Holly And Mistletoe

Holly continued with her story, but Jordan was having trouble concentrating. He stared at her face. When she’d visited him in the hospital, he’d noticed her freckles and the fact that she didn’t wear much makeup. Today was the same. Her lashes were darkened with mascara, but other than that, she was as clean scrubbed as a ten-year-old.

He watched her full lips move as she spoke. Enthusiasm made her eyes sparkle. Her arms moved, and with them, her body. His gaze was drawn to her chest. She was definitely this side of curvy. Her breasts would spill out of his hands, but he didn’t think he would mind all that much.

He fought down a grin. His family and friends considered him reclusive and brooding. Occasionally he bordered on surly. So what the hell was this woman doing in his house? And why was he so pleased to be in her company?

“When you’re ready to strip wallpaper, let me know,” she said. “I have a steamer that works like magic.” She glanced at the high ceilings. “Even with that, in some of the rooms it’s going to take days.”

“I’ll get my brothers to help me,” he said. “I’ve helped them enough times.”

“You’re one of four, right?”

He nodded.

“That’s nice.” She sighed. “I always wanted a big family, but it was just my mom and me.”

Holly was alone. Jordan didn’t know what that felt like. Many times he found himself standing on the outside of family activities. Watching rather than participating. But that was about him, not about the family. He always had a place to go where he was welcome. He couldn’t imagine a world where no one cared about him.

“There’s no husband lurking in the background? Or a jealous boyfriend? I’m not in a position to have to defend myself.”

She blushed. “Hardly. I haven’t really had time for that sort of thing.”

What sort of thing had she had time for?

Leave it alone, Haynes, he told himself. She wasn’t the woman for him. He’d wondered if the innocent act was real. Now he had a bad feeling it was. Wholesome. Just as he’d first thought.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-eight.”

Twenty-eight and never been kissed. He pushed the rolling table to one side. That was unlikely. Holly had been kissed. How could she look the way she did and not have been kissed? She probably had a trail of men drooling after her everywhere she went.

“Have you met a lot of people in Glenwood?” he asked. He meant men, of course, but asking that directly would be rude. Not to mention the fact that it would imply an interest he didn’t have.

Liar, a voice in his head yelled. He ignored it.

“Some. People who come into my store are nice. I know my landlord, of course. I’ve made a couple of friends.”

She looked away from him as he spoke, and he knew in that instant she was lying. She hadn’t made a lot of friends, but she didn’t want him feeling sorry for her.

He thought about the women his brothers had married. All of them were terrific and friendly. He had a feeling if he mentioned Holly to them, they would take her under their wings and draw her into the group. Or at least help her feel less alone. But Holly might not want him interfering.

Before he could ask or offer, she rose and collected their dinner plates. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

“That would be great. Oh, and some of those cookies you brought.”

She gave him a quick smile, then headed out of the room. He watched the sway of her hips as she walked, and felt a stirring deep inside. He ignored it, just as he ignored the flicker of interest and the sensation of being intrigued. It had been a long time since a woman had caught his attention.

He reminded himself there was a price to be paid for getting involved. A price for caring. He wasn’t willing to pay that again. But that wasn’t what this was about. Holly was keeping him company. Nothing more. Soon she would leave, and he wouldn’t have to see her again. Bad enough to risk getting involved with any woman. Worse to risk the heart of an innocent.

Chapter Three

Holly brought in coffee and a plate of cookies. While she’d been in the kitchen, she’d removed her apron. Jordan tried to ignore her curves and his body’s natural reaction to them. Aside from the fact that they were strangers, he was in no condition to act on any impulses, however pleasant the fantasy.

“I didn’t know how you liked it,” she said as she set the tray on the table across his bed. “There’s milk and sugar.” She motioned to the small containers next to the plate of cookies.

“Black is fine.”

She picked up her cup, added milk, stirred, then took her seat. “How do you feel?” she asked.

He shrugged, then grimaced as muscles in his back protested. “Like I was thrown off the side of a building.”

Instead of smiling, she grew solemn with concern. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is.” She leaned toward him and placed her cup on the table. “I shouldn’t have asked you to go back and rescue Mistletoe. When I think about it now…” She swallowed. Her blue eyes darkened with an emotion he couldn’t read. “You could have been killed.”

“I wouldn’t have gone in if I’d been in that much danger.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I like what I do for a living, but I don’t have a death wish.”

She gave him a faint smile. “She’s all I have left from my mother. Mistletoe was a gift to me the Christmas before Mom died. I’m very grateful for what you did.” Her voice was husky.

Somehow, in all the moving around, her chair had slid closer to the bed. Now, if she leaned forward as she was doing now, her hands rested on the edge of the mattress. A single strand of blond hair hung down by her cheek. The wisp brushed against her skin, but she didn’t seem to notice. His gut clenched as he wondered if she was going to cry. He freely admitted he was a typical male, completely knocked off balance by female tears.

“Just doing my job,” he said lightly.

She responded with a smile. “What made you want to do that rather than become a police officer like the rest of your family?”

He pushed the controls and lowered the bed a little, then tucked one hand behind his head. “When I was about eight or nine, a house in the neighborhood caught fire. I watched the fire department at work. I’d never really understood what my father and uncles did. I knew from television they were supposed to catch the bad guys, but Glenwood isn’t a hotbed of criminal activity. The sheriff’s department acts more as a deterrent than a crime-solving organization. But I could see what the fire fighters did, and I was impressed. That stayed with me.”

He reached for his coffee. That wasn’t the only reason. Growing up, he’d also watched his old man. By the time he was twelve, he knew he didn’t want to be anything like his father. Earl Haynes had a reputation for being a ladies’ man.

Jordan swore silently. It wasn’t just the women his father flaunted. It was the disrespect for everyone else. No one mattered, and nothing was important but Earl’s pleasures. He often hit the boys for no reason, then told them to consider themselves punished in advance of their next mistake. Jordan’s brothers had been able to look past the man and carry on the family tradition of law enforcement, but not Jordan.

He could feel his anger building. Even after all this time, his father still got to him. He wondered if that would ever change.

“Jordan? Are you feeling all right?” Holly’s voice was concerned. She rose and touched her palm to his forehead. With her other hand she took his wrist and felt his pulse. “Slightly elevated,” she murmured, “but you don’t feel hot.”

She pressed the back of her hand against his cheek, then touched his earlobe. He figured if she kept that up much longer, he could really show her an elevated pulse.

“Do you want a painkiller or are you due for some other medication?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Relax.”

He was fine. Since getting out of the hospital, he’d grown used to the dull ache in his body. He’d wanted to give up his prescriptions altogether, but he needed the medication to sleep at night. During the day he did without.