Little Christmas Magic by Sylvie Kurtz

Author:Sylvie Kurtz [Kurtz, Sylvie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780373244386
Publisher: Silhouette
Published: 2001-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

The weighty snow had already dropped half a foot of white over the landscape. Even with the dark of evening, the temperatures rose, turning the flakes into ice pellets. A town snowplow, yellow lights blinking, rumbled by, sealing off the end of his driveway, then Beth's. He'd have to borrow a shovel in case he needed to get out—in an emergency, of course.

The burning welcome of Beth's porch light, the icing of snow on the roof and the colorful bulbs he'd installed made her house appear like a gingerbread creation.

"Can we make one, Daddy? Can we?" Sam had stood mesmerized in a grocery store check-out line by the gumdrop-and-licorice-adorned graham cracker house on the cover of a magazine. "They've got plans and everything." No one would have mistaken their effort for a work of art, but Sam had beamed with pride at their Christmas table centerpiece. After the accident, he'd smashed the cookie house against the wall and hadn't bothered to pick up the pieces for more than a month.

Hunching his shoulders, he whistled to Max who'd stopped to sniff at a disoriented autumn leaf. She rabbitted up to him. He couldn't quite figure out why he'd let her tag along.

Jamie answered his knock. "Mr. Ward! I got some new hockey cards. Wanna see?"

The boy seemed glad to see him. "Maybe later. I brought Max."

"Really?" Jamie beamed, giving his heart an uncomfortable tug.

"She wanted to play."

"Thanks!"

Max squirmed around Logan's leg, half her body wagging in anticipation. Jamie reached for her. His laughter at Max's canine kisses warbled like a bird's song and a strange satisfaction softened Logan. He shrugged it off.

"Max, come, Max." Jamie lured her toward the living room. "Mom's in the kitchen."

As if she would be anywhere else. His lips twitched as he headed for the kitchen. The aroma of something sweet and spicy greeted him, then warmth enveloped him, and brightness dazzled him, stirring dormant echoes of a nearly forgotten hope.

Places like this really did exist; they weren't just the fiction of needful children's dreams. He suddenly thought of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz as she fervently said, "There's no place like home," and regret soughed inside him.

But it was the vision of a dancing Beth that stopped him short and made him lean against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, with the uncomfortable captivation of a voyeur. A barrier seemed to prevent him from crossing the threshold into that inviting world of kitchen comfort and feminine zest. As if taking that step would alter something vital.

She looked like a candy cane with her fuchsia corduroys and pink sweater with its white stripes and sparkling silver snowflakes. Where did she find clothes in such bright colors? Surely the market for those things didn't exist.

The radio was turned up and, using a wooden spoon as a microphone, she sang "Winter Wonderland" along with Elvis, swiveling hips and all. He had a sudden urge to grasp that candy cane of a woman and taste every inch of her.

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