A Holiday to Remember

“Parental marriage issues?”

“Big time. At least here nobody’s fighting World War III. My granddad’s a pretty cool old guy.”

She tossed that hair again, but it missed his hand. “My parents basically live on different planets. My granddads both died before I was born and this is the first time I’ve met the grandmother here. The one in New York, my dad’s mother, is a first-class bitch.”

“You should meet my granddad. You’d like him.”

Juliet bounced off the bench to her feet. “Okay, let’s go.”

Chase stood up more slowly. “You want to go see him? Now?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“I…” He couldn’t think of why not, except…“I only have one bike.”

“Cool,” she said. “‘You can ride me on the handlebars.”

And that’s what they did. Juliet sat in front of him and Chase pedaled for all he was worth. Going up the hills nearly killed him and he nearly killed her as they flew down the slopes. Good thing his granddad lived only three miles outside of town. Chase didn’t know if his heart would last any farther.

When he stopped at the end of the long dirt driveway, Juliet dropped off the front of the bike and looked around at his granddad’s place. “Beverly Hillbillies, anyone?”

He surveyed the junk-cluttered yard with a smile. “Yeah, Granddad likes to tinker with engines, and he’s not much on mowing grass or pulling weeds.” Chase stomped up the rickety steps to the front porch. “Inside’s better, ’cause he has a lady come clean every week. Except for his workshop, which is a danger zone all by itself.”

He held back the screen door and pushed the front door open. “Come on in.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” She stepped past him, brushing her shoulder against his chest and her hip against his legs.

Chase felt every cell in his body go on alert. He was a goner from that moment on.

Chris doubted any of the girls heard that last part. All of them appeared to have fallen asleep, which was exactly what he’d intended.

Jayne Thomas stirred in her chair. “That was quite an opening chapter.” He could barely see her in the near-dark, and her voice sounded calm. Had he not stirred a single memory? “Do you include ‘novelist’ on your résumé? ‘Storyteller,’ perhaps?”

“No. I get paid to tell the truth.”

She didn’t respond, and he knew he’d failed. At the same time, he realized how exhausted he was. “Anywhere in particular you want me to sleep?” He winced as he stood up. His muscles had petrified while he sat. “As far away from this room as possible, I assume.”

“Well…” Her hesitation told him she approved that suggestion. “This is the only working fireplace. The rest of the building will be very, very cold.”

Chris shrugged a shoulder—the wrong one, but he swallowed the groan. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve slept in colder places.” He looked at the fire, now reduced to glowing red embers. “I’ll put a couple of logs on and bring more in. But you’ll have to keep it stoked overnight, or you’ll all be freezing in the morning along with me.”

She still didn’t move. “Yes.”

When he brought the wood in from outside, Juliet—Jayne—was standing near the fireplace, in case he tried something with one of the girls, Chris guessed. After stacking the logs carefully on the hearth, he straightened up. “I’ll grab some blankets from the infirmary, if that’s okay. In fact, maybe I’ll just sack out on a bed in there.” He sent her a grin. “At this point, a mattress might be a better deal than mere heat.”

He thought he saw her smile. “That could be true.”

As he went to the door, the beam of her flashlight came up beside him, then went ahead of him out into the hallway. “The infirmary is on the second floor,” she said. “On the right.”

“I remember, more or less.” He started toward the double doors to the entry hall, surprised to find her walking beside him. “You were waiting for the girls to bring a stretcher down.”

“I thought you were unconscious all that time.”

“When I land in a good place, I stay there.”

The headmistress didn’t say anything to that.

Chris put his hand on the door panel, but shifted to face her before he pushed. Dim light reflected from the polished hardwood, revealing her face only in the contours of shadows. Round cheeks, delicate chin. Plump, full lips, parted slightly.

She was Juliet, he knew it. Maybe the way to convince her was…

He bent his head and touched his mouth to hers, brushed his lips across those curves, and pressed softly. She gave a small gasp and her taste flowed into him, a familiar honey. Twelve years of wanting clutched at his chest, his gut. Chris deepened the kiss, bringing up a hand to cup her shoulder.

And got a slap on the cheek that snapped his eyes wide open.

Chapter Four

A huge knot of something—Jayne decided to call it anger—clogged her throat, preventing her from telling Chris Hammond what he could do with his kisses. So she jerked out of his hold and strode back toward the library, hoping his cheek hurt even half as much as her hand did after that slap.

Then she remembered the bruises and scrapes on his face from the accident and felt guilty for making them worse.

But he had no business doing that, she argued with herself as she put another log on the fire and then went to wrap up in a blanket on the empty couch. She couldn’t possibly have signaled that she was interested in any kind of physical contact, because she definitely was not.