Beneath the Mistletoe. Susan Crosby

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      “Yeah?” His voice sounded gruff.

      “What are you doing?’

      “Just wondering if you really do read minds—or if it was only a card trick,” he murmured.

      Caught off guard, she asked blankly, “Why?”

      “Because if you read minds, you would know that I’ve been wanting to do this ever since you showed up on my doorstep.”

      “Do wha—”

      His lips were on hers before she could complete the syllable.

      The kiss didn’t last very long, barely long enough for her to note the details of the way his lips tasted, the way they felt and moved against hers. Yet she knew those details were being filed away inside her mind and that she would replay this kiss countless times in her head. Just as she knew that when the kiss ended, she would no longer be able to pretend that she was only casually interested in Banner.

      She could no longer ignore the fact that his name had slipped to the top of her prospect list.

      Who was she kidding? His name was the only one on her list now, even if he didn’t fit all the criteria she had once believed a man must have to be a suitable match for her.

      In just over twenty-four hours, Banner had gone from total stranger to someone she wanted very much to get to know better.

      Brief, but powerful—that was the way she would have described the kiss if pressed. Banner lifted his head but didn’t immediately step away, his face still close enough to hers that their breath formed a single frosty cloud between them. She cleared her throat.

      “No,” she said, “I definitely did not know that was on your mind.”

      “So it was a card trick.”

      “Yeah. Just a trick.”

      He dropped his arm and moved away, being very careful with his footing this time. “And that,” he said, “was just a kiss.”

      She frowned. “Which means…?”

      “Nothing.” He turned toward his workshop. “It meant nothing.”

      “Banner, wait a minute—”

      “I’ll get the rest of the gifts. You’d better go back inside before you freeze.”

      He didn’t wait around for whatever she might have said in response.

      Banner remembered his earlier suspicions that bad milk was making him behave strangely. Now he figured it had to be something much stronger affecting his behavior. What on earth had possessed him to kiss Lucy Guerin?

      Sure, she was pretty, in her elfish sort of way. And, yeah, she had the most kissable lips he had ever encountered. And, okay, he liked being with her, enjoyed her unpredictability. But as for doing anything about any of that…no way.

      She was a mathematics professor, for crying out loud. Even if they had anything else in common, that was enough to convince him he should stay well away from her. He could hear his father laugh at the very thought of Banner hooking up with a college professor.

      Hell, Banner’s father didn’t think there was any woman alive who could put up with Banner for very long. “You’re just like my uncle Joe,” Richard Banner had said on more occasions than Banner could remember. “He never could find anyone willing to take him on, either.”

      Banner had always wondered if he had married Katrina mostly to prove his father wrong about that. If so, it had been a futile effort. The marriage had been over almost as soon as it had begun.

      After that disaster he’d thought maybe his father had been right, after all. Maybe Banner was too much like his reclusive, somewhat eccentric great-uncle.

      Joe had never had time for social games and hadn’t known how to play them if he had wanted to. Like Banner, Joe had liked other people, but he had never known quite how to behave around them. He had confessed to Banner that he’d always felt as if he was on the outside looking in at other people’s interactions. Banner had identified strongly with that sentiment, since it was exactly the way he had always felt in his own family—or rather, families.

      He had sure as hell never fit in with extremely extroverted, highly educated, compulsively inquisitive women like Lucy Guerin.

      Even if he and Lucy had been getting along surprisingly well so far, they had only spent a day together. He had no doubt that she would get sick of him soon enough. Katrina sure had, and she had professed to love him. Probably the biggest problem between them had been that he simply hadn’t been capable of loving her in return.

      He should never have kissed Lucy. He certainly didn’t want to give her the mistaken impression that he had anything to offer her—even if for some incomprehensible reason she would be interested.

      He couldn’t say he entirely regretted it, though. Kissing Lucy had most definitely been a memorable experience.

      The children were sound asleep when the presents were arranged beneath the tree. Joan was delighted with Banner’s handmade toys, assuring him that the children would love them. Bobby Ray and Pop both seemed thoroughly impressed with the truck-and-tractor rig, and Lucy was amused by how long Bobby Ray played with the backhoe.

      After seeing the cradle, Miss Annie sent her husband to their borrowed bedroom to fetch her knitting bag. She pulled out a lap-size afghan crafted from a soft, cream-colored yarn and finished with fringed ends. “Put this in the cradle,” she ordered. “It’s just the right size for Tricia to tuck her dolls into.”

      “Miss Annie, that’s lovely,” Joan said, visibly touched. “But I can’t—”

      “It’s not for you, it’s for Tricia,” the older woman interrupted indulgently. “And don’t worry about me not having plenty more. Knitting is about all I can do these days without wearing myself plumb out.”

      The afghan added the perfect touch to the charming little cradle. The women all admired it while the men continued to study the intricately detailed truck rig. And then Miss Annie reached into her bag again, pulling out a thick, warm gray knit cap. “Do you think Tyler would like this? I make them for my great-grandsons, and I always have a couple of extras around.”

      “He would love it, if you’re sure it’s an extra.” Joan’s voice was thick now, as if she were speaking around a lump in her throat.

      Lucy had her own gifts to contribute to the cause. She had brought a shopping bag in from her car a little earlier and had set it in a corner behind the couch. She reached into it now, pulling out a handful of paperback children’s books.

      “I buy these on sale all year and take them to my cousins’ children. I’m known as Aunt Lucy the book lady—I just love books. Please pick a couple you think Tyler and Tricia would like.”

      “I’ve got a little something for them, too,” Bobby Ray said, looking thoughtful. “I’ll give it to them in the morning.”

      Joan’s eyes were wet now, her voice even thicker. “You’re all being so kind.”

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