A Mummy for Christmas

Laura lifted a skeptical brow.

“Just friends,” Travis repeated, as much to himself as to the P.I.

“Mmm-hmm.” Laura grinned, still not buying his denial. She stood, all business once again. “I’ll call you as soon as I figure out what’s going on.”

“Thanks.” Travis circled around his desk.

He and Laura were nearly to the exit when the door opened, and Holly walked in. “Oh!”

Travis thought he saw a fleeting glimpse of jealousy in her eyes. Aware that he had jumped to conclusions about the depth of her interest in him the day before, and been wrong, he pushed the tantalizing notion away.

She smiled and tucked a strand of long, golden-brown hair behind her ear. “I didn’t know you were busy.” Her tone was casual.

Trying not to notice how great she looked in her loose blue chambray painting shirt, snug-fitting white T-shirt and jeans, Travis welcomed her in with a matter-of-fact smile. “It’s okay. We’re finished.” Thank God.

“Hey, Holly,” Laura said, smiling as well.

To Travis’s relief, the private investigator looked as innocent as the day was long as she headed for the exit.

“Hey, Laura,” Holly said, just as nonchalantly.

The two women exchanged easy glances and then Laura slipped out, closing the door behind her.

Travis drank in the alluring, feminine fragrance of Holly’s perfume as she neared. Putting a damper on his reaction, he forced himself to focus on the reason for her unexpected appearance. He searched her aquamarine eyes. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, but he could tell from the excessive ease in her manner that she was putting on an act for his benefit.

Her next smile was even more maddeningly aloof. “I just wanted to see if we were still on for Christmas tree shopping tomorrow,” she said.

Travis pushed aside his remorse, at having gone behind Holly’s back to protect her and the kids. He focused on the weekend, and the fun they usually had together,

instead, reminded of what a good team they made. “Absolutely. The girls and I are looking forward to it.”

Holly continued looking at him, her expression becoming inscrutable. “Okay,” she said finally, backing out with a shrug. “I’ll see you then.”

THE WORST HAD HAPPENED, Holly thought to herself as she drove home that evening after work. Travis had kissed her—and she had kissed him back—and now he was acting weird around her, when all she wanted to do was move forward as if nothing had happened.

Fortunately, she had the evening to pull herself together.

She did two loads of laundry, changed the sheets on her bed. Then spent the night alternately worrying about what Cliff was really up to and obsessing over the kiss that should never have happened.

She awakened early, dreaming about Travis’s soft, sure lips, her pillow clasped tightly in her arms.

Telling herself to get a grip, she rose and headed for the shower.

She had just walked into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the boys when the phone rang. Caller ID said it was the man who’d never been far from her thoughts. Smiling despite her worries, she picked up the receiver.

“Help,” Travis said, his husky baritone a balm to her ravaged nerves. He whispered into the phone. “I’ve got a blueberry muffin emergency.”

He sounded so distressed, Holly couldn’t help but chuckle. “A what?”

“Just come over here.”

Finally, it seemed, they were back to normal. “I’ll get the boys and be right there,” Holly promised.

Tucker and Tristan were delighted to be going next door, so it was no problem to get their jackets on and hustle right on over. They slipped through the back gate of Travis’s picturesque cottage-style home.

Like hers and most of the others in the neighborhood, it was approximately three thousand square feet, and was filled with overstuffed sofas and chairs upholstered in kidfriendly fabrics, plus sturdy wood furniture. The rear of the house had sunlight streaming in the many windows, lighting up the large open area that was kitchen, breakfast room and family room combined. Next to the carpeted play area, where Mia and Sophie were busy with a big box of building blocks, an armoire held a flat-screen television. Instead of a coffee table, there was a long, rectangular ottoman that opened up for storage. The large fireplace took up most of one wall, and matched the collage of charcoal and light gray stone on the outside of the house.

Tucker and Tristan said a distracted hi to Travis as they struggled out of their jackets, then made a beeline for the girls.

“So what’s going on?” Holly asked.

Travis looked great in a soft evergreen pullover and jeans. Wool socks and handsome suede moccasins covered his feet. He waved her to the kitchen, nicely outfitted with white cabinets, speckled black granite countertops and pale gray walls. He turned on the oven light and opened the door slightly so she could peer in.

“Are you cooking biscuits or muffins?” Holly murmured, noting the specks of blueberries poking through the pale, rubbery looking dough.

“Muffins!” Travis said in frustration. “The girls wanted them, and we didn’t have any boxed mix. But we had blueberries, so I got out the cookbook and decided to make ‘em from scratch.”

Holly checked out the recipe, which looked fine. She looked at the ingredients spread out on the counter, spotting a familiar yellow box, but no can. “Did you use baking soda or baking powder?” she asked.

Travis hesitated.

Realizing how rarely he looked uncertain about anything, she smiled.

“There’s a difference?” he asked.

Oh, yeah. Holly moved closer and kept her voice low as she instructed, “Show me what you used.”

He handed her the baking soda.

She peered into his cupboards, which were as familiar as her own, and pulled out a small red can. “This is baking powder. This is the leavening agent you put in cakes and muffins to make them rise.”

“Oh.” He went to back to check the muffins, which were looking sicker and paler and more rubbery by the moment. “So now what?” He scowled, considering, then turned back to face her, his arm nudging hers in the process.

Warmth filtered through her at the brief, accidental contact.

While she savored the sensation, Travis concentrated on the mistake he had made and the dilemma at hand. “Do you think it would help if we sprinkled some baking powder on top of the muffins or stirred some in?”

Holly shook her head, sorry to deliver the bad news. “Not at this point in the baking process.”

“Daddy, we’re hungry!” Sophie declared.

“Are the muffins ready?” Mia asked, looking hopeful, hungry and excited all at the same time. “Tucker and Tristan want some muffins, too!”

He shrugged. “Well…?”

Holly took the oven mitt from him, reached past him, hit the off button on the control panel and took the muffin pan from the oven. “Get your shoes on, kids!” she instructed.