Unexpected Angel: Unexpected Angel / Undercover Elf

Every surface, from countertop to table to the top of the refrigerator, was covered with neat rows of cookies, arranged in military precision, each regiment a different variety. Holly, humming along with “Silver Bells,” popped up from in front of the oven, a cookie pan in her hand. She froze at the sight of him, their gazes locking for a brief moment, before she smiled and set the pan down. “Hi,” she murmured.

“What’s all this?” Alex asked.

“I’ve just been doing a little baking. I had your father run to the store for some staples—flour, butter, eggs, chocolate.”

Alex’s brow quirked up, amused by her penchant for understatement. “A little baking? We could keep a small third world country in cookies for a year.”

Holly glanced around the room, as if she’d just realized how many cookies she’d baked. “Right. I—I guess I did get a little carried away. But you have to have variety. One or two different cookies on a plate doesn’t look nearly as festive as ten or twelve. Here, let me show you.”

She snatched a plate from the cupboard and artfully arranged a selection of cookies. Then she ladled a fragrant liquid from the battered crockpot into a mug and dropped in a cinnamon stick. “Mulled cider,” she said. She placed the plate of cookies and the mug in front of him, then crossed her arms. “Go ahead. Try it. The cider is a perfect accompaniment for the butter cookies.”

She watched him intently and he slowly reached for a cookie.

“No!” she cried.

Alex pulled his fingers away. “No?”

“Try that one first,” Holly said. “And then that one. The pecan shortbread is an acquired taste. More of a tea cookie. Not as sweet as the others.”

He took a butter cookie filled with jam and coated with toasted coconut, then popped it into his mouth. He was prepared to offer lavish compliments, knowing that Holly would be shattered if he just swallowed it and nodded in approval. But Alex stifled a soft moan as the impossibly fresh cookie simply melted on his tongue. He had to admit that he’d never tasted anything quite so good. Cheap store-bought cookies had been the norm in the Marrin household for years and since no one bothered to close the bag, they were usually stale after the first day.

“I’m going to make some gift boxes for them,” she said, turning back to the pan of cookies on the stove. “Eric and I can use some Christmas ink stamps to decorate them and then we’ll line them with cellophane and gold foil and tie them with a pretty ribbon and—”

“Why?” Alex asked, surreptitiously snatching a handful of cookies and dropping them into his jacket pocket. “You could have bought cookies. It wouldn’t have made any difference to us.”

“That’s not the point,” Holly said, clearly stunned by his obtuse views on the matter. “You can’t give friends and relatives store-bought cookies! It’s—it’s just not done.”

“Wait a second. We’re giving all these cookies away?” He grabbed two more handfuls and managed to hide them in his pockets before she turned around.

“With all the friends and relatives that stop by over the—”

Alex cleared his throat, after downing another cookie. “Ah, there won’t be any friends,” he said, his mouth full. “No relatives, either.”

“You don’t have any company? But it’s Christmas!” Holly cried. “Everyone has company at Christmas!”

He shrugged. “We live a pretty quiet life here.”

“But—but—what are we going to do with all these cookies?” She studied the countertop, then smiled. “What about the feed store? And Eric’s teachers? And his bus driver?”

He grinned, then snatched up another handful of the pretty little butter cookies with jam in the center. “And we can have cookies for supper. And they’re great for breakfast. And lunch. For a guy who usually eats toast two out of three meals, cookies are like gourmet fare.”

“Speaking of dinner,” Holly said. “I was hoping to take Eric out shopping tonight after we eat. We need to buy decorations for the house. I thought we’d start at Dalton’s and look for Christmas tree ornaments. Would that be all right?”

Alex circled the counter, examining another variety of cookie. Holly watched him, her wavy hair tumbled around her face, streaks of flour caught in the strands and smudged on her cheeks. He stood next to her and looked down into her eyes. Lord, she was pretty. “As long as he finishes his homework, he can go,” Alex murmured, his gaze skimming over her features.

“I—I used to make these cookies with my mother,” Holly explained, turning back to her work. “Every Christmas. I know all these recipes by heart.” She picked up a frosted Christmas tree and took a delicate bite. “The taste brings back so many memories.” A wistful look crossed her face. “It’s funny the things you remember from childhood. ”

Alex sighed. “Maybe that’s why Eric wrote the letter. He’s looking for a few memories.” He drew a deep breath. “I should thank you,” he said.

She glanced up, her eyes questioning. “For what?”

“For all this. For taking the time.” He reached out and gently wiped the smudge of flour from her face, letting his thumb brush across her silken skin. But he couldn’t bring himself to break the contact, an undeniable attraction drawing them ever closer. Alex bent near, wanting, needing to kiss her.

“Holy cow! Look at this!”

Alex jumped back, startled by the sound of his son’s voice. Nervously he raked his hand through his hair, then forced a smile. He expected Eric to be staring at them both, wondering why his father had been contemplating kissing the Christmas angel. But his son’s attention had been captured by the cookies. Kenny stood at his side, his own eyes wide with anticipation.

Alex glanced back at Holly and found the color high in her cheeks. Had his son not come in at that very moment, he knew he would have swept her into his arms. How would he have explained such a sight to Eric? Good grief, the last thing he wanted to do was confuse Eric with adult matters. Holly Bennett was here for only two weeks. He had no intention of making her a permanent fixture at Stony Creek Farm.

“I need to get back to the barn,” he murmured, grabbing his mug of cider. He circled around the counter, then ruffled Eric’s hair. “Holly is going to take you shopping tonight, Scout. You can go as soon as you get your homework done.”

“Wait!” Holly cried. “You can’t leave yet. We need to discuss all my plans.”

“Dad!” Eric groaned. “You have to discuss her plans!”

“With just two weeks, we’ll have to adhere to a strict schedule,” Holly began. “And I’ll need you to approve my ideas for the interior and exteriors. And as I said before, I’ve decided to use a rustic theme, which is something I’ve—”

“I’m sure anything you suggest will be fine,” Alex said. “If Eric likes it, I will, too.”

He hurried out, anxious to put some space between them. The door clicked shut behind him and he started back toward the barn, ready for a few more hours of hard work. But halfway there, he found himself craving another cookie. He reached in his pocket and found a pretty checkerboard cookie, then popped it into his mouth. But it didn’t satisfy him. Alex raked his fingers through his hair. Maybe it was the baker and not the baked goods he was really craving. Unfortunately that was a craving he’d have to learn to ignore.

HOLLY STARED OUT the frosty window of the pickup truck as it bumped along the road leading to downtown Schuyler Falls. Snowflakes, caught in the headlights, danced on the road in front of them. On her right, Eric sat, his eyes wide with excitement, his little body squirming against the seat belt. She’d never met a child quite so sweet and kind as Eric Marrin. His enthusiasm for the season seemed to spill over on to her, making her look forward to every minute leading up to Christmas Eve.

She risked a glance to her left, at Alex, who sat behind the wheel of the truck, silent, stoic, his strong, capable hands wrapped around the wheel, keeping the truck safe on the slick road. Holly hadn’t planned to invite Alex along. After their encounter in the kitchen that afternoon, any contact with him was fraught with peril. Instead of thinking about cookie recipes and menu plans, she always seemed to lapse into a contemplation of Alex’s broad shoulders or his stunning features or his long, muscular legs. Or his lips, those hard, chiseled, tempting lips. Even now, she couldn’t help but sneak a few long looks at him under cover of the dim interior of the truck.

She shouldn’t have invited him, but once she learned the truck didn’t have an automatic transmission, she’d had no choice. He’d agreed grudgingly, grumbling that he’d never finish all his work in the barn after an evening wasted with shopping. But she knew enough to require only a ride to and from Dalton’s. Taking a man—especially a man as stubborn and moody as Alex—through the front doors of a department store could be a disaster of biblical proportions. Men just didn’t appreciate the sheer joy of a good retail experience.

“How about some music?” Holly suggested, reaching over to flip on the radio. A blare of Aerosmith split the air behind her head and she jumped, pressing her hand to her chest. A tiny smile quirked the corners of his mouth at her reaction. She quickly found some Christmas music and, before long, she was humming softly along with Miss Piggy and the Muppets in a rousing rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Both Eric and Alex stared at her as if she’d suddenly gone mad.

“You know, in times past, Christmas was celebrated over a twelve-day period,” Holly said. “This Christmas carol is nearly three hundred years old and it’s steeped in tradition. Back then, people gave gifts on each of the twelve days.”

“You don’t say,” Alex muttered.

“Twelve days of gifts?” Eric gasped.

“I’ve been thinking of decorating the living room with a Twelve Days’ theme.” She stole a glance at Alex, hoping that he’d offer at least one opinion on her decorating ideas. Was he completely bereft of Christmas spirit? And good taste?

“Can we get reindeer?” Eric asked. “Big plastic reindeer with lights inside like Kenny has at his house? Dad, you could put them up on the roof.”

Holly winced inwardly. Reindeer were fine for shopping malls but a bit too tacky for such a pretty setting as Stony Creek Farm. “Perhaps we could find something a little less—”

“Now there’s an idea I like,” Alex said, barely able to suppress a teasing grin. “The more stuff on the roof, the better. And we’ve got all that space on the lawn, too. And along the driveway and around the barns. We could make it look just like…Vegas in the Adirondacks!”

“Yeah!” Eric cried. “Just like Vegas!” He leaned over to look at his father. “What’s Vegas?”

“It’s a place where bad Christmas decorators go to die,” Holly said, shooting Alex an impatient glare. She turned to Eric. “I don’t think we’re going to find plastic reindeer at Dalton’s.”

“Dalton’s has everything,” Eric said. “Raymond has lights on his tree that look like bugs! You get lots of ’em and it looks like the tree is crawlin’ with bugs. His mom got them at Dalton’s. Can we get some of those lights?”