12 Gifts for Christmas by Various

Author:Various [Various]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781408957523
Publisher: Harlequin (UK) Limited
Published: 2011-03-23T13:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWO

DANIEL knew he was standing too close. He towered over her by at least a foot, this pretty lady with the riot of auburn curls. The lady who had given him angels.

Was it a sign? he asked himself. Or was his imagination working overtime? Nothing in Orchid House was simple, least of all the haunting.

Unable to stop himself, he moved closer. She had eyes as green as an Irish countryside, a nose dusted with freckles. He imagined lifting his hand and caressing her face, her smooth, ivory skin.

It was an odd time to feel an attraction. Up until this disturbing moment, he’d assumed his need for a woman had died with his wife. But here it was, unwelcome as sin, sliding through his blood, making him warm and full of wanting.

“Why did you bring me angels?” he repeated, his voice quiet, his gaze locked with hers.

“Because it’s Christmastime.”

Her answer conjured a painful image. He retreated from the memory, and in doing so realized he had probably frightened Traci with his question. And possibly the child, as well. The boy watched him much too closely. Daniel figured him to be about six, and that hurt most of all, considering six years had passed since the fire.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to say, taking a step back. “I

don’t get many visitors.” And he didn’t celebrate Christmas anymore.

“That’s ‘cause you’re new in town,” the boy explained, his easy manner returning. “But that’s okay. We can tell you anything you wanna know about Wileyville. We’ve lived here forever. We know everybody.” Cocking his head, he grinned, flashing a gap between two slightly crooked front teeth.

The child had such an earnest smile, Daniel thought as he struggled with the urge to laugh and cry at the same time, feeling charmed yet saddened by a kid he had just met. Battling the jumble of emotion, he glanced at the woman, then slid right back into that warm, sultry place—the unexpected sexual pull that made him want to touch her.

He curled his fingers around the cookie tin, finding it a cool, impersonal substitute. He hoped she wasn’t married. The idea of lusting after another man’s wife didn’t sit well.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

Nowhere in particular, he almost said, since he had been drifting more often than not. “North Carolina.”

“Ah, your accent,” she acknowledged, as if the sound of it pleased her. “Do you mind if I ask what tribe you’re from? We don’t get many Native Americans around here.”

Daniel blinked. “Eastern Band Cherokee.” A heritage he had abandoned a long time ago. Being Cherokee didn’t mean anything. He couldn’t return to the reservation any more than he could return to the genteel Southern society his wife had been born into.

“And your name is Daniel Crow?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Traci Calhoun, and this is my son, Parker.”

Daniel tensed as if he’d been sucker-punched, gulping the air that rushed out of his lungs.

Parker.

The infant he’d buried had been named Parker. A twist of fate? Or a painful coincidence? Suddenly he couldn’t move.

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