The Christmas Wedding Ring

“This is the shop,” he said, motioning to a small box he’d made on the napkin. “The route to the house looks complicated, but once you’re on the road it’s pretty easy. Most of the time there’s only one way to turn.”

He explained the intricacies, then pulled his key chain out of his pants pocket and took one key off the ring.

“This is it,” he said, handing it to her. “I’m trusting you not to run off with the family silver.”

She closed her hand around the small bit of metal. It was still warm from his body. “I appreciate this, Dylan,” she said. “Both your willingness to come with me and the trust. I won’t let you down.”

He shrugged. “If I thought you were going to, I wouldn’t give you the chance. Besides, I saw that little car you drive. I could hunt you down in a heartbeat.”

“I’m sure you could.”

She studied his broad shoulders, which nearly stretched out the seams of his dress shirt. He was powerfully built. What would it be like to be so strong that you never had to worry about being physically afraid? It was, she decided, something men took for granted.

“You ready to go?” he said, preparing to slide out of the booth.

She frowned. “We haven’t paid the check.”

“They automatically put it on my tab. I pay it monthly.”

“What happened to splitting all expenses equally?”

He paused. “Young lady, you have a point. You also owe me ten bucks.”

She laughed. “That’s better.” She extracted the bill from her wallet and handed it to him.

Outside, the sky was clear. When she drove through L.A., it had been hazy, with a combination of low clouds and smog. Beyond the restaurant, there were only open areas. The city of Riverside was a sprawling, mostly rural town, while the county itself stretched all the way to Arizona. She felt as if she were a thousand miles from home, instead of only seventy miles away.

“We’ll go back to the office so you can collect your car,” he said as he opened the passenger door of his Mercedes. “Then you can head up to the house and relax for the afternoon. If you’re a typical female, we’re going to have a talk about packing.”

“I resent the implication,” she said, trying not to think about the huge suitcase filling her trunk.

“I’m going to give you one duffel bag and that’s all you get.”

“You’re not turning into a tyrant on me, are you?” she asked, not sure where he was going with this. Why on earth would it matter how many suitcases she brought and why would he want her to use one of his?

“I’m being practical.” He touched the tip of her nose and grinned. “We’re not taking a car on our adventure. We’ll be riding on one of my bikes.”

Her brain instantly provided a picture of a bicycle and she opened her mouth to protest. What on earth was he thinking? Then she remembered...this was Dylan. All bad boy and black leather on a motorcycle.

Her eyes got wide, and the image was so powerful she couldn’t speak. Then all she could do was laugh in sheer delight.

* * *

Dylan watched Molly drive away, then he turned back toward his building. As the sound of her car faded, he told himself to go inside, that a thousand things needed doing. Yet he stood there, staring at the brown hills and dry desert land.

He couldn’t believe he’d given a strange woman the key to his house and blithely let her go there on her own. Even Molly had been surprised by his blind trust. What had he been thinking?

The truth was, he hadn’t been thinking at all. His gut had said it was okay to trust Molly, and so he had. Weird, considering he never trusted anyone. What was it about her? Their past? Or maybe it was the vulnerability in her eyes. Something that called to him, begging for protection or comfort.

Slow down, guy, he told himself. He knew better than to create fantasies about women. They were only out for what they could get from a man, be it a good time in bed or a lifetime of financial support. Life had taught him that lesson well.

Which made his reasons for trusting Molly even more suspect. Except that he didn’t believe she wanted anything from him. He couldn’t say how or why this was true, but he’d acted as if it was. Maybe old age was making him senile. Reality was everybody wanted something, even Molly.

His admittedly cynical philosophy firmly back in place, he walked inside the building. Evie sat at her desk, her dark eyes wide with curiosity.

“Well?” she asked, making no pretense at being subtle. “Who is she and what did she want?”

Dylan leaned against her desk. “An old friend. I knew her years ago. I dated her older sister.”

“Oh, that explains it.” Evie wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure she’s a nice person and all, but she’s not your type. I mean the hair is curly and she’s probably pretty when it’s down, but she’s real ordinary looking.”

Dylan straightened. “She’s not ordinary,” he said, irritation adding strength to his voice. “Janet was always the pretty one in the family, but Molly has a lot of nice features.” He drew his eyebrows together and waited for Evie to contradict him. He didn’t want to even think about why he felt the need to defend Molly. Maybe because she was one of those people who were good on the inside. So what if she wasn’t traditionally beautiful—she had other qualities he admired.

“My mistake,” Evie said, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I was just a little surprised—that’s all. You usually go for the model type. I think it’s great you’re looking for substance rather than flash.”

“I’m not looking for anything,” he growled. “We’re friends. Nothing more.”

“I knew that,” Evie said. She shifted uncomfortably. “I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t have.”

Dylan shook his head. “No, it’s my fault. I’m—” What? What was wrong with him? Why did everything suddenly seem off? “I’ll be in my office,” he told her, and headed for the back of the building.

He was getting soft. That must be it. Good thing he was going away. He would use the time to clear his head.

As he settled down to work, he noticed a faint sensation low in his gut. After a few minutes, he was able to identify it as anticipation. He, who normally hated anything that pulled him away from work, was actually looking forward to taking time off.

Chapter Three (#ulink_d1512149-c4c6-5a5a-9bbf-10acec1c66a7)

There had been a mailbox with the house number at the bottom of the hill. As Molly shifted her car into first so it could climb the steep grade, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. Did Dylan really live up here?

When she rounded the last bend and saw the house sprawling in front of her, she became more convinced that she must have made a wrong turn somewhere. The structure was huge. All wood and glass. Its back end blended into the hill rising behind the house. The front overlooked the city and desert beyond. From where she’d stopped, she could see a four-car garage and what appeared to be part of a garden.

Molly sucked in a deep breath. This had to be the place. There had been only three other driveways on the street, and none of the numbers had even been close. She knew property was cheaper out here, but sheesh, she hadn’t expected a mansion. Looking at the impressive structure, she was glad she hadn’t known about it before. Otherwise, she never would have found the courage to approach him.

She pulled her car to the side, in front of one of the garage’s double doors, then turned off the engine. She decided to leave her suitcase in the trunk until she was absolutely sure this was the place. She moved up the walk and saw that the wide front door was decorated with a large, luxurious wreath. She paused. Dylan didn’t strike her as the wreath type. She extracted the key he’d given her. Here goes nothing, she thought.

The key turned easily. He’d told her there wasn’t an alarm to worry about, so she simply stepped inside.

The great room ceiling stretched up at least twenty feet. Huge windows brought in the light from outside, illuminating dark wood beams, white stucco walls and, near the hearth, the fanciest Christmas tree she’d ever seen. To get to it, she had to cross over a cobblestone bridge and indoor stream. A stream?

Molly blinked several times, but the flowing water didn’t go away. It continued to slide down a rock formation on her right, then under the bridge to a shallow pool on her left. Several fish swam through the clear pond.

What on earth had she gotten herself into?

As she approached the tree, what looked like millions of tiny white lights blinked to life. Motion detectors? On a Christmas tree?

Although the tree was beautiful, Molly thought, it struck her as a little formal. No colored lights, no homemade decorations. In fact, every decoration on the tree was white or gold, or some combination of the two. Porcelain angels frozen mid-song.

The furniture was oversized. Dark blue leather sofas, glass-topped tables and more windows. The view was spectacular. She turned in a slow circle, taking in the attractive floor lamps, the displayed artwork, the dining room beyond. She figured her entire condo would fit comfortably into the space occupied by these two rooms alone. And there was still plenty of house for her to see.