The Baby Gift. Day LeclaireЧитать онлайн книгу.
piercing rawness of the wind, and he shook his hair back from his brow, regarding the felled tree he’d been chopping with renewed determination. With luck, he could drive out the demons haunting him with some plain, old-fashioned manual labor. At least, that’s what he’d been telling himself for the past hour. Muscles straining, he returned to his task, falling into an easy rhythm of forceful strokes.
“Excuse me.”
It took two more blows before the quietly insistent words sank in. Driving the blade into the tree trunk, he turned. A woman stood nearby, watching him. She carried a bundle of quilts almost as large as she was. He suppressed a smile. Something about her—perhaps her snow-flecked silver-blond hair, or the huge powder-blue eyes, or the triangular, pixieish shape of her face—inspired an irresistible smile. He ruthlessly suppressed it, snagging his flannel shirt from the low-hanging branch of a nearby cedar.
“Can I help you?” he asked, thrusting his arms into the sleeves. “Are you lost?”
She waited, her gaze glittering with some strange emotion. What the hell was she staring at? “My car broke down,” she finally said, her voice lightly flavored with the honeyed lilt of the South. He’d heard that accent before and it didn’t bring back pleasant images. Was he never to escape the memory of Rhonda?
“I have a phone inside.”
Still she waited, her expression revealing an odd combination of hope and resignation. “I’m not from around here,” she offered hesitantly. “Maybe you noticed?”
He buttoned his shirt, studying her with an intensity equal to her own. “Yeah, the accent sort of gave you away.”
Releasing her breath in a whisper-soft sigh she approached, coming to a halt a scant foot away. “Please—”
Shifting the pile of quilts she held, she fixed her eyes on him. They were startling blue eyes, filled with unicorns and Santa Claus and impossible dreams. He instinctively took a step backward. He didn’t deal well with dreamers, not when he remained so steeped in reality. At his actions, the sweet illusions slipped from her eyes, leaving behind a soul-deep weariness. For the first time, he noticed the lavender crescents beneath each lower lid and the pale tautness of flesh over bone marking her exhaustion.
“I meant…” She took an instant to collect herself. Switching gears, Alessandro thought. This wasn’t the conversation she’d planned to have with him. He couldn’t begin to guess how he read her so easily. But there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that what she’d intended to say was far different from what he’d now hear. “I was hopin’ you’d know who to call. About my car.”
Finished with the buttons lining his shirt, he stuffed the tails into his jeans. “There aren’t many choices. You passed a small town in the valley before coming up here. They have a garage or two. With a storm moving in, you’ll want to get off the mountain as soon as you can.”
She closed her eyes for a split second, her lashes dusted with thick wet flakes. They clung for the briefest of moments before melting into diamond droplets. He frowned at the sight. They looked uncomfortably like shimmering tears. Great. A crying elf. Just what he needed for Christmas.
“You’re right,” she murmured at last. The snow came down harder, coating her and the bundle she carried in pristine white. “There is a storm moving in. Best I deal with it sooner rather than later.”
“We’d better get inside. Come with me.”
He opened the back door and stomped his feet to remove the mud and slush that clung to his boots. She followed his example, her stomping taking the form of a more delicate tapping on the throw rug. It was probably just as well since her shoes wouldn’t hold up to a serious pounding. They must be comfortable. He sure couldn’t think of any other reason she’d continue to wear hole-laden bits of leather that should have graced a trash can months ago.
He led the way through the kitchen and into a large two-story living area. A fire crackled in the hearth lending a cheerful warmth to the setting. She hesitated just inside the doorway before approaching the fireplace. Carefully, she set her bundle on the floor and crouched protectively next to it, holding her hands out to the flames.
“This is nice,” she murmured.
Without the quilts concealing her, he saw that she was slighter than he’d thought. In fact, she looked half-starved. Her denim coat had been repaired so many times, it was a wonder there was enough material left to hold it together. It also appeared to be about three sizes too large, the cuffs falling back to expose delicate wrists and long, capable fingers.
“Your coat doesn’t offer much warmth for the sort of weather we’re having,” he found himself saying. To his surprise, a hint of concern threaded his words.
“North Carolina wasn’t this cold when I left. Although I suspect it is by now.” She slanted him a quick glance, as if assessing his reaction to the casually offered information. “It took me a while to get here.”
His eyes narrowed. “What part of North Carolina?”
“Asheville.”
She pronounced it Ash-vul. He thought he’d recognized her accent. This only confirmed it. She came from the same region of the country as his ex-wife, though any similarities ended there. Rhonda had retained the accent while ridding herself of all traces of her mountain heritage. Her tastes ran toward the more sophisticated pleasures, rather than the traditional. He couldn’t say the same about the woman before him. He suspected she embodied the traditional, that it was steeped into her very bones.
He frowned, something about her comments rousing the analytical part of his personality. Something about the weather in the mountains…. “I’ve made the drive from North Carolina before,” he offered. “Depending on which route you take and how many hours you’re willing to drive each day, you can make it in as few as four days. I’d have thought you’d have seen snow in the mountains by now.”
“Not drivin’ poor little Babe. I’ve been on the road for nigh on a month.”
“Babe?”
“My car.” She flashed him a quick grin. “It seemed appropriate seein’ as she’s a shade on the pink side.”
“Pink.”
Her grin widened. It was full and generous and came with an infectious ease that suggested she smiled often, though he had the feeling she hadn’t found occasion to smile much recently. It also gave her a mischievous appearance that sat at odds with the nervous tension he sensed lying just beneath the surface.
“Yeah, pink. Cartoon-pig pink, to be exact. I have to confess, it does rouse comment.”
“I don’t wonder,” he muttered. “Your car is in such bad shape it took you a month to get here?”
“Pitiful, isn’t it? Though it wasn’t just the car.” She broke off and turned her head to study the flames crackling cheerfully in the hearth. “There were other considerations.”
Financial, he read between the lines. That explained the shoes and threadbare coat. “Worked your way across, did you?”
“It got me here,” she acknowledged.
“Here?”
She froze. Slowly her hands dropped to her lap and she snatched a quick, shallow breath. “To California,” she managed to say.
He didn’t know why he felt the need to press the issue, since it wasn’t any of his business. “To this part of California?”
“San Francisco, to be exact.”
She responded readily enough, which sat at odds with her tension. He’d half expected her to refuse to answer. People with secrets weren’t often this forth-coming, and his little elf was chock-full of secrets. There wasn’t a single doubt about that. “This isn’t the best route between Asheville and San Francisco. In fact, I’d say this was quite a way off the beaten path.”
She