Santa, Honey

  “Wouldn’t be my choice,” Matt said. He paused. “Want me to go up and drag my brother’s ass out of your room? I can do it easily enough. I outweigh him by twenty pounds, and I’ve got a master key.”

  “No,” Casey shook her head, setting her curls dancing. “No way. You do not want to interrupt what’s going on in there, believe me. Emma isn’t a believer in slow courtship.”

  Matt laughed. “Neither is Jake.”

  “And I wouldn’t want to brave Emma’s wrath if you do throw Jake out.” She sighed. “I guess it’s a loveseat for me. Or maybe one of those big armchairs by the fireplace. They were pretty comfortable.”

  He hesitated. “Or…you could sleep where Jake was supposed to.”

  She blinked up at him through inky black eyelashes. “And where might that be?”

  “With me.”

  I cannot believe I agreed to sleep with this guy.

  Or, more accurately, sleep in his room.

  Talk about embarrassing! But Casey hardly had a choice. There was no way she was going to confront Emma before morning. It would only lead to a shouting match. They’d wake up everyone in the lodge.

  “This way,” Matt said, leading the way, her duffle slung over one broad shoulder.

  She clutched her dead computer and trailed after him, blinking when he stopped at the closet to get their coats. “Here,” he said, handing her hers. “You’ll need this.”

  She took it. “What for?”

  “I don’t sleep in the farmhouse,” he said. “I stay in a cabin out back, in the woods behind the barn.”

  A cabin in the woods. Well, that was good, wasn’t it? A cabin had to be bigger than a regular bedroom. It probably had multiple rooms. She followed Matt through the kitchen, where the massive iron woodstove supplied a lingering warmth, and the scent of baked apples still hung in the air. A small mudroom led to the back door. Matt opened it on a blast of wind of snow. The world beyond was white.

  “Oh, my God.”

  Matt gripped her upper arm and pulled her into the blizzard, slamming the door behind him. She hoped he knew where he was heading, because his flashlight barely made a dent in the night. But his stride was quick and sure. The wind abruptly died as they rounded the side of the barn and slipped into the bare winter wood. A minute later, she stumbled up two steps to a small porch. She huddled under the shelter of a meager overhang while he shoved open the door.

  God. She was frozen, and it wasn’t much warmer inside the cabin than out. She rubbed her hands and stomped the snow off her boots while Matt struck a match. He lit the oil lantern standing on a small table by the door.

  The room jumped to life. The single room. Which wasn’t, she noted with some trepidation, all that much bigger than a bedroom.

  The walls were rough logs, unadorned except for the deer head mounted over a small stone fireplace. Ugh. She could almost feel its glassy eyes staring. There was a kitchenette of sorts, consisting of two feet of counter, an old-fashioned icebox, and a small woodstove. A few dirty dishes were stacked in a stone sink.

  Furnishings were few and simple. A tall wardrobe, an unmade double bed. A droopy leather couch faced the hearth, and the big square table sat in the center of the room under an oil lamp chandelier. The underside of the ceiling above was black with soot.

  She wandered to a bookshelf crowded with animal skulls, birds’ nests, rocks, trinkets, and, yes, even a few dusty novels. Out of the jumble, one item caught her eye. A wooden cube, fashioned from at least five different kinds of wood joined with flawless precision. The workmanship was beautiful.

  “Try to open it.”

  She started, surprised to find Matt standing behind her.

  “It’s a box?” she asked, intrigued.

  “Yeah.” His blue eyes smiled down at her, and for a second, she forgot to breathe. “Go on. See if you can figure it out.”

  She ignored the funny jump in her stomach. And the way her skin suddenly seemed to be tingling all over. Concentrating on the box, she turned it over in her hands. There didn’t seem to be a latch. Or any hinges. She ran her thumbs along the sides, trying to slide one of the panels. Nothing.

  “You’re not kidding me? This thing really opens?”

  “Yes. It’s a mystery box.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Don’t tell me a smart girl like you is giving up so quickly.”

  “Maybe not so smart after all,” she mumbled.

  He chuckled. “To open it…you have to press just…here.” He touched one corner. “Then slide this side up, then twist here…”

  She followed the complicated instructions. At the end of the sequence, one side of the box popped open. The compartment inside was empty.

  “No mysteries revealed,” she said.

  “I guess the mystery is how I ever had the patience to make the thing in the first place,” Matt said with a laugh.

  She followed the sequence in reverse, marveling as the panels slid back into place. “You really made this?”

  “When I was fifteen. Took an entire winter. But I had a lot of time on my hands back then.”

  “I guess so,” she said, placing the box carefully back on the shelf. “You had no TV, no stereo, no video games…I can’t even imagine it.”

  “It’s a wonder I survived, huh?”

  “You still live here,” Casey pointed out. “So it must be possible.”

  He hesitated. “I don’t, actually.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Live here. I dropped out of high school and left the gorge when I turned eighteen. I only come for visits now. Mostly in the summer, when there’s more activity. My aunt and uncle run a campground from spring to fall, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “It’s all in that brochure your sister has.”

  She rolled her eyes. “The one I didn’t read.”

  He set her duffle on a bench under the window. She stowed her computer on the floor beside it.

  “Jake’s been sleeping on the couch,” he said. “But you can take my bed if you want.” Amusement flashed in his eyes. “Aunt Bea likes her guests to be comfortable.”

  Sleep in his bed? The tangle of blankets and pillows on the couch looked a whole lot safer. “Um…no. I wouldn’t want to put you out. Thanks. The couch is fine. It’ll be warmer near the fire, anyway.”

  “True enough.” Matt crossed to the hearth and began building up the fire, throwing on two logs from an iron basket. He jabbed at them with a poker. Sparks and flames leapt.

  “I don’t snore, by the way,” he added, glancing back at her. “How ’bout you?”

  He sounded like he might be teasing, but she couldn’t be sure. “I don’t think so.” A sudden, panicked thought struck. “Please tell me there’s a bathroom in this cabin.”

  “Over there.” Matt jerked his chin at a narrow door half-hidden by the wardrobe.

  “Oh, thank God.”

  Finished with the fire, he placed his hands on his thighs and rose. Casey was struck again by how tall he was. And broad. If he stretched his arm up, he could easily touch the bottom of the cabin’s rafters. But it was his face that really made her nervous. It was just so…perfect. He’d fit right in with Emma’s collection of beautiful acting friends.

  “You can come over here by the fire,” he said. “And take your coat off. I promise not to bite.”

  With some reluctance, she made her way to his side. The intimacy of this small cabin was disconcerting. She stared into the leaping flames, all too aware of his eyes on her.

  “I think I’ll keep my coat on for a while,” she said. “It’s not that warm in here yet.”

  “Not used to the cold, I take it?”

  “No. Sometimes I can’t believe I let Emma talk me into moving north. But she has this crazy idea she’s going to land a role in a Broadway production.”

  “You don’t think so.”

  “Seriously? I doubt she’ll even get close. Don’t get me wrong—Emma’s a great actress, but Broadway? The
re’s just so much competition. It’s nuts.”

  “But you moved across the country anyway? Just to hold your sister’s hand?”

  “When Emma gets one of her big ideas, no force on Earth can talk her out of it. She was moving to New York, come hell or high water. I couldn’t let her go alone.”

  “Why not?”

  She held out her hands to the fire. Her fingers were finally starting to thaw. “Because Emma and I…we’re all the family we have. She’s so young, and didn’t know a soul in the city…I would’ve worried too much if she’d come to Manhattan alone. It was no big deal for me to move, really. A computer programmer can find work anywhere.”

  Heat was radiating from the fire in waves now, and she was starting to sweat inside her coat. She eased open the buttons, then reluctantly retreated from the warmth of the fire to unzip her duffel.

  “Um, listen, don’t feel like you have to entertain me. I’m beat from the long drive. I’m just going to listen to my iPod for a while.”

  “Until the battery runs out?”

  “Yeah. And that bathroom—?”

  He made a sweeping gesture. “All yours.”

  She rummaged through her bag and pulled out her toiletries, along with the gray sweatpants and oversized T-shirt she slept in. She added a sweatshirt, too, for good measure—that fire wasn’t going to last all night.

  The bathroom was tiny. Basic masculine accoutrements—toothbrush, razor, comb—occupied a miniscule shelf. There was a sink with running water, and the smallest shower stall she’d ever seen. The toilet was some kind of environmental kind that didn’t flush, but otherwise seemed surprisingly normal.

  Her elbows banged against the walls as she dressed for bed. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror, appalled at the sorry state of her hair. The dry, cold air didn’t do her any favors—it looked like she’d stuck her finger in an electric socket. Brushing only made things worse. With a sigh, she pushed open the door.

  And stopped dead.

  In her absence, Matt had also readied himself for bed. But the man’s tolerance for sleeping in the cold was, apparently, much, much greater than Casey’s.

  She sucked in a breath. He lay on top of his rumpled bed, turning the pages of one of his dusty novels by the light of the lantern. The only thing covering him was a pair of boxer shorts. Absorbed in his book, he didn’t so much as look up when she emerged from the bathroom. Which was a good thing, because she couldn’t stop staring.

  He looked like a god.

  And she looked like a witch.

  She grabbed her iPod, dove under her blankets, and shut her eyes.

  Too late.

  The image of Matt’s near-naked body was burned permanently onto the insides of her eyelids.

  It was one of his favorite Agatha Christies, and any other time, Matt would’ve welcomed a few quiet hours to revisit the story. But right now he simply turned the pages, without reading a single word, all his attention given to his peripheral vision. Casey was a quirky, prickly woman. She put him in mind of a hedgehog. Especially with that hair. She was sarcastic and funny, but he suspected there was a vulnerable spot somewhere behind the facade. One she was trying her best to hide.

  Definitely not the kind of woman he dealt with at the office. Models and actresses were a breed unto themselves. A woman didn’t succeed in the business without equal amounts of bravado, style, and ruthlessness. Matt could spot the type a mile away. Casey’s sister had the attitude. In spades.

  He imagined Jake worshipping at Emma’s altar right this very moment…and had to adjust the covers over his burgeoning erection. But not because he wanted to take his brother’s place with beautiful Emma. Not by a long shot. Oddly, it was prickly, wild-haired Casey fueling his fantasy.

  Matt was missing an important industry holiday party in the city tonight. Rich food, beautiful people, free-flowing booze, more BS than you could shovel with a backhoe. If he’d been there, chances were he wouldn’t have left alone. There was always some woman offering to warm his bed.

  His reputation as one of New York’s premier casting directors had soared in the last few years. His company had handled casting for countless TV commercials, print ad campaigns, and a good number of theater productions—four on Broadway in the past year alone. He’d even, just for fun, cast an indie movie. The money had been a pittance, but the film had done well at Sundance, and the success had only added to his cachet. In short, he was in demand. Both professionally and socially.

  Easy sex was part of the bargain. He’d be lying if he said it hadn’t been fun at first. But after a while he’d begun to notice that the less effort it took to get a woman into bed, the more dissatisfied he was the next morning. He was all too aware that his bed partners were hoping their association with him would further their careers. None of them cared about him as a man.

  But the woman currently sacked out on his couch? She wasn’t trying to land a spot in a magazine or on the stage. She didn’t live from casting call to casting call. She was a normal woman, with a normal job, living a normal life.

  And she’d walked right past his bed.

  He glanced over the top of his book. Casey’s eyes were closed, her breathing was deep and easy. White earbud wires snaked from her ears, disappearing under the covers. She’d fallen asleep with a slight scowl on her face.

  She wasn’t interested.

  Perversely, that made him happy.

  It also made him want her.

  He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all. Call it idiocy. Call it an experiment. But all he could think of was trying to change her mind.

  Chapter Five

  Casey woke to the aroma of frying bacon and perking coffee.

  All in all, it wasn’t a bad start to Christmas Eve morning. Her stomach recognized its good fortune a half second before her brain did, and let out a monster growl.

  Mortified, she sat up. Matt stood in the cabin’s kitchenette—fully dressed, thank God—tending an iron skillet. He wore plaid flannel and blue denim, and could have easily graced the cover of a hunting and fishing magazine. Casey had never had a thing for the outdoorsy look. Until just this very minute.

  He glanced over at her. “Hungry?”

  A hot flush rose up her neck and into her cheeks. She started to drag a hand through her hair, then stopped. She’d looked like a witch last night. How much worse did she look this morning?

  “You’re…making breakfast?” Inane, but it was the first thing she could think of to say.

  “Bacon and eggs. Do you always sleep like the dead? You didn’t so much as twitch when I banged this pan on the stove.”

  “Yes, well, I was exhausted.” She fumbled around in the blankets for her earbuds and player. She thumbed the switch. Dead. Of course. She tossed it in the general direction of her duffel.

  She rose, groaning a little when her muscles protested. The couch cushions sagged in all the wrong places. She felt indescribably ratty. Her teeth were fuzzy. She wouldn’t be surprised if Matt could smell her morning breath over the bacon and coffee. Grabbing some clean jeans and a top, she fled into the bathroom.

  She managed a quick shower under a low-pressure flow of not-all-that-hot water. She slicked some gel on her wet hair, and wished she’d packed some makeup. Which was ridiculous. As if some eye shadow and blush was going to transform her into someone like Emma.

  She emerged from the bathroom, feeling more awkward than ever. Crescents of snow rested on the outside of the window panes. Frost painted the inside of the glass.

  “Is the storm over?”

  “Just about.” Matt transferred several slices of bacon to a plate. “A few flurries now, that’s all.”

  “Was it as bad as they predicted?”

  “Hoping to escape the gorge, are you? Sorry, but not today. Or tomorrow. We got a good thirty inches.”

  She felt a spike of irrational panic. “Two and a half feet?”

  “Of course, the drifts are a lot higher than that. Four or even five
feet in some places.”

  Curious, she drifted to the window and rubbed a bit of frost off the glass. Holy cow. The aftermath of last night’s blizzard was beyond her comprehension. Snow was everywhere, covering the trees, blown up against the back of the barn, piled high like mounds of confectioner’s sugar.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “It’s freaking Little House on the Prairie.”

  “Except without the prairie,” Matt said.

  “We’ll be stuck here eating turnips until spring!”

  Chuckling, Matt broke an egg, one handed, into the skillet. “Not quite that long. The county’s pretty good with the roads. The plows should make it down here by Sunday at the latest. That’s only three days away. Coffee?”

  “Um…sure.”

  He waved her into a seat and handed her a mug. A few minutes later, two loaded plates landed on the table, bearing fluffy cheese omelets, thick slices of bacon, fried potatoes, and hunks of homemade bread. Casey’s mouth started to water.

  Matt set an old-fashioned percolator coffee pot on a hot pad in the center of the table and folded his big body into the seat opposite her. Casey took a bite of omelet and washed it down with a sip of coffee.

  “Delicious,” she said.

  He looked up. “Thanks.”

  The aura of morning-after intimacy, even though it was a morning after nothing, was beyond awkward. Casey cast about for small talk.

  “Were you born here in Dutch Gorge?” she asked.

  “No. Jake and I came to live with Aunt Bea and Uncle Fred when I was four, and he was two. Our sister Mary was an infant. Our parents died in a car crash.”

  “How sad.”

  “It was. My father was Uncle Fred’s only brother. As for Jake, Mary, and I—we don’t remember our parents. Our childhood was here, with Bea and Fred, until we each left for greener pastures.”

  “Don’t you worry about your aunt and uncle now that they’re getting older? Living in such an isolated place, I mean.”

  He put down his fork. “Yes. They refuse to move out. But they’re not completely alone—there’s a couple who live about a half mile up the valley who work here during the season. They’re spending Christmas with their family in Canada right now. That’s why Jake and I are here, to help out with the Romance of Christmas weekend. Aunt Bea won’t give it up. She just loves to have the house full for the holiday. But as soon as the guests leave on Sunday, we’ll close up the house until April.”