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

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      Joe snorted. “That I can see. I have played racquetball with you, remember. I also recall one particularly crazy basketball game in your driveway. You are definitely a win-at-all-costs guy, Cole.”

      Cole cupped the beer between his palms and watched leaves flutter to the ground. In a couple of weeks, all would be bare here, covered with white, winter making its mark on the land around him. Even the trees caved to Mother Nature’s power, giving up their leaves, their greenery, all their finery, to an enforced slumber that would last for the next three months.

      “I think this time, that attitude is costing me my marriage. The problem? I honestly don’t know if I can change. That’s the very thing that’s made me successful and what drives me every day. But it could also be the thing driving my wife away.” He took a drink. “Maybe I should give her what she wants and leave.”

      “What does Emily say is the problem?”

      “She says I try to solve everything with money rather than with just being there.”

      “And do you?”

      “Well, yeah. But it’s easier that way and leaves me time to—” Cole cut off the words and let out a curse. How could he have missed the obvious answer?

      “What?”

      “It leaves me time to work. To put into the company. Instead of her.”

      Joe tapped Cole on the head. “Ding, ding, ding. I think he finally got it.”

      “What’s wrong with being successful, though? Isn’t that the American dream?”

      “Hell, yes, it is. But what’s the good of all that success if you end up a sad old man sitting in a dark room, all alone at the end of your life?”

      Cole chuckled. “Gee, thanks for the bright picture of my future.” He said the words like a joke, but even he could see it ending up that way. He’d invest all his energy in the company, and then end up alone, because he’d forgotten to save some of that energy for the people in his life.

      “So what are you going to do about it?” Joe asked.

      “Get back to work,” Cole said, getting to his feet and leaving the beer on the stoop. “That’s the only answer I know.”

      He picked up the ax and went back to chopping wood. As the metal blade hit log after log, slivering them into fireplace-sized chunks, Cole told himself he was making progress, when he knew damned well he wasn’t doing much more than staying in place.

      * * *

      “You can do this,” Emily muttered to herself and faced the daunting task assembled before her on the kitchen counter. Carol had gone into town for the day, off on a hair and manicure day arranged by Emily, who’d figured the stressed inn owner could use a little R & R. Martin Johnson, who’d been around the inn often to help Cole with some of the repair projects, had asked Carol if she might want to meet for lunch. Carol had fretted for an hour over her outfit for the day, changing three times before she left.

      While Carol was gone, Emily promised to make dinner for everyone. She had to learn how to cook sometime. Better to start now and get some kind of kitchen skills under her belt before the baby came, or Emily would be weaning Sweet Pea on General Tso’s chicken and fried rice from Mr Chow.

      “Can’t have you eating takeout every day, can I, Sweet Pea?” she said to the tiny bump under her belly. “Okay, let’s figure this out.”

      She braced her hands on the counter and read over the recipe again. Seemed simple enough. For someone who knew what they were doing. Outside, she heard the sound of two axes hitting logs over and over as Cole and Joe chopped wood for the fireplace at the inn. At the rate they were going, Carol would be well stocked into next winter.

      Joe had come into the kitchen earlier for some lunch, and spent some time catching up with Emily, telling her that Cole had asked him to help out with the repairs. She was glad. Not just because Cole needed the help, but because it was nice to see Cole’s friend, and to hear about his life for the past few years.

      Except every time she looked at Cole and Joe together, it was like her wedding day all over again. She was walking down the aisle toward a nervous Cole flanked by a grinning Turner, then backed up by Joe, who’d been smiling through his hangover. Emily remembered the excitement, the rush of joy, the hopes and dreams she’d had that afternoon, when Cole had lifted her veil and kissed her. It had been a simple, small wedding on a limited budget, but perfect.

      Thinking about the wedding made her melancholy and nostalgic. Not a good strategy right now, because it muddied the very waters she had come here to clear. So she’d make a chicken potpie and let the task take her mind in a different direction.

      She reached for the onion, celery and carrots and placed them on the cutting board, then picked up the chef’s knife. She grabbed the onion first and raised the blade.

      “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

      She looked up to find Cole standing in the back door. Damn. How did the man always manage to look so handsome? He had on a thick dark green sweatshirt, dark jeans and new work boots. His hair was getting a little long, she noticed, but it only added to his sex appeal. “Do what?”

      “Cut the onion first. Leave that for last. That way, you aren’t crying over your carrots. Or—” he took a step inside “—you could wait for me to wash up and I can help you.”

      “You? Help me. Cook.” She scoffed. “Right. What have you ever cooked?”

      “I’ll have you know reheating takeout takes real skill.” He grinned, then crossed to the sink, pushed up his sleeves and scrubbed his hands. When he was done, he grabbed a second cutting board and knife and set them up across from Emily. “Two terrible cooks in the kitchen has to be better than one, don’t you think?”

      She laughed. “It could be double the disaster.”

      Cole leaned over the bar and lowered his voice. “Then blame it all on me and call for pizza.”

      The temptation to have him here, in the close quarters of the kitchen, rolled over her. Every nerve in her body was tuned to his presence, even when he was outside working. She’d glanced out the window a hundred times already this morning, catching quick glimpses of him replacing some of the siding. He surely had a long list of outdoor activities to complete, yet he wanted to be here, to help her make a chicken potpie. Nothing else. Right?

      “Deal.” She turned the cookbook toward him. “We’re making chicken potpie.”

      Cole skimmed the directions. “I’m good with the chicken and vegetables part, but I have to admit, the words roux and piecrust have me terrified. What the hell is a roux?”

      She laughed. “I have no idea.”

      Cole read over the directions again. “Sure you don’t want to just call for pizza?”

      “Cole Watson, you’re not giving up already, are you?”

      “Me? Never.”

      “Me, either.” She turned the book back toward herself. “Besides, I need to learn how to do this.”

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