Unexpected Angel. Kate HoffmannЧитать онлайн книгу.
the same with his father.
A FRESH DUSTING OF SNOW had fallen that morning and, in the waning light of day, it sparkled like tiny diamonds. Alex drew a deep breath of the cold afternoon air. As he looked out over the rolling land, the thick trees and wide meadows, he smiled. This was his land, his future—and the future of his son. Nothing could tear him away from this place. Not even a woman.
Renee had tried to draw him away, to force him into her life in New York City. But when he’d insisted they come back to Stony Creek when she got pregnant, she’d had no choice but to agree. From the day she set foot on the farm, he knew she didn’t belong. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when she left six years later, but it did.
He glanced back at Holly, who trudged through the snow in his footsteps, Eric at her side. The two of them, bundled against the cold, held hands, Eric staring up at Holly as if she really were an angel sent from above. But to Alex, she’d become a siren sent by the devil himself, sent to torment and tempt him with her beauty and her allure. She didn’t belong here, either. Even dressed in insulated boots and a thick wool field jacket, she still looked like a city girl.
He vowed to maintain his distance from her again and again, but at every turn, she was there, asking him questions, seeking out his help. He’d had his resolve sorely tested trying not to touch her while he drove them back from their shopping spree at Dalton’s last night. And when she thanked him for carrying her parcels into the house, he’d fought an overwhelming urge to bend a little nearer and kiss her. Even this morning at breakfast, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of her, preoccupied with a covert inventory of her pretty features.
And now, even with the cold air and the bright sunshine, he wanted to pull her into his arms and tumble into the snow. Instead he was forced to focus on the task at hand—finding three suitable Christmas trees for the house. He stopped to stare up at a twelve-foot balsam pine, then waited for Holly and Eric to catch up.
“How about this one?” he asked.
Holly’s gaze skimmed over the height and width of the tree, then she slowly circled it, taking in its every detail. She’d already rejected the past forty-seven trees he’d shown her and if she rejected another, he’d be hard-pressed not to toss her in the nearest snowbank and continue the search without her.
“I don’t know,” Holly said. “It seems a little bare on the other side. And it’s really not very thick.” She sighed. “It would be much more efficient if we just went to a tree lot and bought three trees. We just don’t have the time to search.”
Alex ground his teeth as he attempted to bite back a sarcastic retort. This is precisely why he didn’t shop with women. Whether they were looking for something as complex as panty hose or something as simple as a damn Christmas tree, they always had to turn it into a major production. “We’ll put the bare spot against the wall,” he said. “No one will know it’s there.”
“I’ll know,” Holly said. “And it won’t be perfect.”
“Nothing I show you is going to be perfect,” Alex replied. “It’s not supposed to be perfect. The reason we’re cutting our own tree is that we always cut our own tree. It’s family tradition.”
“You don’t have to get mad,” Holly shouted. “I’ll find a tree. It will just take time. Sometimes my father and I would search for days for just the perfect tree.”
Alex stopped and slowly turned to Holly. “Days? We’ve been out here four hours and that’s three hours longer than you deserve. It’s getting dark, you’ve seen hundreds of trees. Balsam, white pine, Scotch pine. Ten-feet tall, twelve-feet tall, thick and thin, short needles, long needles. Just tell me what you want!”
“I want something special,” Holly said. She crossed her arms over her breasts and stared at him, her nose rosy, her eyes bright. “Perfect.”
“Perfect. The only perfect thing you’re going to find in this woods is a perfect lunatic with a perfectly honed ax and a perfectly sharpened saw, and a perfectly reasonable reason to murder you if you don’t pick out a tree right now!”
She gave him a haughty look, refusing to back down. “If you’re going to be so belligerent, why don’t you just go back to the house?”
“Belligerent?” Alex asked. “You think this is belligerent?” He reached down and picked up a handful of snow, packing it with his gloved hands.
Holly held out her hand to warn him off. “Don’t even think of throwing that at me.”
Alex ignored the warning, taking her words as a challenge. When he refused to put the snowball down, Holly scrambled to make her own ammunition, enlisting Eric’s help. Alex released a tightly held breath. Though he’d derive great pleasure in giving her a faceful of snow, it wasn’t going to get them out of the woods any faster. “All right,” he said, tossing his snowball aside. “Truce. But you’ve got thirty minutes to find a decent trio of trees or I’m going to leave you out here to freeze.”
“Hey, Dad, you’re a poet and you don’t even know it!”
Alex turned on his heel and started down the trail once again. But the shock of cold snow on his bare neck stopped him short. With a low growl, he slowly faced them. They both looked guilty as sin, satisfied smiles pasted on their rosy-cheeked faces. He raised his brow at Eric and his son tipped his head toward Holly.
In one smooth motion, he scooped up a handful of snow, packed it tight and took a step toward her. He was about to show her exactly who wore the pants around Stony Creek Farm. Holly let out a tiny shriek, then spun around and headed for the safety of a small tree.
Eric grabbed up a snowball and threw it at Alex, hitting him on the thigh. Alex scowled at his son. “So that’s the way it is. You’re going to side with the girl?”
“She’s my angel and I have to protect her.” He thumped his chest with his fist. “And this is war!” Eric let out a piercing battle cry, then scampered over to Holly’s hiding place.
A full-scale battle erupted with Alex taking the brunt of the assault. He tore through the trees, looking for Holly only to get ambushed by another snowball from Eric. And when he took off after Eric, Holly would come to the boy’s rescue with a barrage of snowballs meant to lay him low.
Breathless and wet with water running down his neck and settling near the small of his back, Alex decided to employ a new strategy—stealth. He gathered up a handful of snow and tiptoed through the trees, stopping to listen every few seconds. His efforts paid off, for a few moments later, he came up behind Holly.
Slowly he crept toward her as she peered out from behind a squat little fir tree. At the last minute, she heard him and, with a loud yell, Alex grabbed her from behind and playfully wrestled her down into the snow. He caught her wrists in one hand and pinned them above her head. She didn’t have time to scream before he washed her face with the snowball. Coughing and sputtering, she looked up at him, her lashes covered with ice crystals.
But the battle between them quickly faded as Alex stared down at her. She lay perfectly still, her slender body stretched beneath his, their hips pressed together. Her breath came in quick, deep gasps, visible in the cold air. And though he refused to let her go, she didn’t attempt to shout for Eric’s help.
He gently wiped the snow from her eyes. “Do you surrender?” Alex asked, keenly aware of the deeper meaning to his question.
She nodded, her gaze fixed on his, her lips parted. He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and, to his surprise, she turned her face into his palm, tempting him with a subtle sign of her desire, closing her eyes to await his kiss. Groaning softly, Alex bent nearer, already anticipating the warm sweetness of her mouth, the flood of need that promised to rush through his bloodstream.
But a moment before their lips met, Alex heard a rustling in the nearby trees. He released her wrists and pushed up, bracing his arms on either side of her head. When Eric’s scream split the cold, silent air, Holly stiffened beneath him, then began to wriggle.
Alex