Christmas In Snowflake Canyon (27 page)

She crossed her arms across her chest. “They do not. They’re beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

Her voice caught a little on the last word and he finally had a clear look at her face.

She had been crying.

He could see the red-rimmed eyes, the traces of tears on her cheeks.

His lungs gave a hard squeeze. Damn it. He hated her tears. Why hadn’t he just let this whole thing between them die a natural death?

“You think I did that?” He did the only thing he could think of and tried to brazen through. “You
are
crazy. A one-handed carver. That would be something to see.”

He saw just a trace of uncertainty in her gaze as she looked at him and then she gave a slight shake of her head.

“You are
such
a bad liar. I can’t believe I didn’t see it the other day.”

She came closer to him, until they were only a few feet apart. Until the scent of vanilla-drenched cinnamon taunted him, seduced him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, stop. I know you made them. Who else would have given such a gift to me? No one knows about Grandma Pearl and our Nativity tradition except you and my parents, and they would certainly never do something like this.”

And there was part of their problem in a nutshell. “No doubt that’s true. They would probably give you something that should be in a museum, sculpted out of Italian marble or something.”

A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Maybe,” she said softly. “That sounds lovely. But it would mean nothing to me. Not compared to this one. I will cherish this gift forever.”

Something warm and soft unfurled inside him, pushing away some of his embarrassment. He didn’t know what to say, especially not when she moved even closer, just a breath away.

“You lied the other day, too, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said again, easing away just half a step and hoping she wouldn’t notice.

“I was too hurt by everything you said to see clearly but now it all makes perfect sense. You’re Mr. Fuzzy.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

She gave that sweet smile again, looking so stunningly radiant he could hardly breathe.

“Never mind. I’ll tell you someday.” Before he could react, she reached out between them and grabbed his hand with both of hers. She gazed up at him and the emotion in her eyes sent his pulse racing again.

“I love you, Dylan.”
“Gen.”
“Let me say this. You said the other day that I need

perfection in my life. I suppose there’s some truth to that.”

He hated thinking about those words he had said to her, the flimsy barriers he had tried to erect.

“But here’s the funny thing,” she went on. “I once had what some would say was the ideal fiancé—handsome, rich, destined for success—and I was completely miserable, even before he cheated on me.”

Her fingers were cool against his, trembling a little, and he wanted to tuck them against his heart and warm them.

“I was miserable because somehow I knew from the beginning that perfect image was all wrong for me. What I needed, you see, was not the perfect man. Just the man who’s perfect for
me.
Someone who sees beyond the surface to the person I’m trying to become.”

Her fingers trembled a little against his. How much courage must it have taken her to drive up here through the snow, to confront him, to bare her heart like this?

How could he possibly push her away?
He thought of the past two days, how completely wretched he had felt when he drove home from that wedding—more terrible than he ever remembered, even counting the moment he woke up and realized the surgeons had taken his crushed and useless hand.

He had walked into the cabin, grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured three fingers. He planned to get completely hammered so he wouldn’t have to think about this ache in his chest, the yawning, endless emptiness that stretched out ahead of him.

He had raised the glass, but before it reached his mouth, an image of her face as he had left her flashed across his mind, devastated and raw, and he couldn’t do it.

Instead, he had grabbed Tucker and gone for a long walk in the snow and then had ended up in the rundown barn he used as a workshop. He had seen wood chunks lying there, a leftover piece he had bought to repair a sagging shelf in the bathroom.

He used to spend downtime on deployments playing around, making little toys and knicknacks to pass out to the villagers they sometimes encountered.

The carving tools he used to keep in his pack were still there, untouched since his accident. He rooted through the pile of screwdrivers and wrenches until he found what he needed, and before he knew it, he had carved a simple Baby Jesus.

For hours, he worked on it, trying again and again to make it just right. It hadn’t been as hard as he might have expected. He had figured out ways to hold the wood—with his prosthetic or in a vise.

Okay, it had been a hell of a lot harder than it would have been with two hands, but he had managed it anyway.

Maybe that was some kind of metaphor for his life. He would never be able to do things as easily as he once had. He couldn’t change that—and pissing and moaning about it sure as hell wasn’t helping the situation.

Maybe it was time to just suck it up and deal.

He thought of the sheer grit it must have taken for his Genevieve to drive up here in the middle of a snowstorm and lay her heart bare for him again after he had already flayed it raw.

It would take guts to climb out of the hole he’d been living in these past months and embrace life again. But he was an army ranger, charging headfirst into the toughest of situations. Once a ranger, always a ranger, right?

Was he really going to let some little cream puff in her beret and scarf outdo him in the courage department?

Hell no.
“Gen.”
“Admit it. You have feelings for me, don’t you?” He was tired of lying. What was the point, when

she saw right through him anyway? “Feelings for you. I guess that’s a pretty mild way of saying I’m crazy in love with you. Yeah.”

She gazed at him, blue eyes huge and drenched with emotion. “Oh.”

She looked so sweet, so beautiful, he had to kiss her. He had been fighting it since the moment she pulled up and he couldn’t do it a moment longer.

With her hands still wrapped around him, it was easy to tug her toward him. She landed against his chest with a surprised oomph, which changed to a delicious sigh when he lowered his mouth to hers.

They kissed for a long time, until he was breathless and hungry.

“Please don’t push me away again,” she murmured, long moments later. “I can’t bear if you do.”

“I’m not easy to be around, Gen. I’m trying to be better but I don’t expect that to miraculously change overnight. I have moods and I get pissed and sometimes I stay awake around the clock to keep the nightmares away.”

Those nightmares had been coming with less frequency the past few weeks. He had figured it was because they had been replaced with heated dreams that left him aching and hard.

“If you’re looking for easy,” she retorted, “I’m not your girl. I’m the coldest bitch in Hope’s Crossing. Haven’t you heard?”

He had to smile because he just wasn’t seeing that. Not anymore.

“We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

“Yes.” She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist, her cheek against his chest. He held her close, his chin resting on her hair, feeling as if this was the safest, most secure place he could ever imagine.

They stayed that way for a long time, until he had to kiss her again. He had a feeling he would never get enough. He leaned his head down but she eased away before he could find that soft, sexy mouth.

“First I want you to admit it.”
“Admit what?”
“You were lying. You made those carvings, didn’t you?”
He didn’t see any point in denying it anymore. “I don’t know why I ever gave them to you. I should have just thrown them away. I’ll get better with practice, I promise. I’ll try again.”

“I don’t want another one. This will always be my favorite Christmas gift ever. It came from your heart when the words wouldn’t.”

She got him. He wasn’t sure how, but Genevieve Beaumont—rich, pampered, spoiled—understood him like nobody else ever had.

She kissed him once more while the snow fluttered down outside his little cabin and the wind sighed under the eaves. The fire crackled beside them and the dog snuffled in his sleep.

And everything was perfect.

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What on earth is going on in this unearthly little town? It’s up to Abby, Daisy, and Shar to find out before an ancient goddess takes over Southern Ohio, and they all end up in the apocalyptic doghouse…

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

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ISBN-13: 978-0-373-77815-7

CHRISTMAS IN SNOWFLAKE CANYON

Copyright © 2013 by RaeAnne Thayne

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin HQN, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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