The Christmas Bride (6 page)

When they left the restaurant, it was late. The children were barely in the car before Cary turned and realized they were fast asleep, one slumped on the other.

Jason was silent for a while, and Cary felt her eyes flickering shut. Then Jason suddenly spoke.

“The kids are out?”

“Fast asleep,” she assured him.

“I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks very much for coming.”

“Thank
you.
The suite is beautiful. Too beautiful. I think I would have been happier with something, er, smaller.”

She saw the slow curve of his smile. “Mrs. Adams, you are worth it.”

“Well, thank you,” Cary murmured. He didn't reply. The motion of the car as it sped through the night mixed with the warmth of its heater, and her eyes kept closing. Then they closed one final time and she couldn't quite get them open.

It startled him when her head fell on his shoulder. Jason almost jumped, but he managed to hold still. The soft, sweet scent of her hair teased his nose, and for a moment he held his breath.

A poignant anguish stole slowly over him, seeming to seep into him like water over porous rock.

It had been so long….

Sara had fallen asleep on him like that.

He'd been out a number of times since her death. And though he was certain that he'd always been courteous, he knew, too, that he'd always been distant, and he'd seldom seen any woman more than once. According to a number of tabloids, he'd become a very eligible bachelor, but in his heart, he knew he would never be that. He couldn't retain his interest in anyone; he couldn't look at beauty with more than a casual eye. He hadn't really dated; he'd had arrangements, and that had been that. Strange, because he had been intimate with some of those women, but…

He'd never come so close that one of them might fall asleep on his shoulder.

And Cary was certainly the only woman he would allow to be there.

He didn't know why. He did know that he hadn't thanked her just for Angela. He had thanked her for himself, as well. It had been years since he had really laughed. Years since he had been anxious for a day to end so that he might see someone—other than Angela—again.

Her hair brushed his chin. Soft and satiny, so warm with its rich brown depths. Like silk, it teased over his flesh. His fingers tightened on the wheel, and he clenched his jaw as he felt sudden, volatile stirrings of desire rise hard within him. His initial anguish had faded away. The present—and this woman—held all his attention. He couldn't remember wanting anyone quite this way. It was ironic.

She was probably the one woman who would not want him.

She made a soft sound in her sleep as she curved against the warmth of his body more comfortably. Her fingers curled over his shoulder. And then her hand slipped and fell to his thigh.

He clamped down on his jaw even harder.

Cary awoke when the car jerked to a halt. Almost instantly, she was sitting upright, wondering how she had been sleeping.

But Jason McCready was already out of the car, and she didn't know whether to apologize or not.

“This is it,” he said curtly. “We're here.” For once on this trip, he wasn't being terribly polite.

“Yes. I'll, uh, I'll just get Danny.”

“I'll get Danny. He's a lot heavier than my daughter. You carry Angela. If you think you can.”

“Well, of course I can—”

“I meant that you're so tired yourself. And hell, you're not a lot bigger than either of them.”

“I can manage,” Cary said irritably.

“Yes, yes, you can manage.” Jason quickly had Danny in his arms. She bent down for Angela, and his next words seemed to slap her right in the face. “Have I ever told you that you remind me of a porcupine at times?”

With her young burden in her arms, Cary stiffened and swung around. “What a lovely comparison. Thank you so much, Mr. McCready.”

“I didn't say that you looked like a porcupine, Mrs. Adams. You're a very beautiful woman, and you must know that. Even though your husband hasn't been around for a long time to tell you, I'm sure that other men have. Or maybe not. With those porcupine bristles of yours, maybe no one has managed to get close enough.”

“Thank you again. You do have my life right down to a tee, Mr. McCready. And with all the women you date! Don't you dare judge me!”

Cary delivered the last statement with her nose in the air, then turned quickly on her heel and headed for the lodge.

He was right behind her. “All the women I date?” he inquired.

“Ah, yes, if it's Tuesday, it must be a redhead,” Cary said sweetly as they reached the door to the lodge.

“I didn't know you had been paying so much attention to my dating habits,” Jason said.

Cary wasn't able to reply. Randy Skylar was there to open the door for them. “Let me take her,” he offered Cary, and without giving her a chance to refuse, he swept Angela into his arms. Cary followed the two men up the stairs to the suites, forcing a smile to answer Randy's polite questions about their dinner.

Jason laid Danny on his bed. Randy had taken Angela into Jason's suite, so Cary and Jason were left alone to stare at one another, the sprawled and comfortable body of Cary's son between them.

“Good night, Mrs. Adams,” Jason said softly.

“Good night,” Cary murmured. “Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”

His slow, rueful smile curved his lips. “Yes, it actually was.” Then he brushed by her and left. And, oddly, Cary could feel the entire length of her side where he had touched her so lightly and so briefly. It was so much warmer than the other side….

Funny, she had been so tired. But even after she had tucked Danny in and changed into a comfortable flannel gown, she couldn't sleep at all.

She pulled the pillow over her head, gritted her teeth and willed sleep to come. But for the longest time it didn't.

She kept feeling the warmth of her side and wondering how closely she had leaned against Jason McCready when sleep had come so easily in his car.

 

There was a note beneath her door in the morning. It was handwritten, and she recognized Jason's handwriting from the Christmas cards she had received over the last few years. It was a broad, large script, very legible, and somehow like the man, firm and powerful. The message was brief but courteous. He was tied up for the day, but she mustn't feel that she needed to tend only to the children. There were programs for them all morning, movies, lessons on the bunny slopes, whatever. She was welcome to spend her day however she chose, and she shouldn't worry. His staff were wonderful with children.

Cary didn't mind spending her time with the children, but she did have an article she wanted to edit, and with a magazine's deadlines, time could be very precious. She decided to have breakfast with the kids, then work for a while, then go down to the bunny slopes with them.

The day worked out as she had planned it. They breakfasted in her suite; then Angela and Danny traipsed off to see cartoons. Cary started to work in front of the main fireplace in the suite. She wondered if she would be able to concentrate, but to her great pleasure, she found that the comfort of the lodge and the snap and crackle of the fire were definite pluses. She didn't dig her nose out of her manuscript until two o'clock, when she had accomplished everything she had wanted.

Pleased, she dressed in her own best rendition of a ski outfit—clinging knit pants, a warm wool sweater and a windbreaker—and went in search of the children. They were just finishing lunch, and both were pleased that she was going to join them on the bunny slopes.

“I don't ski,” Cary told Angela. “That puts me on the bunny slope with you and Danny. Except that I'll bet that you can ski.”

Angela could ski. Beautifully. But she spent the afternoon with Cary and Danny and the young ski instructor, laughing delightedly as Cary and Danny struggled with the equipment and a new sense of balance. Cary, overwhelmed at first by the heavy boots, the skis and all the safety tips she was being given, swore she would never be able to manage. But by early evening she was delighted. She was managing the slopes. She was skiing! And she was thrilled with the rush of pleasure and exhilaration that negotiating the small slopes brought her.

She was also cold. She and Danny and Angela headed into the lodge. The children had hot chocolate; she decided on an Irish coffee. It was very good, but since she hadn't bothered with lunch, the hot drink seemed to hit her like lead.

She and the children decided to have dinner in the suite. And by the time they finished with the delicious linguine, the kids seemed willing enough to go to bed. Angela slipped through the door into her own suite. Cary hesitated, told Danny to get ready for bed and followed Angela into Jason McCready's private quarters.

His suite was obviously never rented out. It had the same view of the pool, the same handsome pine walls and deep plush carpeting. There was more of a feeling of home to his rooms. There were beautiful mountain prints on the walls, and a cabinet filled with curious sculptures and knickknacks. A handsome oak secretary was covered with papers, and on a coffee table before the sofa were several issues of
Elegance
and other magazines. On a side table was a picture frame. It contained the perfect family photo. Jason McCready surrounded by the two women he loved, a much younger Angela and Sara, both with their beautiful blue eyes and angelic halos of soft blond hair.

Cary suddenly felt as if she was intruding, and she almost backed away. But Jason McCready had never given her any decrees about not entering his private domain, so she hurried through the living room to tap at one of the bedroom doors. “Angela?”

“Cary? Come in.”

Angela was already in her red flannel nightdress, her hair flowing down her back, her eyes wide and bright. Looking at her, Cary felt a peculiar rush of emotion, her heart tearing for Sara McCready. She's so beautiful, Sara! Cary thought. If only you could see her!

“I just came to…to see if you wanted to be tucked in,” Cary told her.

Angela's eyes widened. “Yes, please. Thank you very much.”

So Cary tucked her in, kissed her on the forehead and promised to see her bright and early the next morning. She went to her suite and tucked Danny in, then changed into her flannel gown. But once again, as exhausted as she should have been, she couldn't sleep. She got out of bed, made herself a cup of tea and wandered to the balcony overlooking the pool and the mountains beyond.

To her surprise, there was activity by the pool. She first recognized Barney Mulray, a salesman from Ohio whom she had met at a convention. Then she realized that the pool was full of
Elegance
salespeople.

And at the far end was Jason McCready.

To Cary's growing dismay, her first thought was that he looked wonderful in a bathing suit. He was bronzed, lean and very well muscled. His chest was covered by a handsome and provocative mat of dark hair. And from the breadth of his shoulders to the clean, lean line of his hips to the powerful thighs below his black bathing suit, he was perfectly formed.

Someone else thought so, too. There was a little young redhead, with a chest that didn't quit, sitting near him. She was talking to him, and Jason was responding. But then Barney called to him across the pool, and Jason was just as quick to respond to Barney. Cary leaned a little over the balcony, trying to hear their words.

“Come on, time for a drink,” Barney encouraged.

Jason shook his head. “No, thanks. I'm about to head up to my room. I want to check on Angela.”

Other encouragements were called to Jason, who shook his head. The people began to trail out of the pool. All but the redhead. She leaned closer to Jason—with that chest that wouldn't quit.

“Really, Jason. Just one drink. Come on. It's early.”

“Trudy, thanks,” he said, his voice firm. “But I'm tired. I'd like to be alone now, please.”

Not even Trudy would dare to argue with such a tone, it seemed. She rose with a shrug and moved off with the others.

The pool area was suddenly very silent. Only Jason remained at the far end, his eyes closed. Again Cary felt as if she was intruding. Well, she
had
been intruding, eavesdropping. She started to move away, but right then his eyes flew open. Right to her.

“Ah, Mrs. Adams!” he called softly.

“Hello,” she called back uncomfortably.

He smiled. Just like the cat who had caught the canary. “Did you have a nice day?”

“Yes, lovely, thank you.”

“The kids?”

“They're fine. They're sleeping.”

“Angela?”

“She's fine. I…I tucked her in.”

His eyes widened a bit, she thought, but she didn't know with what emotion—pleasure that she would do so, or annoyance that she would presume to come so close.