Holiday Hideout: The Thanksgiving Fix / The Christmas Set-Up / The New Year's Deal. Jill Shalvis

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СКАЧАТЬ thing she did need a man for. She wasn’t ready to give up sex at the ripe old age of thirty. But a girl could have sex without expecting it to lead to white lace and promises. In fact, sex would be much more honest if both parties agreed that it wasn’t a prelude to courtship and marriage.

      Putting away her wrench, she picked up the cheeseboard and returned to the couch. Maybe she’d write out that conclusion in her speech, although her sex life wasn’t exactly a subject she shared with her parents. Still, she needed a manifesto that would remind her of why she’d made this decision to give up on wedding bells. She picked up her legal pad and began to write again as the fire blazed in the hearth and snow fell outside the window.

      “MOM, please DON’T FIX ME UP with someone for Thanksgiving.” Mac McFarland cradled the cell phone against his shoulder as he pulled off his boots. Once he’d finished this call, he’d build a fire and pop open a beer. Snowy weather was a perfect excuse to relax by the fire with a cold one.

      “It’s not a fix-up,” his mother said. “She’s a friend of the family.”

      “Since when? I’ve never heard of this Stephanie person.”

      “A recent friend. Your father hired her last month as his new receptionist. There’s no harm in meeting her, Conneach.”

      He cringed. Although he’d trained everyone else in his life to call him Mac, his mother insisted on using his given name, which had been a burden to him from the moment he’d realized other boys had names like Bill and Pete and Sam.

      In print, his name stymied people. When he pronounced it for them, they thought he was saying cognac, and they teased him about being named after a type of brandy. Self-preservation had prompted him to change his name to Mac McFarland, and that had worked for everyone—except his mother.

      “Mom, I’m sure these single women you round up are embarrassed to be paraded in front of me as if you’re trying to marry me off.”

      “There’s no as if about it. I am trying to marry you off. You’re thirty-one years old. It’s time. And I don’t have to remind you that you’re the hope of the McFarlands.”

      “No, you don’t have to remind me.” But she did at every opportunity. As the only son, he was supposed to guarantee that his father’s branch of the McFarland clan would continue. His younger sister had no such responsibility, and frankly, that was unfair. The whole charade was so three centuries ago.

      “You intend to get married at some point, I hope?”

      Mac set his boots aside and wiggled his toes inside his wool socks. “Maybe. I suppose. I’m in no rush, but someday, when I meet the right woman.”

      “And how do you intend to do that? You’re either working or camping alone in the woods.”

      “That’s not true. I have dates.”

      “With who?”

      “Like with…Kathy.”

      His mother made a dismissive sound. “That was months ago, and you were never serious about her. I could tell.”

      “Mom, I love you, but you have to stop pushing.”

      There was a pause on the other end. “I can’t uninvite her.”

      “I suppose not.” His phone beeped. “Listen, I have another call.”

      “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

      “Yes, you’ll see me tomorrow. Bye, Mom.” He disconnected and picked up the new call, which turned out to be Jillian Vickers, one of his favorite people. He wished her a happy Thanksgiving.

      “Same to you, Mac,” she said. “Hey, have you heard anything from our weekend renter, Beth Tierney?”

      “No, I haven’t.” He frowned. “Why, is there a problem?”

      “I’m not sure, but I would really appreciate it if you’d go over and check on her.” Noise in the background indicated Ken was mumbling something. “Last time we were there, we thought we heard a leak in the kitchen, maybe under the sink.”

      “Really?” Mac sat up straighter. “You should have called me. You don’t want water damage on those oak cabinets.”

      “I know, but I…I sort of forgot about it. I’m sure it’s nothing, but could you take a quick run over there and check?”

      “Sure.” Mac reached for his boots. Something about this situation wasn’t adding up. Ken was a stickler for details. Jillian might have forgotten about a leak, but Ken wouldn’t have. He’d either have made sure he’d fixed it himself or phoned Mac. Still, Mac wasn’t about to refuse a request from such great customers.

      “I realize I’m sending you out in the snow,” Jillian added. “I’m sorry about that.”

      “Gives me a chance to try out my new snow tires.” He pulled on one boot. “I’ll give you a call after I go over there.”

      “Thanks, Mac. You’re the best. Talk to you soon. Oh, and her name is Beth Tierney.” She hung up.

      I know, Mac thought. You already told me that. He was halfway over to the Vickers’ cabin before he figured out what was bothering him about this errand. Instead of calling him, Jillian could have called the renter. No doubt the woman had a cell phone with her, and the rental agreement would have that listed.

      Oh, well. Maybe Jillian hadn’t thought of that. No doubt she was cooking and cleaning in preparation for the big Thanksgiving dinner with her family and she was distracted. He was nearly at the cabin, anyway, and he was pleased with the way his new tires gripped the road. This really did give him the chance to test them out, so it wasn’t a wasted trip.

      Anyway, if it turned out there was actually a leak, he needed to fix it before those beautiful cabinets suffered. He’d refinished them just last summer, and the image of water dripping on them made him wince.

      Parking the truck in front of the cabin, he turned up his coat collar and grabbed his toolbox out of the camper shell in the back before going to the door. He smelled wood smoke, which meant she’d built a fire.

      He pictured the roaring fire he would enjoy once he finished this chore. The temperature had dropped significantly in the past hour, and he was ready to go home and settle in for the night. He knocked briskly.

      When the door opened, he blinked in surprise. He hadn’t thought much about who was renting the cabin, but in the back of his mind he’d wondered what sort of woman would deliberately spend Thanksgiving weekend alone in a mountain cabin. He might have expected some eccentric old lady who’d had it with the Thanksgiving Day hype and wanted an escape. He certainly hadn’t expected Beth Tierney to be young and beautiful.

      Not that she was trying to be beautiful. She wore a faded UNR sweatshirt, baggy sweats, and—he couldn’t help smiling when he saw them—sock-monkey slippers. Her dark brown hair was caught up in a haphazard ponytail, and her face was bare of makeup, which only emphasized the soft green of her eyes. Any woman who could look that appealing without trying captured Mac’s attention.

      “I’m Mac McFarland, the handyman,” he said. “Ken and Jillian called me about a potential leak.”

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