Midnight Under the Mistletoe. Sara Orwig

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СКАЧАТЬ go for a stroll. As much as I can stroll right now.”

      She laughed. “What a threat,” she said, placing mail in the box and hurrying out of the room as she received a grin from him. She hoped he didn’t guess moments like that played havoc with her insides. How tempting to head back to work just to get him to spend the next few minutes with her.

      She stood in the wide, empty hall and wondered what to do, finally going toward the kitchen to get a cup of tea. She suspected there was a very well-stocked pantry.

      “Afternoon, Emma,” Rosie greeted her.

      “It smells wonderful in here.”

      “Roast for dinner. Can I get you something?”

      “Yes, thank you. If possible, I’d like a cup of hot tea.”

      “Of course,” Rosie replied. “Looks as if you might be the one who stays.”

      “I hope so.”

      Rosie chuckled. “Those others looked frazzled and unhappy from the first morning. I would have sent one packing faster than Zach did. Have a seat and I’ll brew your tea—or if you want a breath of fresh air, go outside and I’ll bring it to you.”

      “Thanks, Rosie.”

      “You can take it back to your desk if you want. Zach isn’t particular about food in the office if you don’t leave crumbs or make a big mess.”

      “I won’t,” Emma replied, smiling. “I’ll wait outside,” she added, stepping out onto the patio and strolling to the pool to look at the crystal water that was almost the same blue as Zach’s eyes.

      When she finished her tea, she went to her room to retrieve a small box of family pictures. She had already distributed some pictures in the bedroom. When instructed to arrive with her things packed she had brought what she really wanted with her. She stopped to look around again, still amazed at the size and beauty of where she would stay.

      When she returned to her desk, Zach was on the phone and she had more work waiting. After placing her pictures on her desk and table, she focused on correspondence, so lost in concentration she was startled when Zach spoke to her.

      “It’s half past five. Just because the work is here in the house, you don’t need to stay all hours. We’ll close the office now. I eat a late dinner, but you can eat whenever you want—Rosie will be in the kitchen until eight. After that she’ll have cold or easily heated choices on a chalkboard menu.”

      “Thanks,” she said, wondering if she had eaten her last meal with the boss. If she had, it would be the wisest thing to happen. At the same time, she couldn’t prevent her slight disappointment.

      “You’ve done good work today, Emma. I hope you like the job.”

      She wanted to laugh and say that he sounded surprised. Instead, she merely nodded. “Thank you. I think this will be good.”

      He gave her a long look that killed the impersonal moments that had just passed. Once again her nerves tingled, invisible sparks danced in the air and she could feel heat rising. In spite of logic, she didn’t want him to go.

      Turning away, he walked out of the room without saying anything further. She stared at the empty doorway. The chemistry had not changed. He seemed to fight it as much as she, which was a relief and made the situation easier.

      Zach continued to pile on a lot of work. While there wasn’t as much as that first morning, letters to write, papers to proof, appointments to set, phone calls and various tasks streamed to her desk. Time passed swiftly as she worked diligently and kept up with what he sent to her. There were no more lunches together. Sometimes he worked straight through and then stopped about four. Sometimes he ate at his desk. He continued to make an effort to keep their relationship impersonal, which suited her completely. No matter how cool he was, there still was no way to stop that acute consciousness she had of him as an appealing male.

      Thursday the work he gave her in the morning was done by noon. When she returned after lunch he sat by a large cardboard box filled with papers.

      “Want to tackle some of the old letters and memorabilia?”

      “Sure,” she replied, watching him pull another chair near his. “That’s a lot of letters.”

      “Many were written by my great-great-grandfather to his sister, his brother, later his wife. They were all saved and somehow ended up back with our family. Probably some relative didn’t want them and another one took them.”

      “Zach, that’s wonderful. I’d think you’d want to read each of these yourself.”

      “Hardly. They are letters from an old codger who settled out here and struggled to carve out a life on the plains. He was probably a tough old bird and about as lovable as a prickly porcupine. I think you are romanticizing him. Sit here beside me so whenever you have a question you can ask me. Want anything to drink before we start?”

      “No, thank you, I’m fine.” As she crossed the room, his gaze raked briefly over her, making every inch tingle. She became aware of the navy sweater and matching slacks she had pulled on this morning, her hair in a ponytail.

      Catching a whiff of his enticing aftershave, she sat beside him.

      “The big basket is for letters and papers that go to the shredder,” he instructed. Sitting only inches from him, she was lost in his blue eyes and could barely focus on what he told her. She was even closer than she had been that first morning and it was distracting beyond measure.

      “As far as I’m concerned, I think it would do the family a favor to shred all papers that don’t contain pertinent information that would affect our lives today,” he said. His voice deepened a notch and he slowed his speech. Was their proximity having an effect on him, too?

      Lost in depths of blue, she was mesmerized. Her breath caught and held. He leaned a fraction closer. Her heart raced. With an effort she looked away, trying to get back to their normal relationship. Leaning away from him, she touched the yellowed envelopes in the large box as she tried to get back to his instructions.

      “If there is anything about money, boundary rights, water rights, that sort of thing, then place the paper in the box marked Consider and I will read it. If you find maps, drawings, etc., then place them in Miscellaneous.”

      As what he had told her to do sank in, she frowned. She picked up a tattered, yellow envelope with flowing writing across the front. “This was in the 1800s. Look at the address on it. It’s just a name and the county. You want to shred it?”

      “If it doesn’t have anything pertinent to the matters I listed—rights, boundaries, money. Something significant.”

      “The letter is significant if it has nothing like that in it. Isn’t it written by one of your ancestors?”

      “Probably my great-great-grandfather. Maybe further back than that by one generation.”

      “You can’t shred it. It’s wonderful to have all these letters from your ancestors and know what they were like,” she said, staring at him and wondering how he could care so little about his own family history. “How can you feel that way about them?”

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