Rescued by the Magic Of Christmas. Melissa Mcclone

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СКАЧАТЬ is located in a hamlet—”

      “Yeah, like the guys buying the beer have a clue what a hamlet is.”

      “Maybe not the exact definition of a hamlet, I’ll give you that. But the words ‘brewed and bottled in Hood Hamlet’ are printed on every single bottle.”

      Jacob raised a brow. “Nothing could justify naming a seasonal ale, and I quote, ‘To Beer or Not to Beer.’”

      “That was a great name.” She searched her memory for the others. “Don’t forget Lady Doth Protest Porter, Mind’s Eye Amber, Less than Kind IPA, Soul of Wit Pale Ale. Instant classics. I’m telling you.”

      “You can tell me all you want, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever use them.”

      She drew her brows together. “Maybe I should give those names to the master brewer where I work.”

      “Go for it, but that brewery isn’t located in a hamlet so you might have a hard sell on your hands.”

      “Not if he recognizes genius at work.”

      “More like plagiarizing at work.”

      Carly laughed. Jacob’s teasing filled an empty space inside her she’d forgotten existed. She had friends—good friends—in Philadelphia, but none who had watched her grow up. Who knew the people who’d mattered most in her life. Who knew what she had been like before being thrown the ultimate curve-ball.

      “So what brilliant name did you come up with for this year’s seasonal brew?” she asked.

      Jacob’s eyes met hers. Softened. “Nick’s Winter Ale.”

      The name hung in the air as if a cartoon dialogue bubble surrounded the three words. Carly swallowed around the snowball lump of emotion lodged in her throat. “The beer he came up with right before…?”

      Her life had been divided into two parts—before and after the accident. Things had gotten better with the passage of time. She no longer felt the familiar sting each time she thought about Nick. That dreaded prickling sensation hadn’t brought a rush of unexpected tears in…years.

      Jacob nodded once. “It’s a good brew. He worked hard on it. Seemed time to use the recipe.”

      Nick had been so proud of the beer he’d created. He had been sure the brew would be the next year’s seasonal ale. It probably would have been. “That’s wonderful. Nick would be happy.”

      “That’s what Hannah said. Your mom and dad, too.”

      Carly’s parents had divorced after Nick’s death. Her father now lived in Oregon. Her mother lived in Scottsdale, Arizona. Both had remarried. “You’ve spoken to them?”

      “Yes, they sounded pleased,” he answered. “Each asked for labels and a bottle.”

      She wasn’t surprised. Nick had been the golden boy. No one, not Carly, their grandkids or each other, could fill the gap left in her parents’ hearts with his death.

      “So do I get any?” Carly asked.

      “I have a whole case for you. Labels, too. I’ll drop them off.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Come on—” Jacob motioned for her to follow “—the kids will be home soon. I need to fix them a snack.”

      “Wait a minute. You’re going to fix them a snack?” The top of her head came to his chin. She looked up at him. “You guys always made me heat up the frozen pizzas and fix whatever else you wanted to eat.”

      “Good practice for when you’re on your own,” he said.

      “I’ll have you know, I’ve been on my own for—” Six years. She swallowed a sigh.

      Jacob didn’t appear to notice. “I meant with the kids. They’ll expect you to fix their snack for them. And when Hannah goes into the hospital to have the baby—”

      “I can handle it.” Once upon a time, Carly had dreamed of having children of her own. But like her other dreams, that one seemed to have died on the mountain, too. So she made the most of whatever time she could get with her niece and nephew, meeting them wherever they spent their summer vacation. Anywhere except here in the Pacific Northwest. She hadn’t wanted to come back. “Spending time with Kendall and Austin will be great.”

      His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and her heart bumped. “We’ll see how you feel in a few days.”

      Forget a few days. Carly didn’t like how she felt right now. But that had nothing to do with her niece and nephew and everything to do with the man standing in front of her. Still, she was a survivor, and like everything else, she would get through this. She raised her chin. “It’ll be no problem at all.”

      No problem. Yeah, right.

      Jake had a big problem. Her name started with C and ended with Y. He grabbed a Granny Smith apple from the fruit bowl and placed it on the wood cutting board.

      Maybe if he concentrated on fixing the kids’ snack he could forget how Carly’s turtleneck sweater hugged her breasts and the curve of her waist. How her well-worn jeans cupped her bottom like a second skin. How her blond hair, now shoulder length, would look spread out over a pillowcase or a man’s chest.

      His chest.

      It was all Jake could do not to stare. Hell, drool. He reached for a knife.

      Damn, she looked good. Better than he remembered.

      The cold temperatures outside brought a natural color to her cheeks. Thick lashes, ones she’d had since she was little, framed expressive hazel eyes, eyes that no longer held the optimistic promise of tomorrow, but hinted at new depths he hadn’t seen before. And those pink, full lips smiling up at him made him think about kisses. And the one time he should have kissed her, but had hesitated and lost her. Not that he needed kisses now. A taste of those glossed lips, simply a nibble, was all he really wanted, but that wouldn’t be a smart move.

      Hell, it would be downright stupid.

      As he sliced the apple, the knife hit the cutting board with a thud.

      “Be careful.” Carly neatly placed cheese and crackers on a plate. “You don’t want to lose a finger.”

      Right now, he was more worried about losing his heart. Dammit.

      His heart was off-limits, especially to a woman who was the only person aside from his father to call him Jacob and had left town six years ago never to return until now. Okay, not exactly true. She hadn’t been gone six years. Five years, seven months and twenty-eight days, if he wanted to be exact. Not that he’d been counting.

      Granted she’d had her reasons. Good reasons.

      But that hadn’t made her leaving any easier. Which reminded him. She wasn’t here to stay. Hannah had said two weeks. Long enough to turn everyone’s life upside-down, including his. He wanted no part of it. No part of her.

      Besides, СКАЧАТЬ