Marriage Under the Mistletoe. Helen Lacey
with vanilla. A bed in her house. And not in the B and B part of the big home. These were her private quarters. That had surprised him. But she’d explained how the rooms were fully booked over the holiday season and with Callie and Noah’s wedding organized so suddenly she hadn’t time enough to change her bookings.
He checked the clock on the bedside table. Six o’clock. He’d been asleep for over nine hours. When they’d arrived at Dunn Inn the night before, he’d pretty much crashed within half an hour of dumping his duffel at the end of the bed.
Scott’s stomach growled. He was hungry. And his body ached. He swung out of bed and planted his feet on the floorboards. I need a run. He stood, stretched and then rummaged through his bag for sweats. It’s summer here, remember? He opted instead for shorts and a T-shirt, pulled on socks and trainers, found his iPod and left the room.
He headed down the hall and took the flight of stairs. The rich scent of coffee hit him again as he got to the side door and the private entrance Evie told him he could use. He could hear voices coming from the guest area and main kitchen and fought the urge to follow the sound. She was obviously busy. But he looked forward to seeing those sparkling green eyes again.
Once outside, Scott got a good look at the house. It was huge and had long windows protected by timber shutters and a gabled roof. He walked backward out of the front yard to the garden. Then he turned and was struck by the most incredible view of the Pacific Ocean barely one hundred meters away. As kids he and Callie had vacationed in the nearby town of Bellandale a few times, where their father had been born. But Scott had never seen Crystal Point before. Callie had told him about it, of course, and he’d listened to his sister’s stories about small-town life and the camaraderie among the residents and how she’d been readily accepted by the community. And Scott knew her marriage to Noah Preston would cement that bond and she’d never return to California.
He looked toward the ocean, inhaling deeply. The sea was as flat as glass and he spotted a couple of fishing boats on the horizon. He liked this place. Especially when he looked to his left and spotted Evie Dunn pounding the pavement on incredibly athletic legs. She jogged toward him, zigzagging across a wide stretch of grass between the road and the footpath. Black shorts flipped across her thighs as she moved. She wore a white tank shirt, bright pink socks and flashy new trainers, and her glorious hair was pulled back and tied up beneath an equally pink visor. Scott swallowed hard. She looked vibrant and wholly desirable.
“Hey,” she said, coming to a halt about six feet in front of him. “I didn’t think you’d be up this early.” She took in big gulps of air and planted her hands on her hips.
“I told you I run,” he said, trying not to look as though he was checking her out. He managed a smile and kept his gaze level with hers. “Perhaps next time we could go together?”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Well, I’d better go inside. I’ve got hungry guests waiting.”
She smiled and headed off past him at a slow jog. Scott turned instinctively and watched her until she disappeared around the side of the house. He liked the way she moved. He liked her curvy, athletic body.
A jolt of attraction ran through him, stronger this time. Not what he wanted. Definitely not. She wasn’t the casual kind of woman like those he’d been seeing since he’d broke up with Belinda. Evie Dunn looked like the kind of woman who’d want permanence—and more than that—she looked like the kind of woman who’d need permanence.
And that’s not me.
Commitment had no place in his life. He had his job—a job he had to prove to himself that he could do without distraction.
He put the earbuds in place and turned up the volume on the iPod. Stretching his travel-weary muscles for a few minutes, he then went for a long run and decided not to think about Evie’s great legs, or lovely hips or bright green eyes. He would just have to forget all about her.
* * *
The Manning sisters had been coming to Dunn Inn for nine years. Both in their seventies, both widows who’d married twin brothers, they shared a profound camaraderie that Evie knew she’d have with her own sisters throughout the years. Her sisters were her best friends, her confidantes, her conscience, her troubleshooters. She wondered what they would think of her new houseguest—or the semierotic dream she’d had about him the night before.
Evie listened to Flora Manning explain her newest recipe for double chocolate fudge brownies while she served them breakfast in the main dining room. Sticklers for tradition, the sisters preferred to have all their meals in the bigger room, and forgo Evie’s usual and more casual approach of breakfast in the kitchen. Most of her guests favored that particular meal at the long wooden table where they could chat among themselves and with Evie.
But the Manning sisters liked the good china and the pressed tablecloths and the fresh flowers Evie always maintained in the formal dining area. And because her next guests weren’t arriving until that afternoon, Evie gave Flora and Amelia a little extra attention.
“Did we see you talking with a man outside?” Amelia asked as she sipped her tea.
Evie looked up from her spot at the buffet table. There was clearly nothing wrong with the Manning sisters’ eyesight despite their recent protestations about their failing senses. “He’s here for my brother’s wedding.”
“Ah,” Flora said, nodding to her sister. “Told you so.”
“Mmm,” she replied, and placed a rack of toast and petite pots of marmalade on a serving plate.
“He’s a nice-looking young man,” Amelia said.
Definitely nothing wrong with their eyesight. “I guess he is.”
“And he’s staying until after the wedding?” Amelia asked.
Evie nodded. “Up until New Year’s, I believe.”
The sisters shared another look. “Is he a relative of yours?”
“No,” she replied. “He’s Callie’s brother. As you know, Callie’s engaged to my brother.”
Two sets of silver eyebrows rose. “Is he married?”
“No.”
Another look—this one a little triumphant. “Straight?” Flora, the more to-the-point sister, asked.
Evie smiled to herself. “Yes.”
“You should find yourself a man.” Flora again, never one to hold back, spoke as she smoothed out her perfectly groomed chignon. “Your son needs a father.”
Heat prickled up her spine. “He has a father.”
Flora tutted. “A ghost,” she said. “The same ghost you cling to.”
Evie’s hands stilled. “Not a ghost,” she said, probably a little sharper than she would have liked. But she knew the sisters’ cared about her. Telling it how they saw it was simply their way. “Just memories of a good man.”
“Just promise you’ll think about it,” Amelia said with a soft smile. “Now, when are you going to finish decorating the house?”
Good question. With Christmas only weeks away Evie usually had all the trimmings up. Granted, the beautiful cypress tree stood center stage in the living room and looked remarkable with its jewel-colored decorations and lights. Noah usually helped her with the rest of the garlands and tinsel she always scattered around the big house. But this year was different. He and Callie had their own home to decorate, and Evie hadn’t wanted to bother her brother simply because she wasn’t tall enough to finish decking the halls.
“I’ll get to it as soon as I can,” she promised, thinking the ladder in the shed out back would do the trick.
She returned to the main kitchen and left the sisters with their breakfast. She was just stacking the dishwasher when the door connecting the guest quarters and the stairwell leading to her private residence opened. Her sleepy-looking son emerged.