A Rancher for Christmas by Diana Palmer

Author:Diana Palmer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2019-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

Getting Blake to go to bed on Christmas Eve was like trying to put a pair of pants on an eel, Maggie thought as she watched him make his fourth reappearance.

“Mr. Hollister, is there or isn’t there a Santa Claus?” he asked Tate.

Maggie stared blankly at Tate, who was struggling valiantly not to give the show away.

“Santa Claus is like a spirit, Blake,” he finally told the boy as he sipped his coffee on the sofa. “So in a sense, yes, he exists.”

“But he doesn’t come down fireplaces?”

“I didn’t say that,” Tate replied.

Blake bit his lower lip, leaning heavily on the crutch Tate had loaned him. “But there’s a fire in it,” he groaned.

“Fire,” Tate improvised, “can’t possibly hurt a Christmas spirit like old Santa. He can get right through it to the stockings.”

“Are you sure?” Blake asked worriedly.

Tate put his hand over his heart. “Blake, would I lie to you?” he asked.

Maggie had to bite her tongue almost through to keep from laughing at the expression on Tate’s face. But Blake let out a pent-up sigh and grinned.

“OK,” he said. “I just wanted to be sure. Good night. See you early in the morning!”

“You, too, darling,” Maggie smiled, kissing his forehead gently. “Sleep well.”

“Ha, ha,” he muttered, glancing ruefully at the huge pine with its homemade decorations in the corner by the window. All lit with colorful lights and smelling of the whole outdoors, it had turned out to be a better tree than anyone had expected. But the crowning touch was some soap flakes that Maggie had found in the kitchen cabinet. She’d mixed them with water and made “snow” to go on the branches. The finished product was a dream of a Christmas tree, right down to the paper snowflakes that Blake had cut out—something he’d learned to do in art class in school.

Maggie sighed as she looked at the tree. “Isn’t it lovely?” she asked absently.

“Not half as lovely as you are,” Tate remarked quietly, his dark eyes possessive on her body in its sleek silver dress, a long camisole of sequins and spangles that had impressed her with its holiday spirit. With her dark hair short and curled forward, she looked like one of the twenties flappers.

“I’m glad you like it,” she curtsied for him with her coffee cup held tightly in one hand. Like him, she didn’t drink—rarely even a glass of wine. They were celebrating Christmas with black coffee, despite her dress and his suit slacks, white shirt and navy blazer.

He turned off the top light, leaving the winking, blinking colorful lights of the tree to brighten the room. His arms slid around her waist as they looked at the paper angel Blake had made for the tip-top. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get you up there,” he mused. “You’d make a pretty angel.”

“I’d rather be just a woman,” she said, turning. Her eyes ran over his face quietly although her heart was beating her to death. It had been forever since that morning when he’d made such sweet love to her in the kitchen.

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