Unwrapping Holly: (14 page)

He hadn’t heard from her. Told himself it didn’t matter. Told himself the ripping pain in his gut was nerves over the sale of the business. But he knew better; he knew it was her. He’d overwhelmed her, charged at her like everything else in his life. He got that. So he’d backed off, hoping space was the answer.

“You got an answer, all right.” He grimaced, downing the rest of his beer. “Just not the answer you wanted.”

He was about to order up another shot—Joe’s scowls be damned, he’d take a cab home, even walk if he had to—when Joe appeared and poured him one on his own, then discreetly nodded toward the door. “That’s the guy your brother two-stepped with.” Contempt thickened in his face. “Up to his same no-good crap.”

Cole turned to inspect the guy in question who was more punk kid than man. Tall but lanky, hair too long, jeans ripped, shirt hanging half over his belt—a style statement gone wrong. He looked more sixteen than twenty-one as the sheriff had pegged him.

In the corner, trapped by the kid, was a woman curled back against the wall, body tense, her face pale, eyes wide with fear. Suddenly, the kid jerked the woman by the hand and started charging toward the door with her in tow.

“Oh no,” Cole said, downing his shot. “This shit’s stopping here, tonight.” Cole and Joe shared a look.

“I’ll call the sheriff,” Joe said.

Cole charged toward the door, a heartbroken man with adrenaline and tequila pumping through his blood. He pushed open The Tavern door about the time the punk kid reached his truck. Long strides led Cole behind the kid as he reeled back to slap his wife. Cole grabbed the kid and started walking back to the bar, him in tow, shouting, while bystanders hooted and hollered. The kid squirmed but he was the weaker of the two, no match for Cole. A fortysomething female opened the door for them. Cole gave her a short salute. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Inside The Tavern, Cole rotated the kid around, then lifted him with two hands. Bingo, he hit his mark. The kid’s belt hooked on a coatrack just low enough to leave his feet dangling.

The kid spat at Cole, spraying a disgusting mess all over his face before blustering a collection of curse words, some of which Cole doubted Webster’s had yet to define. Somewhere in there was a promise to press charges. Grand. Just. Fucking. Grand.

Someone handed Cole a napkin, and he wiped his face off, sauntering back to the bar as Joe filled his glass. “Figure you’ll need that one when the sheriff gets here.”

“Can always count on you to tell it how it is, can’t I, Joe?”

IN HER PARENTS’ HOUSE, HOLLY sat at the kitchen table, talking with her sister and her mother about her brother, Mason, arriving the next day, but her mind was elsewhere. Because tonight was the night she was going for it—she was going to show Cole how much he meant to her.

She had everything all planned out perfectly. She’d called Abe and found out today the sale of their business had been made final. She knew the sale of the house was being finalized the next day, thanks to her mother. She had something planned for later that evening when Cole arrived home from Manchester; waiting in her car was a bottle of champagne, his favorite chocolate cake from the bakery up the road—the one he drooled over every time he passed it—and balloons. All to celebrate the sale of one business and the purchase of another.

But there was more. She’d given notice at her apartment in Houston. She had a sealed envelope with proof she was moving back to Haven at the risk of having no place to live—on the promise that Cole wanted her in his bed every night. If he still wanted her.

“What do you think, Holly?”

Holly blinked, realizing she wasn’t paying attention. What had Rachel said? Something about a town skating party.

“When is it?” Holly asked.

“Tomorrow night,” her mother inserted. “Your father and I will be gone for a little romantic dinner we’ve planned. It would be great if you kids could go out together. It’s always quite a lovely event, dear. You’d enjoy it.”

Holly smiled to herself, aware they’d be celebrating the sale of the house despite their arrangements to stay an extra month but allowing renovations to begin. The idea of her parents traveling and enjoying life had grown on her, once she’d set aside her own selfish need for stability. A house wasn’t the basis for happiness. It was the people inside.

“It would be great if you could go,” Rachel chimed in, peeling away the plastic wrapper on a candy cane. “I mean, I know you have that deadline and all, but it would be nice to have you along.”

Holly sighed regretfully. “I need to stay focused right now, so I can be free the week of Christmas and enjoy you guys.”

The phone rang and her mother crossed the kitchen to answer it and then returned almost instantly.

“Holly,” she said. “It’s for you.”

Holly frowned, her heart lurching at the discomfort she noted on her mother’s face. Holly crossed to her mother’s side and reached for the phone, but Margaret held it tight, covering the receiver with her palm. Margaret eyed Rachel over Holly’s shoulder. “Give us a minute, honey.”

Rachel didn’t ask questions. They all knew when to scoot, and when Mom wanted time alone with one of them, the others made a fast exit. Of course, Holly would have to deal with Rachel’s questions later—much later, she hoped.

“What is it, Mom?” Holly asked.

“It’s Abe Wiley. Is there anything I should know?”

She shook her head, bit her lip. Her nerves jangled wildly. Her cell was at the cottage. But why would Abe call her here?

“It’s personal, Mom. Nothing to do with the house.” Her mother didn’t look satisfied, and judging from the way she clutched the phone, Holly wasn’t getting it without offering up some answers. “I’ve been seeing his brother. That’s why the house thing hit me so hard. I thought he knew who I was. I thought—” Holly touched her temples. “Mom. Something could be wrong. Abe wouldn’t call me here if there wasn’t.”

Her mother handed her the phone. “We’ll talk later.”

Holly nodded and slid the phone to her ear. “Abe?”

“Holly,” he said. “Cole had a run-in with that kid who was harassing Jacob. He’s in jail, and Jacob and I are in Manchester. We’re on our way, but can you—”

“I’m on my way,” Holly said, handing her mom the phone. “I have to go.” Her mother called after her, but Holly kept going. Cole needed her.

TEN MINUTES LATER, HOLLY SLAMMED her car door shut outside the sheriff ’s office and rushed to the door. She stepped inside, shivering in nothing but a pink sweater and jeans, and found herself staring straight into Cole’s shocked expression.

“Holly?”

Her teeth chattered, the coldness seeming to reach to her bones. Or was that emotion? Either way, she couldn’t control the shaking.

“I rushed over. I—”

“Good Lord, woman,” he said, shrugging out of his coat and then pulling it around her shoulders, rescuing her even as she tried to rescue him and, damn, it felt good. “Where is your coat?”

His coat swallowed her whole, but it smelled like him—spicy, masculine, perfect. She didn’t ever want to take it off.

“I didn’t think to grab it,” she said. He still held the coat lapels, his warmth encasing her with courage. The shivers started to subside. “I heard you were in jail. It’s that guy that Jacob had issues with, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “He was roughing up his wife again. I grabbed the guy and hung him up on a coatrack to wait for the sheriff to arrive.”

Holly shook her head, clearing the cobwebs. Surely she didn’t hear that right. “What do you mean, hung him on a coatrack?”

Cole never got the chance to answer. Sheriff Jack, who stood at least six foot three with broad, muscular shoulders, walked into the lobby and did it for him. “Stuck his belt over the notch, just like you would a coat.” He tossed some paperwork on the desk, and Cole let go of the coat.

Sheriff Jack continued, “It was priceless. The best Christmas present you could have given me.” He shook his head. “You’re lucky he didn’t press charges, though. Good thing the wife flexed some muscle and threatened the guy. You should have waited for me, and you damned well know it.”

“I was waiting for you,” Cole countered. “I just wanted to make sure he did, too.”

The sheriff chuckled, and Holly couldn’t help joining in herself. “About ten more minutes on that paperwork and we’ll get you out of here,” the sheriff said.

Holly found herself laughing and sitting down next to Cole. “I just can’t imagine what that would have looked like.”

Cole fixed his attention on her, his eyes a dark abyss, his lips a grim, hard line. Then abruptly, he pushed to his feet and grabbed her hand. A minute later, they were in a private office, with the door shut. “Holly, why are you here?” Apparently, he was done with small talk.

Holly struggled to secure the giant coat hanging heavily on her shoulders. But that weight was nothing compared to the weight of his confrontation. “I thought you needed me. I . . .”

He gave a slow, hard nod, his lips flattening. Then he reached for the door. She grabbed his arm, instant awareness between them, electricity darting up her arm.

“Cole. Please. If you walk out of this office, it will kill me. Maybe you didn’t need me, but
I
need
you,
and I won’t say that doesn’t scare me. But being without you scares me more.” Her heart sputtered and then raced wildly. “This isn’t exactly how I planned this, but . . .”

The energy in the room shifted, but still he was stiff, unyielding. “You planned this?”

“Yes,” she confessed. “Well, not this, now. Later. At your house. I was going to be waiting for you when you got home. I had a cake, and champagne, and . . . It was to celebrate. One business gone, another starting.” He didn’t so much as blink, and she started to ramble, nervous, afraid this was a mistake, a mess. “Then Abe called and I rushed over here, and all that went out the window. I mean, everything I’d planned . . . and see, I plan, Cole. It’s me. I like that you make me more spontaneous—no, I love it. I—”

He kissed her, his arm sliding around her waist, his tongue coaxing her lips apart. Holly clung to him, reached on her toes and flung her arms around his neck.

A knock sounded on the door a moment before the sheriff said, “You’re free to go, Cole.”

Holly clung to him, tilting her chin up and letting him see into her soul. “No. No, you’re not. Not this time.”

A FEW DAYS LATER AT Cole’s house, Holly and Cole lay naked on top of the bed, big fluffy goose-down blankets beneath them, and a fireplace crackling in the corner.

Holly had gone to the contract signing to support both her family and Cole’s. They’d all agreed that they’d keep the bed-and-breakfast a secret until the time was right, and Cole had offered her parents a permanent room at the house, in between travels. After all, it would be Holly’s home, too, as far as he was concerned, and every holiday could be spent there as if nothing had changed.

Holly scooped a bite of chocolate cake off the plate in front of her and sighed. “I love this cake. I love this room.”