Jingle Bell Bride. Jillian Hart

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Chapter Three

      Michael nudged the small plastic hanger into place, tried to keep his attention on the eight or so inches of white stuff piled precariously on the roof over his head and failed. His gaze slid to the woman clutching the gutter lip with what appeared to be all her strength. Why didn’t she just let him do this? “Are you always this stubborn?”

      “Usually more.” If she gripped the gutter any tighter, something was going to break. “Rumor has it, stubborn is my middle name.”

      “Hey, mine too.” His own laughter surprised him, causing him to almost lose his balance. The ladder wobbled, his hand shot out, hit the snow on the roof and a cold avalanche rained over him. Icy stuff hit him in the face, slid down his coat collar and kept coming in a glittery white fall, blinding him. He probably looked like an idiot.

      “Good one,” she quipped. “Now who has a death grip on the gutter?”

      “I’m usually more suave than this. Smooth. Debonair.” He batted snow out of his face.

      “I noticed that the first instant we met.” Humor laced her words.

      She had to remind him of that, didn’t she? Not that he could see her just now because another wave of falling snow smacked him in the face.

      “Need any help?” she asked.

      “No.” Debonair he was not. He blinked snow out of his eyes. “This looked easier from the ground.”

      “It always does.”

      The avalanche finally stopped and he ran a gloved hand over his eyes, able to blink. Ice clung to his lashes and gleamed in the sun so when he looked at her, she seemed framed by light, surreal, a vision come to life.

      “Maybe it would have been smarter to let the sun melt some of this before we started, but did I think of it? No.” She clipped her string of lights into the plastic hook. “My sisters wanted to get the lights up before Dad gets home.”

      “So he’s usually on light duty?”

      “True, but one of us always helps him. The job goes faster that way and besides, you can’t help wanting to spend time with Dad.”

      “So this time you want to surprise him?” He cringed when a trickle of ice slipped between his shirt and his collarbone.

      “Something like that. See, Dad always put up the lights with Mom’s supervision. Since she’s been gone...” There were no words to describe the loss. She focused on stringing the lights, getting them to sit just right in the clips. “Mom was big into Christmas. Lights and decorations and Christmas carols playing. The works.”

      “You don’t want your father to feel her loss while he’s hanging the lights.” Understanding softened his granite features and warmed the low notes of his voice. “It’s easier to go on when you don’t stop to feel the loss.”

      “Exactly.” Interesting that they had this in common. She didn’t like that her estimation of him crept up a notch. “Is that what you do? You try not to feel the grief?”

      “I try to forget it. Bury it. Psychologists might not agree, but it works for me.”

      “Me, too. Last Christmas we couldn’t put up as much as a tree.” She thought of the seasonal cheer, the festive joy, the touches of caring her mother had brought to the holiday and to her family. “This year, we’re trying to do Christmas the way she would have wanted.”

      “It’s a tough thing to do. Two Christmases have gone by for us, this will be our third.” He hung another length of lights. “It was hardest on Macie.”

      “I’m so sorry for that. Do you have other family in the area?”

      “My folks live in town. They moved here after I set up practice, to be closer to their granddaughter.” The wind gusted, ruffling his sandy brown hair. “Mom always does Christmas right, and she can cook. Can’t wait for her turkey and stuffing.”

      “My mom was a good cook, too. But me? Not so much.” She clipped more lights in place, ignoring the fact that her fingertips were numb with cold.

      “You? A bad cook? I don’t believe that. You look like there’s nothing СКАЧАТЬ