Beneath the Mistletoe: Make-Believe Mistletoe / Christmas Bonus, Strings Attached. GINA WILKINS

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      “Okay,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Now that we know who everyone is….”

      “What’s the dog’s name?” Tyler asked, pointing to the mutt.

      Lucy looked questioningly at Banner.

      “That’s Hulk,” he said, speaking to the boy. “He answers to Hulk or Get-Out-From-Under-My-Feet-Stupid.”

      The unexpected quip took everyone by such surprise that there was a brief hesitation before they laughed. Though Lucy smiled, she wasn’t entirely sure Banner had been joking.

      Returning to the task at hand, she said, “Now, we all need to get into dry clothes and—wait a minute.”

      She whirled back to their host, her hands on her hips. “Your name is Banner and the dog’s name is Hulk? I don’t suppose your first name is Bruce?”

      “No.” He looked at her without smiling. “You haven’t wandered into a comic book.”

      No kidding. Despite the joke he had just made, she hadn’t seen this guy crack a smile since they had arrived. He obviously had a warped sense of humor, but he did a good job of hiding it.

      Shaking her head, she turned back to the others. “We need dry clothes and a telephone so we can call our families and let them know we’re safe.”

      “Mommy, I’m hungry,” Tricia said, tugging at her mother’s damp blouse.

      “I’ll start a pot of soup or something,” Banner said, and once again he sounded glumly resigned. “The telephone is on that table. Make yourselves at home.”

      As he turned away, Lucy thought she heard him add beneath his breath, “It’s not as if there’s any other choice.”

      Chapter Two

      Following the scents of food, Lucy wandered into the kitchen a short time later. She had changed into a dark-red sweater and dry jeans, and her feet were clad in thick red socks. She’d left her boots by the fire to dry.

      Still wearing the damp jeans and gray sweatshirt he’d worn earlier, though he had kicked off his rubberized boots, Banner stood at the stove, stirring something in a large stockpot.

      “That smells delicious. What is it?”

      “Vegetable-beef soup,” he answered without turning around. “I hope no one’s a vegetarian. If they are, I’ll rustle up something else.”

      She peered over his shoulder into the pot. “That looks homemade.”

      “It is. I had a couple of containers stashed in the freezer. All I had to do was thaw and heat.” A timer dinged, and he reached for an oven mitt, then bent to pull a large pan of corn bread from the oven. It smelled as good as the soup.

      Lucy stared at Banner in astonishment. “You made all of this?”

      He shrugged. “I like to eat, and I’m the only one here to do the cooking.”

      “I see.”

      “Where’s everyone else?”

      Just as he spoke, a heavy gust of wind threw ice pellets against the kitchen window. The lights flickered but remained on.

      Relieved that they hadn’t been plunged into darkness, Lucy released the breath she had been holding. “Pop and Miss Annie are changing clothes in your bedroom. Joan and the children are using the guest room. Bobby Ray waited while I changed in the bathroom, and now he’s in there.”

      “I’m surprised he fit.”

      Lucy laughed. The bathroom was rather small and Bobby Ray was notably large. But Banner wasn’t smiling. Did he ever?

      One half of the big country kitchen served as a dining room. A double trestle oak table filled most of the area on the other side of a sit-down bar fitted with two oak stools. The table was surrounded by six ladder-back oak chairs—a lot of seating space for a man who lived alone, she mused. “Would you like me to set the table?”

      He pointed. “Dishes are in that cabinet.”

      Lucy carried an armload of functional brown stoneware to the dining area. She paused to run a hand appreciatively over the smooth surface of the table. Bending, she studied the solid but graceful pedestals, then took a moment to admire one of the beautifully contoured chairs. She glanced up to find Banner watching her, and she smiled a bit self-consciously.

      “I have a thing for nice furniture,” she admitted, “and you have some beautiful pieces. This dining set is wonderful. And that rocker in the living room is gorgeous. And I couldn’t help but notice the tables in the living room and the furniture in the bedrooms. So much nice wood.”

      “Thanks.” He turned back to the stove.

      She stroked a hand over the smooth grain of the tabletop again, envying him the opportunity to do so every day. “I really admire the quality of this dining set. Do you mind if I ask where you shop for your furniture?”

      “My shop’s back behind the house.”

      “No, I meant—wait a minute. You made this set?”

      “Yeah.” He tasted the soup, nodded, then set the spoon in the sink.

      “And the other furniture? You made all of it?”

      “My great-uncle made the furniture in the bedrooms. I built the rocker and tables in the living room.”

      She rubbed her hand over the back of a chair again, loving the feel of the wood. “Is this what you do for a living? Build furniture?”

      “Mostly outdoor furniture. Swings, Adirondack chairs, outdoor rockers. The stuff that’s sold in tourist towns like Branson and Eureka Springs and Mountain View.”

      “You’re very talented.”

      “Thanks. The food’s ready. I guess we should bring everyone in.”

      He cooked and he built furniture. But he didn’t make small talk, Lucy decided. Who was this guy?

      It was a subdued group that gathered around the beautiful table a few minutes later. Bobby Ray had given Miss Annie his arm for the short walk to the table, but she looked so tired that Lucy worried about her. The storm still raged outside, making the lights flicker periodically, and she knew everyone was wondering when they could leave this place. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and there were places they all wanted to be for the holidays.

      Banner wasn’t by any means a jovial, put-everyone-at-ease type host. He sat in silence at the head of the table, eating his soup and corn bread without looking up much. Was it possible that he was shy? Or just not particularly friendly?

      Joan and the children sat at one side of the table, opposite Lucy and the Carters. The kids had pulled the bar stools to the table, raising them high enough to easily reach their soup bowls and keeping them close to their mother.

      They were quiet, well-behaved children, СКАЧАТЬ