A Little Bit of Holiday Magic

She stared at them as if he’d handed her a French maid outfit to wear, complete with fishnet stockings and a feather duster.

Her jaw tightened. “You want me to wear your pajamas?”

He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “They’re practically new. I’ve only worn the bottoms a couple times. Flannel is warm. You might be hypothermic.”

Her suspicious gaze targeted him once more. It was a good thing she wasn’t armed, or he would be a goner.

“You’re really a firefighter and mountain rescuer?”

“Check the pictures on the mantel.” He pointed to framed articles and photographs. “And the walls.”

Looking around, Grace held the pajamas in front of her like a shield.

Okay, he got it. Got her.

No wedding ring, and a kid had made her cautious. That was smart. She didn’t know him. Didn’t know her having a child meant he considered her off-limits, a look-don’t-touch, modern-day leper.

“My job is to help people in trouble. I do that when I’m on the mountain, too,” he said. “That’s all I’m trying to do here.”

“It’s just...” Grace glanced at Liam, who was playing with Peanut. She touched the boy’s head. “I’ve never been stranded—with a stranger.”

“No worries. I understand. But you’re safe here. If it makes you feel any better, the bedroom doors lock.”

Her eyes darkened. “From the inside or outside?”

That would be funny if she didn’t sound so serious. “I have an idea. I’ll call the sheriff’s office. Let them know about your truck, so they can get it towed. Then you can talk to the sheriff or a deputy. They’ll appease your concerns about staying here tonight.”

“The sheriff and his deputies will vouch for you?” Only a deaf person would miss her please-someone-tell-me-he’s-not-psychotic plea.

“I’ve lived in Hood Hamlet my whole life. I know everybody.”

Grace’s gaze took in the articles and photographs hanging on the wall again. The tension in her face, especially around her mouth, lessened. “Okay. Let’s call the sheriff. I doubt there’s more than one black pickup stuck in a snowbank around here, but in case there is, mine has Georgia plates.”

“Long way from home.”

She shrugged.

Must be a story there. Not his business.

Even if he was curious...

CHAPTER TWO

FIVE MINUTES LATER, Bill took the phone from Grace, who held on to his pajamas with her other hand. The lines creasing her forehead had disappeared, but the wariness in her eyes remained. He hoped that look wasn’t due to something the sheriff had said. “All good now?”

“The sheriff said Liam and I would be safe with you.” Her voice sounded stronger, but her words had a nervous edge. She rubbed her fingertips against the pajamas. “He’s going to take care of my truck.”

“Truck,” Liam repeated. “I like trucks. Big ones.”

“Me, too.” The kid was cute. So was the mom. If she would quit acting as if Bill was a murderer. She shifted her weight from foot to foot. At least her toes weren’t frostbitten. “Something’s still bothering you.”

Her hands stopped fidgeting with the pajamas. “You’re perceptive.”

“Sometimes.” Bill wasn’t about to play games with Grace after what she’d been through. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She looked at Liam, looked at his EMT and wilderness first aid books on the shelf, a snowboard, an old fire helmet, looked at everything in the living room except Bill.

He took a step closer. “Something’s got you wigged out.”

Grace rubbed her lips together. “The sheriff thinks you should, um, check me. See if we...I...need to go to the hospital.”

That would do it. “Good idea.”

“No. I don’t. Need to go, that is.” Her gaze still avoided his. “I’m a little sore. Nothing else.”

Liam played with Peanut, seemingly oblivious to everything else.

“Most people are sore after an accident.” Bill didn’t know if she was afraid of going to the hospital or of him. He’d guess the latter, but wished she’d look at him so he could try to see if something else was going on with her. “The rush of adrenaline can mask injuries. You should be examined.”

Grace nodded, but looked as if she’d rather face a dentist and gynecologist at the same time than be checked by him. She ran her teeth over her lower lip.

“I promise I don’t bite,” he teased.

She blushed. Her bright red cheeks made her look like a teenager.

He motioned to a chair. “Do you want to sit?”

“I’d rather stand.”

Figures. When Bill was on a call or out in the field on a rescue mission, he tried to keep the patient at ease. Joking around with Grace wasn’t working. He’d try talking to her. “Where do you live in Georgia?”

“Columbus.”

“You don’t sound Southern.”

“I grew up in the Midwest. Iowa.”

“Cornfields and the Iowa Hawkeyes.”

Her amber eyes twinkled. “And country fairs.”

“Let me guess. You were the Corn Queen.”

Her grin brightened her face. Not only pretty, unexpectedly beautiful.

Air stuck in his throat. He struggled to breathe.

She struck a royal pose, lifting her chin and shifting her shoulders back. “Corn Princess.”