inside, Pepé. This is an adult conversation.” She studied Pepé, his eyes wide. If he could raise his ears like a dog to listen better, he would. Her little sponge was taking it all in.
Pepé held up an apple and a cheese stick. “Can I have these?”
“Yes. At the table.”
“Auntie Dottie?” Jonas didn’t have to raise his eyebrows; his tone of voice made clear that his judgment of her was as clichéd as the gesture. Let him add the assumption that she’d used Pepé to gain an inside track to Dottie’s will and the house.
“We had a chance to get to know Dottie before...before last summer.” She stared at him.
“I never heard of you until six months before she died.” He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. His nicely formed, masculine hands.
“No reason for you to.” She shrugged. “I didn’t want Dottie to bother her family, your family, with what I came out here for—to find out about my biological family. It had nothing to do with you until...until she died.”
“And left the house to you.”
Anger grew from a curl of tension in her stomach to a python gripping her throat.
“It’s really none of your business. Dottie was my aunt and had information about my biological father that I couldn’t get from anyone else, as all of their relatives are gone. As I’m sure you know, Dottie was the last one. And, as I’m sure you also know better than I do, genetic medical information is invaluable. I met with Dottie as much for Pepé as myself.”
Her throat ached even more and she wanted to punch the side of the house. She would not cry in front of this virtual stranger.
Jonas remained quiet, watching her.
“It didn’t make sense to draw you and your brothers into my sordid family life.”
“Who said anything about ‘sordid’?” Jonas flashed that handsome smile again. Aware that Pepé could be within earshot, absorbing their entire conversation, she kept herself from shoving Jonas and telling him to shut up.
“Not to be rude, but why exactly are you here, Jonas?”
He shrugged. “I came out to introduce myself properly, and to see if there’s anything you need for the house.”
“Anything I need?”
He had the grace to look away.
“My brothers have, um, indicated that you haven’t asked for any help fixing up the place. We know Dottie wasn’t able to keep up with it the past several years. And she wouldn’t let us help out like we wanted to.” He looked up at the house. She followed his gaze and saw the peeling paint, the hole in the eaves where a bird had made a nest last spring.
Discomfort made her wiggle her toes in her faux shearling–lined boots. He wasn’t going to get under her skin this way, no matter how hard he tried. She’d fix the house on her own.
“It looks worse than it is. This place is over a hundred years old. It’s been through a lot. I’ve painted the inside and ripped up all the old carpets.” She’d