Romancing the Holidays Bundle 2009 by Susan Wiggs & Sherryl Woods & Lindsay McKenna & Carole Mortimer

Author:Susan Wiggs & Sherryl Woods & Lindsay McKenna & Carole Mortimer
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Romance.Contemporary
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2009-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The heavy knock on Abbie’s back door, off the kitchen, made her jump in reaction. It was an aggressive kind of knock, not a friendly one, that was for sure. Slipping off the chair and placing the half-finished pine swag on the table, Abbie hurried to answer it. Would that be Colt Hamlin already? It was nearly 9:00 a.m. Laura had called to say he would be coming by to help. Glancing through the window, which was wreathed in pale pink, Victorian style curtains with a swag of holly with bright red berries across the top, she could see a very tall, large man standing on the porch. Snowflakes twirled lazily from the gray sky behind him.

Abbie’s heart beat a little harder as she opened the door. The man standing before her reminded her of an angry grizzly bear, a species that lived in this part of the Rocky Mountains. He stood about six foot one inch tall, and his shoulders were massively broad. His black hair was cut very short, with one rebellious curl dipping over his furrowed brow. He was built like a boxer, she decided as she quickly perused the unhappy set of his face. Everything about Colt Hamlin was square—his build, the shape of his jaw, his broad forehead. His nose looked like it had been broken many times. Her gaze ranged upward to his eyes. Though they were bloodshot, she could see they were a forest-green color, the pupils dark and huge. Intuitively, Abbie sensed that he was very tired and stressed out. Laura had warned her when she’d called that Colt was like a bear with his foot in a trap, and to take him in stride.

“Hi,” she greeted him a little breathlessly, and stuck out her hand. “You must be Colt Hamlin? I’m Abbie Clemens. Thanks for dropping by to help me with this stuff. I really appreciate it.”

Colt stared down at her proffered hand. He hadn’t known what to expect, but it wasn’t this. Dressed in an apricot mohair sweater and cobalt-blue corduroy slacks, Abbie Clemens stood about five foot five inches in height, her medium-boned frame probably weighing in at about a hundred and thirty pounds. Her face was plain, but was set off by a riot of curly, carrot-red hair tied back from her heavily freckled, pale face by a pink-orange-and-white scarf. What drew him unexpectedly were her large blue eyes, which were soft and warm, and a wide, smiling mouth that sent a sheet of heat all the way through him to his toes. Her engaging smile was genuine. And the sparkle of welcome in her eyes appeared to be, too.

Jerkily, he lifted his hand and enclosed hers. Such a small, delicate hand covered with copper freckles, compared to his own bear paw. Clearing his throat, he growled, “Yeah, I’m Colt. Morgan Trayhern said you needed some help?”

A stream of tingles flew up Abbie’s fingers into her arm as she released Colt’s massive hand. For all of his masculine strength, she had to give him credit: he hadn’t crushed her fingers.

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