Cara Colter – His for Christmas: Rescued by his Christmas Angel / Christmas at Candlebark Farm / The Nurse Who Saved Christmas (страница 9)
Now, based on the strength of their shared shopping trip—and probably on that kiss he so regretted—she came right up to the hearth, stood beside him, watching intently as he worked.
Her perfume filled his space, filled him with that same intense longing he had become aware of in the truck. What was it, exactly? A promise of softness? He steeled himself against it, squinted into the fire, used the bellows to raise the heat and the flames yet higher.
Only then did he steal a glance at her. Nate willed himself to tell her to go away, and was astonished that his legendary discipline failed him. Completely.
Morgan’s luscious auburn hair was scooped back in a ponytail that was falling out. The light from the flame made the strands of red shine with a life of their own.
The schoolteacher had on no makeup, but even without it her eyes shimmered a shade of green so pure that it put emeralds to shame. She did have something on her lips that gave them the most enticing little shine. She watched what he was doing without interrupting, and somehow his space did not feel compromised at all by her being here.
“Hi,” he heard himself saying. Not exactly friendly, but not
“Hi. What are you making?”
“It’s part of a wrought iron gate for the entrance of a historic estate in Savannah, Georgia. A commission.”
“It’s fantastic.” She had moved over to parts he had laid out on his worktable, piecing it together like a puzzle before assembling it.
He glanced at her again, saw she must have walked here. She was bundled up against the cold in a pink jacket and mittens that one of her students could have worn. Her cheeks glowed from being outside.
Nate saw how deeply she meant it about his work. His work had been praised by both artists and smithies around the world.
It grated that her praise meant so much. No wonder she had all those first graders eating out of the palm of her hand.
“I just wanted to drop by and let you know what a good week it’s been for Cecilia.”
“Because of the clothes?” he asked, and then snorted with disdain. “We live in a superficial world when six-year-olds are being judged by their fashion statements, Miss Morgan.”
He was aware, since he hadn’t just told her out and out to
Because despite his legendary discipline, being around her made that yearning nip at him, like a small aggravating dog that wouldn’t be quiet.
But she didn’t look any more perturbed by his deliberate cynicism than she had when she told him not to cuss. “It’s not just because of the clothes, but because she feels different. Like she fits in. It’s given her confidence.”
“I have confidence. I never had nice clothes growing up.”
Now why had he gone and said that? He glanced at her. Her eyes were on him, soft, inviting him to say more.
Which he wasn’t going to!
“Thanks for dropping by. And the Ace update. You could have sent a note.”
She still looked unoffended. In fact, she smiled. He wished she wouldn’t do that. Smile.
It made him want to lay every hurt he had ever felt at her feet.
“We both know you don’t read my notes.”
If he promised he would read them from now on would she go away? He doubted it.
“I actually needed to see you. I need you to sign this permission slip for Cecilia to participate in
“I’m sick of hearing about
She was silent for a moment. A sane person would have backed out the door and away from his show of ire. She didn’t.
“Perhaps you should post a Grinch Lives Here sign above your Go Away sign.”
“My wife was in an accident on Christmas Eve. She died on Christmas Day. It will be two years this year. Somehow that takes the ho-ho-ho out of the season.”
He said it flatly, but he knew, somehow, despite his resolve to be indifferent to Morgan, he wasn’t.
He didn’t want her sympathy. He hated sympathy.
It was something else he wanted from her. When he put his finger on it, it astonished him. To not be so alone with it anymore.
To be able to tell someone that he had not been able to stop Cindy’s excruciating pain. That he had been relieved when she died because she didn’t have to be in pain anymore.
That through all that pain, she had looked
And he hated that he wanted to tell Morgan McGuire that, as if it was any of her business. He hated that he wanted to tell her if Cindy was his angel, he’d seen no evidence of it, as if she, the know-it-all teacher, should be able to explain that to him. Wanting to tell her felt like a terrible weakness in a world built on pure strength.
Morgan moved back over to him until she stood way too close, gazing up at him with solemn green eyes that looked as if she could explain the impossible to him.
“I’m so sorry about your wife.”
If she added a
She said nothing.
Instead, without taking her eyes from him, she laid her hand on his wrist, something in that touch so tender it felt as if it would melt him, as surely as his firetempered steel.
She seemed to realize she was touching him, and that it might not be appropriate at the same time he jerked his arm away from her.
Brusquely, Nate said, “We won’t be here for Christmas. So there’s no sense Ace getting involved in the Christmas-production thing. I’m taking her to Disneyland.”
He made it sound as if he had been planning it forever, not as if he had just pulled it from the air, right this very moment, a plot to thwart her.
She didn’t seem fooled.
“You know,” she said softly, after a time, “this town is really suffering as a result of the downturn in the economy. Last year’s concert,
“And that has what to do with me? And Ace?”
“The same could happen for Canterbury.”
“So what?” he asked.
“It seems to me,” she said softly, and if she was intimidated by his show of ill temper, she was not backing away from it, “that people need something to hope for. At Christmas more than any other time. They need to believe everything is going to be all right.”
“Do they now?” How could she be that earnest? How could she be so sure of what people needed? Why did he think, given a chance, she could show him what he needed, too?
The fire was fine. He picked up the bellows anyway, focused on it, made the bellows huff and the fire roar, but not enough to shut out her voice.
“Ace needs to believe,” Morgan continued softly. “She needs to believe that everything is going to be all right. And somehow I don’t think that belief will be nurtured by an escape to Disneyland, as pleasant a distraction as that may be.”
He put down the bellows. This had gone far enough, really. He turned to her, head-on, folded his arms over his chest. “This is beginning to sound depressingly like one of your notes. How did you get to know what the whole world needs? How do you get to be so smart for someone so wet behind the ears, fresh out of college?”
She blushed, but it was an angry blush.
Finally, he’d accomplished what he wanted. He was pushing her away. Straight out the door. Never to return, with any luck. Nate was aware that accomplishing his goal didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as he thought it would.
“Somehow,” she said, surprising him by matching his battle stance, folding her arms over her chest and facing him instead of backing away, “even though you have suffered tragedy, Nate, I would have never pegged you as the kind of man who would be indifferent to the woes of your neighbors. And their hopes.”
His mouth opened.
And then closed.
How had a discussion about a damned permission slip turned into this? A soul search? A desire to be a better man.
And not just for his daughter.
Oh, no, it would be easy if it was just for his daughter. No, it was for her, too. Miss Snippy Know-It-All.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
The famous line was always used, by everyone including him, as a convenient form of dismissal. What it really meant was
This time he knew he wasn’t going to be so lucky.