Almost a Christmas Bride

He just had to make sure she never found out why he’d offered her the job. He couldn’t be responsible for her running away again.

For someone who’d built his reputation on being a man of his word, that would be a death knell to him.

Chapter Three

Kincaid’s house was set back from the street by at least a hundred feet. Shana maneuvered her car down the long, curving driveway surrounded by pine and oak trees of varying heights and density, which mostly blocked the house from view, at least low to the ground.

“Sure is dark,” she said, then made the final turn and stopped in front of a large lodgelike structure, with a well-lit front porch.

“Dark,” Emma said from her car seat.

“I’ll bet it’s pretty during the day, though. What do you think, peapod? Look at all those windows. The view must be spectacular.”

Emma babbled her response, although “pretty”—her newest word in her rapidly expanding vocabulary—

came through loud and clear mid-paragraph, even if it did sound more like “pity.”

Shana got Emma from the backseat and headed up the stairs of the impressive structure, so suited to its environment. According to Aggie, he’d built the house himself about four years ago. Apparently everyone had talked about it, because his original goal had been to sell it, then he hadn’t, surprising them all. They’d wondered why one man would need a house with five bedrooms. There’d even been a pool going for a while about when he would get married, but it never happened, and the gossip eventually died off, although everyone had wondered if he’d had his heart broken by a rejection.

Kincaid opened the front door and said hello before she could knock. He wore jeans, a plaid flannel shirt and thick socks. His shirtsleeves were rolled up a few turns, revealing muscular forearms. Strong. She associated the word with him more than any other.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, cocking his head.

“Kitty?” Emma asked, looking around. “Me down,” she said, wriggling. “Kitty.” Her tone was the same insistent one she used to say “cookie.”

“There’s no kitty, peapod,” Shana said. “Or is there?”

“No pets at all,” Kincaid said. “Come in out of the cold. I built a fire. Don’t worry. It’s got a large, sturdy screen. I made adjustments to it today to affix it to the stone. There’s no danger to Emma.”

His consideration caught her off guard. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Well, selfish, too,” he said. “I like my fires in winter and didn’t want to give them up.” He turned to Emma. “How are you, Miss Emma?”

“Do you remember Kincaid, Emma?” Shana asked. “Can you say Kincaid?”

Emma shook her head, her thumb stuck firmly in her mouth.

“It’s a new word, isn’t it? Please try, Emma. Say Kincaid.”

She gave Kincaid a long look, then said, “Kinky.”

Shana slapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. “Almost, baby. Try again. Kincaid.”

“Kinky,” Emma said, louder.

“Kinky it is,” Kincaid said, not seeming bothered by it.

“If it’s any consolation,” Shana said, “she started calling Dylan ‘Dilly.’”

“I’d rather be Kinky than Dilly.”

“I’m sure.” She smiled. “Where is he, anyway?”

“He drove to Sacramento to buy some posters, which apparently you suggested for his new place.”

“I don’t think he’s a wildflower-print kind of guy, do you?”

Kincaid shook his head. He led them toward the fireplace, which took up a good portion of one wall and was bracketed by floor-to-ceiling windows, triple-paned, he said, for temperature control. The furnishings were perfect for the lodgelike environment, overscale and masculine, and yet not so masculine as to feel sterile.

“Me down,” Emma said again. Shana set her on the floor, and she toddled closer to the fireplace, coming to a stop several feet from it. “Pretty.”

Shana joined her, taking off her tiny jacket, as well as her own. Kincaid took both and hung them on a rack by the front door.

“Your home is beautiful,” she said.

“Thanks. Would you like to see the rest?”

“Yes. Come on, Emma.”

Emma went ahead of them, so they followed her lead. She took them through the dining area on the opposite side of the living room, which also had a stunning view, then into the most perfect kitchen Shana had ever seen, with maple cabinets, stainless-steel appliances, green-and-gold granite countertops and more cabinet space than one man could ever possibly use, even if he were a professional chef. She’d had jobs as a short-order cook in small towns several times to earn her keep, but she didn’t consider her skills more than basic. Could the right kitchen inspire her to become better at it?

They moved on to two downstairs bedrooms, then upstairs to see two more bedrooms, an office and the master suite, which was about the same size as the one-bedroom apartment she currently lived in. Every room was completely and beautifully furnished. She looked at it all with a designer’s eye and didn’t see a need to change anything, which was a little disappointing. She’d been hoping her talents would be put to use at his house.

“You and Emma are welcome to use the two bedrooms downstairs or upstairs.”

“Thanks. I’ll think it over.” She thought it would be a good idea to keep her distance from him, keep Emma’s noise to minimal disruption, and yet she liked the security of being on the same floor.

“I need you to decide soon. Dylan and I will have to move furniture out of the right bedroom to make room for Emma’s things.”

“Okay. Did you have a professional designer?”

“I designed the house, but I hired a decorator to help furnish it. If you’d lived in town then, I would’ve hired you.”

Shana studied him for a few seconds, then watched Emma, who was standing at the foot of his bed as if plotting how to climb up on it. “This is weird,” Shana said.

“What’s weird?” He crouched to give Emma a boost, but she moved sideways, out of reach. He looked over his shoulder at Shana.

“Us. This. We’re not arguing. We always argue.”

“I wouldn’t call it arguing. No one ever shouts. Mostly it’s just insults. And you usually start it.”

Shana’s mouth dropped open. “I usually start it? You just started it.” She rushed forward to stop Emma, who’d grabbed the deep green duvet and was trying to pull herself up.

“I won’t let her fall,” Kincaid said, as if offended. He reached for Emma.

“No,” she said.

“Emma,” Shana said, caution in her voice