One Night Before Christmas. Robyn GradyЧитать онлайн книгу.
overhead light, sighing inwardly in relief when the intimacy of firelight gave way to a less cozy atmosphere. Glancing down at his feet, she bit her lip. “Will you please take off your shoes? I cleaned the floors this morning.”
Though he frowned, he complied. Before she could say another word, he gave her home a cursory glance, then settled his sharp gaze on her face. His übermasculine features were put together in a pleasing fashion, but the overall impression was intensely male. Strong nose, noble forehead, chiseled jaw and lips made for kissing a woman. His scowl grew deeper. “I’m tired as hell, and I’m starving. If you could point me to my cabin, I’d like to get settled for the night, Ms....?”
“Kemper. Phoebe Kemper. You can call me Phoebe.” Oh, wow. His voice, low and gravelly, stroked over her frazzled nerves like a lover’s caress. The faint Georgia drawl did nothing to disguise the hint of command. This was a man accustomed to calling the shots.
She swallowed, rubbing damp palms unobtrusively on her thighs. “I have a pot of vegetable beef stew still warm on the stove. Dinner was late tonight.” And every night, it seemed. “You’re welcome to have some. There’s corn bread, as well.”
The aura of disgruntlement he wore faded a bit, replaced by a rueful smile. “That sounds wonderful.”
She waved a hand. “Bathroom’s down the hall, first door on the right. I’ll get everything on the table.”
“And afterward you’ll show me my lodgings?”
Gulp. “Of course.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have insisted that he remove his shoes. There was something about a man in his sock feet that hinted at a level of familiarity. The last thing she needed at this juncture in time was to feel drawn to someone who was most likely going to be furious with her no matter how she tried to spin the facts in a positive light.
He was gone a very short time, but Phoebe had everything ready when he returned. A single place mat, some silverware and a steaming bowl of stew flanked by corn bread and a cheerful yellow gingham napkin. “I didn’t know what you wanted to drink,” she said. “I have decaf iced tea, but the weather’s awfully cold tonight.”
“Decaf coffee would be great...if you have it.”
“Of course.” While he sat down and dug into his meal, she brewed a fresh pot of Colombian roast and poured him a cup. He struck her as the kind of man who wouldn’t appreciate his java laced with caramel or anything fancy. Though she offered the appropriate add-ons, Leo Cavallo took his coffee black and unsweetened. No fuss. No nonsense.
Phoebe puttered around, putting things away and loading the dishwasher. Her guest ate with every indication that his previous statement was true. Apparently, he was starving. Two large bowls of stew, three slabs of corn bread and a handful of the snickerdoodles she had made that morning vanished in short order.
As he was finishing his dessert, she excused herself. “I’ll be back in just a moment.” She set the pot on the table. “Help yourself to more coffee.”
* * *
Leo’s mood improved dramatically as he ate. He hadn’t been looking forward to going back down that road to seek out dinner, and though his cabin was supposed to be stocked with groceries, he was not much of a cook. Everything he needed, foodwise, was close at hand in Atlanta. He was spoiled probably. If he wanted sushi at three in the morning or a full breakfast at dawn, he didn’t have to look far.
When he finished the last crumb of the moist, delicious cookies, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood up to stretch. After the long drive, his body felt kinked and cramped from sitting in one position for too many hours. Guiltily, he remembered the doctor’s admonition not to push himself. Truthfully, it was the only setting Leo had. Full steam ahead. Don’t look back.
And yet now he was supposed to turn himself into somebody new. Even though he’d been irritated by the many people hovering over him—work colleagues, medical professionals and his family—in his heart, he knew the level of their concern was a testament to how much he had scared them all. One moment he had been standing at the head of a large conference table giving an impassioned pitch to a group of global investors, and the next, he’d been on the floor.
None of the subsequent few minutes were clear in his memory. He recalled not being able to breathe. And an enormous pressure in his chest. But not much more than that. Shaken and disturbed by the recollection of that day, he paced the confines of the open floor plan that incorporated the kitchen and living area into a pleasing whole.
As he walked back and forth, he realized that Phoebe Kemper had created a cozy nest out here in the middle of nowhere. Colorful area rugs cushioned his feet. The floor consisted of wide, honey-colored hardwood planks polished to a high sheen.
Two comfortable groupings of furniture beckoned visitors to sit and enjoy the ambience. Overhead, a three-tiered elk antler chandelier shed a large, warm circle of light. On the far wall, built-in bookshelves flanked the stacked stone fireplace. As he scanned Phoebe’s collection of novels and nonfiction, he realized with a little kick of pleasure that he was actually going to have time to read for a change.
A tiny noise signaled his hostess’s return. Whirling around, he stared at her, finally acknowledging, if only to himself, that his landlady was a knockout. Jet-black hair long enough to reach below her breasts had been tamed into a single thick, smooth braid that hung forward over her shoulder. Tall and slender and long-limbed, there was nothing frail or helpless about Phoebe Kemper. Yet he could imagine many men rushing to her aid, simply to coax a smile from those lush unpainted lips that were the color of pale pink roses.
She wore faded jeans and a silky coral blouse that brought out the warm tones in her skin. With eyes so dark they were almost black, she made him wonder if she claimed Cherokee blood. Some resourceful members of that tribe had hidden deep in these mountains to escape the Trail of Tears.
Her smile was teasing. “Feel better now? At least you don’t look like you want to commit murder anymore.”
He shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. It was a hell of a day.”
Phoebe’s eyes widened and her smile faded. “And it’s about to get worse, I’m afraid. There’s a problem with your reservation.”
“Impossible,” he said firmly. “My sister-in-law handled all the details. And I have the confirmation info.”
“I’ve been trying to call her all day, but she hasn’t answered. And no one gave me your cell number.”
“Sorry about that. My niece found my sister-in-law’s phone and dropped it into the bathtub. They’ve been scrambling to get it replaced. That’s why you couldn’t reach her. But no worries. I’m here now. And it doesn’t look like you’re overbooked,” he joked.
* * *
Phoebe ignored his levity and frowned. “We had heavy rains and high winds last night. Your cabin was damaged.”
His mood lightened instantly. “Don’t worry about a thing, Ms. Phoebe. I’m not that picky. I’m sure it will be fine.”
She shook her head in disgust. “I guess I’ll have to show you to convince you. Follow me, please.”
“Should I move my car closer to the cabin?” he asked as he put on his shoes and tied them. The bottoms were a mess.
Phoebe scooped up something that looked like a small digital camera and tucked it into her pocket. “No need,” she said. She shrugged into a jacket that could have been a twin to his. “Let’s go.” Out on the porch, she picked up a large, heavy-duty flashlight and turned it on. The intense beam sliced through the darkness.
The weather hadn’t improved. He was glad that Luc and Hattie had insisted on packing for him. They had undoubtedly covered every eventuality if he knew his sister-in-law. Come rain, sleet, snow or hail, he’d be prepared. But for now, everything he’d brought with him was stashed in the trunk of his car. Sighing for the lost opportunity to carry a load, he followed Phoebe.
Though