Diana Palmer Christmas Collection: The Rancher / Christmas Cowboy / A Man of Means / True Blue / Carrera's Bride / Will of Steel / Winter Roses

She cocked her head, studying him curiously.

He saw her gaze and lifted his eyes. “I thought you were displaying your charms brazenly for my benefit, and maybe even for Bobby’s,” he said with a mocking smile. “That’s why I acted the way I did that last night we dated.”

Her face thinned with distress. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice deep with bitterness. “I thought you were playing me for a sucker, Dorie. That you were pretending to be innocent because I was rich and you wanted a wedding ring instead of an affair.”

The horror she felt showed in her wan face.

“Yes, I know,” he said when she started to protest. “I only saw what I wanted to see. But the joke was on me. By the time I realized what a hell of a mistake I’d made about you, you were halfway on a bus out of town. I went after you. But I couldn’t manage the right words to stop you. My pride cut my throat. I was never that wrong about anyone before.”

She averted her gaze. “It was a long time ago. I was just a kid.”

“Yes. Just a kid. And I mistook you for a woman.” He studied her through narrow lids. “You don’t look much older even now. How did you get that scar?”

Her fingers went to it. The memories poured over her, hot and hurting. She got to her feet. “I’ll see about the coffee.”

She heard a rough sound behind her, but apparently it wasn’t something he wanted to put words to. She escaped into the kitchen, found some cookies to put in a bowl and carried the coffee back to the coffee table on a silver tray.

“Fancy stuff,” he mused.

She knew that he had equally fancy stuff at his place. She’d never been there, but she’d certainly heard about the Hart heirlooms that the four brothers displayed with such pride. Old Spanish silver, five generations old, dating all the way back to Spain graced their side table. There was crystal as well, and dozens of other heirlooms that would probably never be handed down. None of the Harts, it was rumored, had any ambitions of marrying.

“This was my grandmother’s,” she said. “It’s all I had of her. She brought this service over from England, they said.”

“Ours came from Spain.” He waited for her to pour the coffee. He picked up his cup, waving away cream and sugar. He took a sip, nodded and took another. “You make good coffee. Amazing how many people can’t.”

“I’m sure it’s bad for us. Most things are.”

He agreed. He put the cup back into the saucer and studied her over its rim. “Are you planning to stay for good?”

“I guess so,” she faltered. “I’ve had stationery and cards printed, and I’ve already had two offers of work.”

“I’m bringing you a third—our household accounts. We’ve been sharing them since our mother died. Consequently each of us insists that it’s not our turn to do them, so they don’t get done.”

“You’d bring them to me?” she asked hesitantly.

He studied her broodingly. “Why shouldn’t I? Are you afraid to come out to the ranch and do them?”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not,” he muttered, glaring at her. He sat forward, watching her uneasy movement. “Eight years, and I still frighten you.”

She curled up even more. “Don’t be absurd. I’m twenty-six.”

“You don’t look or act it.”

“Go ahead,” she invited. “Be as blunt as you like.”

“Thanks, I will. You’re still a virgin.”

Coffee went everywhere. She cursed roundly, amusing him, as she searched for napkins to mop up the spill, which was mostly on her.

“Why are you?” he persisted, baiting her. “Were you waiting for me?”

She stood up, slamming the coffee cup to the floor. It shattered with a pleasantly loud crash, and she thanked goodness that it was an old one. “You son of a…!”

He stood up, too, chuckling. “That’s better,” he mused, watching her eyes flash, her face burn with color.

She kicked at a pottery shard. “Damn you, Corrigan Hart!”

He moved closer, watching her eyelids flutter. She tried to back up, but she couldn’t go far. Her legs were against the sofa. There was no place to run.

He paused a step away from her, close enough that she could actually feel the heat of his body through her clothing and his. He looked down into her eyes without speaking for several long seconds.

“You’re not the child you used to be,” he said, his voice as smooth as velvet. “You can stand up for yourself, even with me. And everything’s going to be all right. You’re home. You’re safe.”

It was almost as if he knew what she’d been through. His eyes were quiet and full of secrets, but he smiled. His hand reached out and touched her short hair.

“You still wear it like a boy’s,” he murmured. “But it’s silky. Just the way I remember it.”

He was much too close. He made her nervous. Her hands went out and pressed into his shirtfront, but instead of moving back, he moved forward. She shivered at the feel of his chest under her hands, even with the shirt covering it.

“I don’t want a lover,” she said, almost choking on the words.

“Neither do I,” he replied heavily. “So we’ll be friends. That’s all.”

She nibbled on her lower lip. He smelled of spice and leather. She used to dream about him when she first left home. Over the years, he’d assumed the image of a protector in her mind. Strange, when he’d once frightened her so much.

Impulsively she laid her cheek against his chest with a little sigh and closed her eyes.

He shivered for an instant, before his lean hands pressed her gently to him, in a nonthreatening way. He stared over her head with eyes that blazed, eyes that he was thankful she couldn’t see.

“We’ve lost years,” he said half under his breath. “But Christmas brings miracles. Maybe we’ll have one of our own.”

“A miracle?” she mused, smiling. She felt ever so safe in his arms. “What sort?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured, absently stroking her hair. “We’ll have to wait and see. You aren’t going to sleep, are you?”

“Not quite.” She lifted her head and looked up at him, a little puzzled at the familiarity she felt with him. “I didn’t expect that you’d ever be comfortable to be around.”

“How so?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t afraid.”

“Why should you be?” he replied. “We’re different people now.”

“I guess.”