One Winter's Sunset: The Christmas Baby Surprise / Marry Me under the Mistletoe / Snowflakes and Silver Linings. Rebecca Winters

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СКАЧАТЬ came out on the porch. “He’s asleep?” she whispered.

      Emily nodded. “Doesn’t happen very often.”

      Carol chuckled. “I’ve known men like that. Would rather work themselves half to death than admit they need a nap. Or a helping hand. I tell you, men are some of God’s most stubborn creatures.”

      Emily laughed. “I agree with that.”

      The buzzing at his waist finally roused Cole. He jerked upright, disoriented for a second, reaching for the phone with an instinct well honed over the years. Just before he pressed the button to answer it, he noticed Emily and Carol, and set the phone back in the holster. “Sorry, I, uh, guess I fell asleep.”

      Cole ignoring a work call? And taking a nap in the middle of the day? That made for two miracles in the space of a few minutes—and two things Emily never thought she’d see.

      “You’re human...sleep happens.” Carol smiled. “Either way, I’m glad you woke up. Dinner’s in the kitchen and just waiting for some hungry people to come along.”

      Cole got to his feet and brushed the sawdust off his jeans. “A home-cooked meal? Can’t remember the last time I had one of those.”

      “That’s because you have to be home to have one.” The words slipped from Emily’s lips before she could stop them. Sometimes it seemed the years of resentment lay in wait behind paper walls, waiting for any small opening.

      “You’re right.” Cole paused beside her on the porch. His blue eyes met hers. “But I also have to have a home to go to.”

      She shook her head and looked away before the familiar argument about their separation sprang up between them on this pretty fall day. She didn’t want to fight anymore. Not one more disagreement. She’d had enough of those to last her a lifetime.

      “Let’s not do this,” Cole said, as if he’d read her mind. “It’s too nice of a day to argue about anything other than whether the sky is a cerulean-blue or cornflower-blue.”

      She smiled. “Cornflower. Definitely.”

      “I agree,” Cole said.

      Carol put a hand on each of their shoulders. “There’s a home here, and a meal, and both of you are invited to the table if you promise to mind your manners.”

      Cole grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

      Maybe it was the way he said ma’am, or maybe it was the way he smiled, but Emily found her anger melting in the light of both, and she paused in the doorway to shoot Cole a conspiratorial smile. “That means no food fights, you know.”

      “Too bad.” He leaned in toward her, smelling of soap and sunshine. “Because sometimes cleaning up afterward can be a hell of a lot of fun.”

      “I remember.” The words whispered into the small space between them, the memory charging the air. They’d come home from their quick three-day honeymoon to the tiny one-bedroom apartment that had been their first home. She’d worked half the day on a dinner for her new husband, poring over a cookbook she’d got out of the library, fixing chicken and peas and baked potatoes, then attempting a chocolate cream pie because he’d once said that was his favorite. “I really messed that meal up, didn’t I?”

      He chuckled as he followed her into the inn and down the long hall toward the dining room that flanked the western side of the house and looked out over the lake. “It wasn’t that awful.”

      “Your memory is faulty. The chicken was burned, the peas shriveled and dried, and the potatoes undercooked.” She shook her head. “But you ate every bite.”

      “Couldn’t disappoint my new wife and tell her that she couldn’t cook.”

      “I still can’t cook.” That had been the one benefit to Cole’s sizable income—the convenience of ordering already-made meals. Emily vowed to learn to cook before the baby came. She imagined herself baking cookies and whipping up macaroni and cheese, with Sweet Pea helping measure and stir. Emily would never be Betty Crocker, but if she could at least master the basics, she could create the kind of warm, cozy home she’d always wanted.

      “You might not be able to cook,” Cole said. “But you can make a pie that sticks to my forehead.”

      She laughed. The laughter felt good, and she realized it had been far too long since she’d had a damned good laugh. “I didn’t mean to throw it at you, but when you ate it like it was the most delicious pie you ever ate, I got so mad.”

      “It was the most delicious pie I ever ate, Emily.”

      They had stopped outside the dining room, lingering by the doorway while Carol put the finishing touches on the table. Harper sat in the corner, waiting and hoping for a scrap.

      Emily stood within inches of Cole. Close enough to touch, to see the gold flecks in his eyes, to get wrapped up in the tempting scent of his cologne, the draw of his warm body. She moved away, headed for the table before she did any of those foolish things.

      “How could you say that pie was good?” She reached for the pile of silverware on the corner and placed it beside the place settings. Avoiding the desire washing over her, the need to kiss him again, as strong as when they’d first dated. Damn. When would she stop wanting Cole? The separation and divorce would be much easier if her body got on board with her brain. “I forgot the sugar. That was the worst pie ever.”

      Cole slipped in beside her, tucking the folded napkins under the knives. “It was the most delicious pie ever, Emily,” and he paused a beat until she looked up at him, “because you made it with love.”

      She held his gaze for a long moment, then shook her head and stepped away. Oh, how she wanted to believe in that look in his eyes, the words he spoke, but she was afraid, so afraid, that if she did, they’d end up traveling the same path as before. They’d done it countless times over the years. Now, with a baby caught in the mix, Emily couldn’t afford to hold on to a fairy tale that she knew had an unhappy ending.

      “Unfortunately, you need more ingredients than love to hold a recipe together and make it work,” she said and turned away before he saw the tears brimming in her eyes.

      * * *

      Cole had to admire Carol, the inn’s owner. She could have brokered a Middle East peace treaty with ease. She’d sensed the tension between Cole and Emily the instant she sat down at the table, and managed to shift the conversation to subjects that kept the room feeling light and lively. As they ate, they talked about the weather, the repairs to the inn, the Patriots’ chances of making it to the Super Bowl. Fun, easy, small talk.

      “Did Emily ever tell you the story about the lake’s history?” Carol asked Cole as she laid warm plates of homemade apple pie before them. Melting scoops of vanilla ice cream puddled over the flaky crust. The impressive dessert could have starred on a magazine cover.

      Emily let out a little laugh. “Oh, not this one. It’s not even true.”

      “It is, too,” Carol said, then grinned. “Or at least partly true.”

      “Let me guess,” Cole said. Even though he was stuffed from the amazing roast chicken, potatoes and green beans, he dived into the pie with gusto. “Barrow’s Lake has СКАЧАТЬ