Grayson Brothers Series Boxed Set (4 books in 1) (56 page)

Boyd climbed out of the sleigh then helped her down. Her feet were barely on the ground when Sailor leapt off the seat and hit the back of her legs.

She fell against Boyd’s hard body. Her face brushed the breast of his coat as his arms clamped around her waist to steady her. She smelled a mixture of wool and cologne, heard his breath near her ear, felt the warmth of his body seeping through the thick fabric of his coat.

Sailor tore off after a gray squirrel scampering back to its hole in an aging oak tree.

Boyd gazed down at her, an indulgent smile creeping across his lips. “Remind me to thank Sailor for this unexpected opportunity.”

“Tell me you didn’t train him to do that.”

“I didn’t. But I don’t regret his recklessness.”

Merciful heaven. Were all rakes blessed with such a heart-stopping smile?

Jack’s smile had been practiced and purposeful, a tool or weapon to use at will. She’d sensed his insincerity, but he’d been too handsome, a master to her youthful naiveté.

She was older and wiser now, but the warmth in Boyd’s smile and the mischief sparkling in his eyes made her feel young and full of foolish thoughts.

“What do you want for Christmas?” he asked, tightening his arms to keep her against him, his mouth only inches from hers.

“We are in a public cemetery.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, ignoring her protest. “What do you want?”

Unwilling to let the rascal unnerve her, she met his eyes. “I want you to close your saloon,” she said, being as flippant as he was prone to being.

“Done. Consider it closed tonight and tomorrow.”

She laughed and swatted his arm. “I mean forever.”

His smile faded, and he gazed down at her. “Nothing is forever, Claire.”

She lowered her lashes. She knew that only too well.

He nudged her chin to make her look at him. “That wasn’t supposed to make you sad.”

“I’m not sad, I’m... cold.” No, that wasn’t true. She wasn’t cold. She was empty. And lonely. Her sudden longing to stay in his arms scared her. She turned and lifted the wreaths off the seat. “Let’s hang these before we freeze to death.”

She’d barely known her grandfather, but she’d adored her grandmother. It wrenched her heart to think of her grandmother lying beneath the frigid snow and earth.

“I brought wire,” Boyd said, pulling a small spool from his pocket. He gestured toward the wreaths in her hands. “It’ll keep the wind from blowing them away.” He pulled off his gloves and positioned the wreaths on the stones. His long, nimble fingers brushed Claire’s mitten-covered hands as he twisted and bent the wire.

“What made you think of doing this?” she asked.

He glanced at her, his cheeks pink from the cold. “Family should be together during the holidays.”

Nothing would make her happier than to spend time with her family, but that wasn’t going to happen. Ever.

For the balance of her life, she would spend her holidays alone, or with strangers.

Boyd’s strong artist’s hands secured the second wreath then he sat back on his heels. “What do you think?”

His boyishly expectant expression melted her heart. “Thank you. This was... it was...” She cleared her throat, cursing herself for being so emotional. “You were kind to do this.”

The smile in his eyes dimmed, and he gave her a small nod.

How miserly her thanks. How stingy her praise. He’d done something many men wouldn’t think of doing, and all she could acknowledge was his kindness?

She reached out and clasped his hand. “Grandmother would be touched by your gesture,” she added, unable to tell him how deeply he’d touched her own heart.

“Your grandmother talked about you often, Claire. She claimed you had a head full of dreams and that you would get hurt.” Boyd held her gaze. “I think you did.”

His bold comment embarrassed her. She stood and headed toward the sleigh.

He caught her hand and stopped her. “I know we’re on opposite sides of this temperance issue, but it will never dictate the way I treat you. You’re safe with me. If you ever need anything, you can trust me. I just wanted you to know that. “

His earnest declaration prodded her to believe him. She did believe him in the deepest part of her soul. But she’d believed Jack, too.

Still, her grandmother wouldn’t have befriended Boyd if he wasn’t a trustworthy man, would she?

“I’d like us to be friends,” he said.

She hadn’t had a friend since she was sixteen years old. But she could never be friends with a saloon owner. Especially the one who was ruining her business.

He nodded toward the sleigh. “I think Sailor’s ready to leave.”

The dog sat beside the sleigh, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth while a dusting of snow melted on his nose. Claire smiled at the silly dog. “What have you been doing? You’re covered with snow.”

With a happy bark, he leapt forward and plowed into her knees, knocking her onto her backside in the snow. He dove onto her lap and licked her cheek then grabbed a mouthful of her skirt and tugged.

“Sailor! Get off of her, you ill-mannered maniac.” Boyd pushed the dog aside and helped Claire to her feet. “Are you all right?”

“Just wet,” she said, drying her cheek on her wool coat.

Boyd retrieved a clean handkerchief from his pocket.

“Did he rip your dress?”

She hoped not. She had too few as it was. Her grandmother’s dresses were too small to be re-cut for her, so she’d salvaged material from several dresses to make five for herself. “No holes or tears,” she said, brushing her hand over her skirt.

“Sailor. Come here and apologize,” Boyd said.

The dog sat in the snow and tilted his head.

“Come here and tell Claire you’re sorry.” Boyd snapped his fingers and Sailor sprawled onto his stomach. “Apologize.”

The dog lowered his nose to his paws and looked up at Claire with sad eyes.

“It’s all right, Sailor.” She couldn’t bear the pathetic look in his eyes.

Sailor whimpered and inched forward on his belly until he was at Claire’s feet. He put his paw over his eyes and let out a mournful howl that echoed through the cemetery.

She flinched. “That was definitely a vocal apology.”

“Good boy, Sailor.” Boyd stomped his foot on the snow.

Sailor scrambled to his feet and reared up on his hind legs. Each time Boyd thumped his foot, Sailor took a hop across the ground.

Amazed, Claire laughed at the dog’s circus antics.

Boyd aimed his finger like a gun. “Bang!”

Sailor hit the snow in full body flop, his tongue lolling from his mouth as if he’d just been shot to death.

“What have you done to this poor dog?” she asked, her voice bubbling with laughter.

“We’ve educated him.”

She was still laughing when she knelt down to hug the dog. “I forgive you,” she said then jerked away to save herself another wet swipe of Sailor’s tongue.

“Better stay clear,” Boyd said, a gorgeous smile lighting his face. “He’ll lick the paint off a post if given a chance.”

“I believe it.” She stood up, determined to get herself a dog just like the rascal sniffing her boots. “Do you know where I can get a dog? Like Sailor?”

Boyd shook his head. “There isn’t another dog like him. He’s been corrupted by living in a saloon and spending his time with drinking men.” He gave her a sideways grin. “It takes a long time to acquire all his tricks and bad habits.”

“I’m sure.”

Their gazes held, but she didn’t feel threatened or offended by his silent perusal. She felt alive for the first time in years.

And happy.

Her nightmare with Jack was over. She’d survived. She could have friends now. She could laugh again. She could move on now.

But what did moving on entail? Days spent catering to strangers? Nights spent alone in her bed? Uninspiring at best, dreadfully lonely at worst, but it was safe.

“Thank you,” she said, turning away from his searching gaze. “We should head back.” He couldn’t know how much he’d given her today. She could never tell him.

Boyd drove out of the cemetery, knowing he’d seen another side of Claire today. Despite being frightened and vulnerable, she was courageous and outspoken. She was fragile, yet there was an inner strength that held her together. She was wounded and hurting, but independent and proud. She was determined but not confident. A puzzle.

An enigma.

A challenge.

“How did you teach Sailor those tricks?” she asked, glancing up at him with her gorgeous blue eyes that made him want to kiss her until she forgot he was an unsuitable saloon owner.

“My patrons are responsible for his quirks. They teach him those bad habits when I’m not looking.”

“Why don’t I believe that?”

“Maybe because you’re an intelligent lady?” he said, enjoying her unexpected playfulness.

“I’m intelligent enough to know when a man is trying to hoodwink me.”

“All right. I confess. I taught Sailor most of his tricks.” He slanted a repentant look her way. “A man gets bored living alone.”

She pursed her lips, a habit she had when fighting a smile. “Perhaps you should move back home with your mother.”

“Gads, no! Sailor would never survive the shock.”

Her laughter bubbled out, and his heart lifted. “I think you are the one who couldn’t manage the shock,” she said. “You wouldn’t be able to carouse and carry on all night.”

“So that’s what you’re angling for. You want to move me back with my mother to get rid of me.”

“Exactly.”

Her eyes sparkled and her lips twitched, and Boyd was thoroughly bewitched.

He’d had romantic liaisons with all kinds of women, tall and beautiful, shy and pretty, tiny and cute, and one homely dear and tender lass who’d made him laugh and forget his troubles for a few weeks. He’d appreciated all of them, but not once had he found himself longing to spend time with a woman outside the bedroom.

Until now, because everything with Claire was different.

She stirred him up, kept him off balance. He sensed her attraction to him, and yet, he couldn’t easily seduce her. More than that, He was giving her his best efforts, and not making any headway. Claire was forthright, and he respected that. She was outspoken, too, but he admired her ability to speak her mind and stand up for what she believed in.

He turned the sleigh onto Day Street. “Is your mother as outspoken as you are?” he asked.

“I doubt she’s had an opinion of her own since marrying my father.” She turned her face toward the park, but he’d seen the sudden sadness in her eyes.

“My mother always has an opinion,” he said, purposely directing the conversation back to himself. “She’s half your size and tougher than any man I’ve ever met.”

Claire pursed her lips and stroked Sailor’s head. “I don’t believe she would consider that a compliment.”

“Well, it’s true, My father wouldn’t even argue with her.”

“If your brothers are anything like you, I’m sure she had to be tough. Any mother with four boys has to be tough.”

The light returned to Claire’s eyes, and Boyd knew his shift in conversation had been the smart thing to do. For some reason, she didn’t want to talk about her family.

“What about a mother with four girls?” he challenged.

“She had better be a lot tougher.”

He turned onto Main Street, and decided to test the waters again. “Do you have any sisters?”

“One. Lida is three years older than me.”

“Is she married?”

“Yes.”

“Any children?” he asked, hoping she would talk about her family.

“Three that I’m aware of, but we were talking about your mother, weren’t we?”

“We were,” he said. He eased off the reins and let the horses have their head as they started up West Hill. He settled against the seat, intentionally tucking his shoulder against her own. “My mother is bossy, but she doesn’t meddle. She speaks her mind, but doesn’t offer advice. She’s patient, but doesn’t take any sass from me or my brothers. She’s got a hug that will make you feel like a hundred dollar bill, and a right swing that will make your ears ring for days.”

Claire laughed. “I’d love to meet her.”

“Then come with me this evening.”

“What?”

“We celebrate Christmas Eve at my mother’s house. She’d enjoy meeting you. Come with me.”

Claire gaped at him then let out a breathless laugh. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.” To his surprise, he really wanted her to come with him.

She pressed her hand to her breast. “Thank you, but I can’t accept.”

“Why not?”

“Because I would be intruding, and for so many other reasons I couldn’t list them all.”

“You won’t be intruding. What other reasons?”

“You know why, Boyd. I shouldn’t have even taken a sleigh ride with you.”

“Why not?”

She sighed. “Because it’s not in my best interest, or yours. We’re enemies, remember?”

“No, we’re not.” He slowed the sleigh and looked at her. “We’re friends now. We just happen to be standing on opposite sides of an issue.”

“We can’t be friends.”

“We already are, Claire.”

She huffed out a frosty breath. “We can’t even agree on that issue,” She stroked Sailor’s head, which was resting on her lap. “I appreciate your invitation, and your kindness today, but I cannot be your friend.” She met his eyes. “My grandmother may have had money to take care of herself, but I don’t. I need boarders, and I won’t get them as long as your saloon is open.” She sighed. “I can’t afford to be your friend.”

“I guess this means you won’t be inviting me in for hot cocoa like your grandmother used to do?”

She gave him a chastising look. “I can’t.”

“I understand,” he said, but he wasn’t about to give up. He pulled the sleigh up in front of her house and helped her out. Not wanting to push her too hard or too fast, he walked her to the door and said good-bye like a proper gentleman.

But the instant she closed the door, Boyd grinned and turned to Sailor. “The lady doesn’t believe in fairy tales,” he said. “But you and I are going to change her mind.”

* * *

Claire hung her coat in the closet then went to the parlor to build up the fire. A movement outside drew her to the window. To her surprise, she saw Boyd in her yard rolling a huge snowball while Sailor tromped through the snow biting at snowflakes.

She knocked on the window and lifted her palms. “What are you doing?” she asked, even though he couldn’t hear her through the glass.

He grinned and gave a jaunty wave then turned back to his project.

What the devil was he up to?

Curious, she stood at the window. He rolled the huge ball of snow to a spot a few feet from her window then packed snow around the bottom to hold it stationary.

Then, while she watched, he pulled out a knife of some sort and proceeded to sculpt the lumpy ball of snow into a snow castle.

He was so absorbed in the task, and she was so absorbed in watching, that an hour passed without her noticing. The mantel clock chimed six o’clock, and she shivered. She hadn’t tended the fire and it was nearly out.

With regret, she left to stoke the fire in the kitchen. She put milk on to heat then returned to the parlor to build up the fire. By the time she glanced outside again, Boyd and Sailor were gone.

But the snow castle was glowing with light from a dozen tiny windows that reflected off the snow and turned her yard into a magical kingdom.

Breathless, she gazed at the shimmering masterpiece before her and felt her heart expand. “Oh, Boyd, you should be using this talent,” she whispered to the empty room.

She whirled away from the window and dashed to the front door. Boyd and Sailor were climbing his steps when she stepped onto her porch.

“Mr. Grayson,” she called then cringed at her unladylike shout.

Boyd turned in surprise. Sailor didn’t wait for an invitation. He barked and bounded across the street as if he hadn’t seen her all day.

She laughed and greeted the dog with a brisk rub on his head. She glanced at Boyd and waved him over.

While he crossed the street, she lavished Sailor with affection, her heart needing to express all that it held in the one safe way she could show it.

Boyd stopped at the bottom of her steps and looked up at her, his eyes questioning, his cheeks pink from the cold. “Do you need something?”

“Would you like to come in for hot cocoa?” She laughed at the surprise in his eyes. “I want to talk to you.”

“We’ll meet you in the back,” he said then snapped his fingers for Sailor to follow.

Claire hurried to the kitchen and checked the milk on the stove. It was hot enough to make cocoa. She poured milk into two cups then opened the door for Boyd.

“Don’t worry about your boots,” she said, when he leaned down to remove them. “I’ll wipe the floor when you leave.”

He stood by the door while she stirred cocoa, sugar, and vanilla into the hot milk. “What made you change your mind about inviting me inside?”

She handed him a cup of cocoa. “That fabulous snow castle you built.”

He winked at the dog. “She likes it.”

Sailor wheezed and gave Boyd a wide canine grin.

She laughed. “I honestly think he understands every word you say to him.”

“Of course he does,” Boyd said, as if she should have known that.

“Why are you hiding in that saloon when you have such incredible talent?”

He scowled but didn’t answer, so she knew she’d struck a chord.

“That castle is magnificent, Boyd. That carving you forced on me is a work of art. Why aren’t you using your talent?”

“I thought you were going to throw the carving away.” She pressed her hand against her skirt pocket, feeling the tiny piece of wood that had become her constant companion. “You’re avoiding my question,” she said.

“And you’re avoiding mine.”

She set her hot cup on the counter. “It was too beautiful to throw away.”

“Thank you.

“Stop being evasive.” She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at him. “You are an artist, and yet you spend your time tending a saloon. Why?”

“Because I enjoy it.”

She eyed him, sensing his answer was only half honest. “Does your mother know you’re an artist?”

“I’m not an artist.”

“Does she know about your talent for sculpting snow castles and carving roses in wood?”

He leaned against the door. “Yes, Claire. I’ve given her enough of my boyhood carvings to fill her house.”

“How about the carvings you make now? Does she have any of those?”

He sipped his cocoa and studied her. “Why are you so interested in me all of a sudden?”

“I’m interested in your talent and why you’re not using it.”

A wry grin lifted his mouth. “Ah, I understand. You’re hoping you can convince me to give up the saloon and pursue this talent of mine.”

The idea thrilled her. No more saloon. No more noise.

No more worries.

“Sorry, Claire. I’m a saloon owner, not an artist,” He leaned over and set his empty cup on the table. “Thanks for the cocoa.”

“Wait. I wasn’t trying to offend you,” she said, moving toward him. “I just don’t understand how you could possess such talent and not use it.”

“I do use it. I build things for my saloon. I teach people how to carve furniture. I dabble with bits of wood when I’m bored. I have a piece of my handiwork in my pocket right now.”

“Really? Can I see it?” she asked, wondering what treasure he was hiding.

He slipped his hand into his pocket then pulled it out and lifted the item above her head.

“What is it?” she asked, squinting up at his hand.

“Mistletoe.”

He leaned down and kissed her, his firm lips still cool from his hour in the snow.

The thrill racing through her rooted her to the floorboards. Everything inside her dipped and swirled then exploded outward in a million fragments of sensation. She felt alive and vibrant, connected to another human being for the first time in years.

He cupped her chin and angled her mouth, nudging her lips open to deepen the kiss. The smell of fresh air clung to his hair and clothes, the taste of cocoa lingered on his tongue and mingled with the chocolate in her own mouth.

She savored the feel and taste of him even as she pushed him away. She wouldn’t deny her attraction, nor the intense longing rushing through her. Both were real.

Too real.

And both were terrible mistakes.

He lifted his mouth an inch from hers, his eyes gazing into her own. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered. “Sure you don’t want to come to my mother’s with me?”

She clutched the table for support and stared at him. “You purposely tricked me with that mistletoe.”

“You deserved it.”

How could she chastise him for his behavior when her own motives were suspect? He’d been a gentleman all day, thoughtful to the point of gallantry. She had been the one to use his talent to press him about closing his saloon.

No wonder he’d retaliated.

But to trick her into a kiss?

Kissing was so... It was so... intimate.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered.

“Impudent,” he said.

He was beyond impudent. He was a rascal, a tease, as she well knew from her own experience. A philanderer, as he’d admitted. A rake.

But thoughtful and generous and kind. An artist who saw beauty in simple things, who made simple things into things of beauty.

A man with two faces.

No wonder she couldn’t understand him.

He called Sailor away from the stove then opened the door. “I enjoyed the kiss, Claire.” He winked and stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

She released a shaky breath and carried her cocoa to the parlor.

The little fire she was burning on Christmas Eve did not warm her at all. To her shame, she longed for the warmth of Boyd’s arms.

“This man is trouble, Grandmother,” she said, her whispered words lost in the empty parlor.

She wrapped an afghan around her shoulders and settled in to the rocking chair to read the journal.

Boyd was prying at her resistance, forcing her to pay attention to him, to see him and make space for him in her thoughts.

“Is that what Abe did to you, Grandmother? Did he make you notice him when you knew you shouldn’t?”