Lips That Touch Mine (13 page)

Her nightmare with Jack was over. She'd
survived. She could have friends now. She could laugh again. She
could move on now.

But what did moving on entail? Days spent
catering to strangers? Nights spent alone in her bed? Uninspiring
at best, dreadfully lonely at worst, but it was safe.

"Thank you," she said, turning away from his
searching gaze. "We should head back." He couldn't know how much
he'd given her today. She could never tell him.

Boyd drove
out of the cemetery, knowing he'd seen another side of Claire
today. Despite being frightened and vulnerable, she was courageous
and outspoken. She was fragile, yet there was an inner strength
that held her together. She was wounded and hurting, but
independent and proud. She was determined but not confident. A
puzzle.

An enigma.

A challenge.

"How did you teach Sailor those tricks?" she
asked, glancing up at him with her gorgeous blue eyes that made him
want to kiss her until she forgot he was an unsuitable saloon
owner.

"My patrons are responsible for his quirks.
They teach him those bad habits when I'm not looking."

"Why don't I believe that?"

"Maybe because you're an intelligent lady?"
he said, enjoying her unexpected playfulness.

"I'm intelligent enough to know when a man is
trying to hoodwink me."

"All right. I confess. I taught Sailor most
of his tricks." He slanted a repentant look her way. "A man gets
bored living alone."

She pursed her lips, a habit she had when
fighting a smile. "Perhaps you should move back home with your
mother."

"Gads, no! Sailor would never survive the
shock."

Her laughter bubbled out, and his heart
lifted. "I think you are the one who couldn't manage the shock,"
she said. "You wouldn't be able to carouse and carry on all
night."

"So that's what you're angling for. You want
to move me back with my mother to get rid of me."

"Exactly."

Her eyes sparkled and her lips twitched, and
Boyd was thoroughly bewitched.

He'd had romantic liaisons with all kinds of
women, tall and beautiful, shy and pretty, tiny and cute, and one
homely dear and tender lass who'd made him laugh and forget his
troubles for a few weeks. He'd appreciated all of them, but not
once had he found himself longing to spend time with a woman
outside the bedroom.

Until now, because everything with Claire was
different.

She stirred him up, kept him off balance. He
sensed her attraction to him, and yet, he couldn't easily seduce
her. More than that, He was giving her his best efforts, and not
making any headway. Claire was forthright, and he respected that.
She was outspoken, too, but he admired her ability to speak her
mind and stand up for what she believed in.

He turned the sleigh onto Day Street. "Is
your mother as outspoken as you are?" he asked.

"I doubt she's had an opinion of her own
since marrying my father." She turned her face toward the park, but
he'd seen the sudden sadness in her eyes.

"My mother always has an opinion," he said,
purposely directing the conversation back to himself. "She's half
your size and tougher than any man I've ever met."

Claire pursed her lips and stroked Sailor's
head. "I don't believe she would consider that a compliment."

"Well, it's true, My father wouldn't even
argue with her."

"If your brothers are anything like you, I'm
sure she had to be tough. Any mother with four boys has to be
tough."

The light returned to Claire's eyes, and Boyd
knew his shift in conversation had been the smart thing to do. For
some reason, she didn't want to talk about her family.

"What about a mother with four girls?" he
challenged.

"She had better be a lot tougher."

He turned onto Main Street, and decided to
test the waters again. "Do you have any sisters?"

"One. Lida is three years older than me."

"Is she married?"

"Yes."

"Any children?" he asked, hoping she would
talk about her family.

"Three that I'm aware of, but we were talking
about your mother, weren't we?"

"We were," he said. He eased off the reins
and let the horses have their head as they started up West Hill. He
settled against the seat, intentionally tucking his shoulder
against her own. "My mother is bossy, but she doesn't meddle. She
speaks her mind, but doesn't offer advice. She's patient, but
doesn't take any sass from me or my brothers. She's got a hug that
will make you feel like a hundred dollar bill, and a right swing
that will make your ears ring for days."

Claire laughed. "I'd love to meet her."

"Then come with me this evening."

"What?"

"We celebrate Christmas Eve at my mother's
house. She'd enjoy meeting you. Come with me."

Claire gaped at him, then let out a
breathless laugh. "You're serious?"

"Yes." To his surprise, he really wanted her
to come with him.

She pressed her hand to her breast. "Thank
you, but I can't accept."

"Why not?"

"Because I would be intruding, and for so
many other reasons I couldn't list them all."

"You won't be intruding. What other
reasons?"

"You know why, Boyd. I shouldn't have even
taken a sleigh ride with you."

"Why not?"

She sighed. "Because it's not in my best
interest, or yours. We're enemies, remember?"

"No, we're not." He slowed the sleigh and
looked at her. "We're friends now. We just happen to be standing on
opposite sides of an issue."

"We can't be friends."

"We already are, Claire."

She huffed out a frosty breath. "We can't
even agree on that issue," She stroked Sailor's head, which was
resting on her lap. "I appreciate your invitation, and your
kindness today, but I cannot be your friend." She met his eyes. "My
grandmother may have had money to take care of herself, but I
don't. I need boarders, and I won't get them as long as your saloon
is open." She sighed. "I can't afford to be your friend."

"I guess this means you won't be inviting me
in for hot cocoa like your grandmother used to do?"

She gave him a chastising look. "I
can't."

"I understand," he said, but he wasn't about
to give up. He pulled the sleigh up in front of her house and
helped her out. Not wanting to push her too hard or too fast, he
walked her to the door and said good-bye like a proper
gentleman.

But the instant she closed the door, Boyd
grinned and turned to Sailor. "The lady doesn't believe in fairy
tales," he said. "But you and I are going to change her mind."

o0o

Claire hung her coat in the closet then went
to the parlor to build up the fire. A movement outside drew her to
the window. To her surprise, she saw Boyd in her yard rolling a
huge snowball while Sailor tromped through the snow biting at
snowflakes.

She knocked on the window and lifted her
palms. "What are you doing?" she asked, even though he couldn't
hear her through the glass.

He grinned and gave a jaunty wave, then
turned back to his project.

What the devil was he up to?

Curious, she stood at the window. He rolled
the huge ball of snow to a spot a few feet from her window, then
packed snow around the bottom to hold it stationary.

Then, while she watched, he pulled out a
knife of some sort and proceeded to sculpt the lumpy ball of snow
into a snow castle.

He was so absorbed in the task, and she was
so absorbed in watching, that an hour passed without her noticing.
The mantel clock chimed six o'clock, and she shivered. She hadn't
tended the fire and it was nearly out.

With regret, she left to stoke the fire in
the kitchen. She put milk on to heat, then returned to the parlor
to build up the fire. By the time she glanced outside again, Boyd
and Sailor were gone.

But the snow castle was glowing with light
from a dozen tiny windows that reflected off the snow and turned
her yard into a magical kingdom.

Breathless, she gazed at the shimmering
masterpiece before her and felt her heart expand. "Oh, Boyd, you
should be using this talent," she whispered.

She whirled away from the window and dashed
to the front door. Boyd and Sailor were climbing his steps when she
stepped onto her porch.

"Mr. Grayson," she called, then cringed at
her unladylike shout.

Boyd turned in surprise. Sailor didn't wait
for an invitation. He barked and bounded across the street as if he
hadn't seen her all day.

She laughed and greeted the dog with a brisk
rub on the head. She glanced at Boyd and waved him over.

While he crossed the street, she lavished
Sailor with affection, her heart needing to express all that it
held in the one safe way she could show it.

Boyd stopped at the bottom of her steps and
looked up at her, his eyes questioning, his cheeks pink from the
cold. "Do you need something?"

"Would you like to come in for hot cocoa?"
She laughed at the surprise in his eyes. "I want to talk to
you."

"We'll meet you in the back," he said, then
snapped his fingers for Sailor to follow.

Claire hurried to the kitchen and checked the
milk on the stove. It was hot enough to make cocoa. She poured milk
into two cups, then opened the door for Boyd.

"Don't worry about your boots," she said,
when he leaned down to remove them. "I'll wipe the floor when you
leave."

He stood by the door while she stirred cocoa,
sugar, and vanilla into the hot milk. "What made you change your
mind about inviting me inside?"

She handed him a cup of cocoa. "That fabulous
snow castle you built."

He winked at the dog. "She likes it."

Sailor wheezed and gave Boyd a wide canine
grin.

She laughed. "I honestly think he understands
every word you say to him."

"Of course he does," Boyd said, as if she
should have known that.

"Why are you hiding in that saloon when you
have such incredible talent?"

He scowled but didn't answer, so she knew
she'd struck a chord.

"That castle is magnificent, Boyd. That
carving you forced on me is a work of art. Why aren't you using
your talent?"

"I thought you were going to throw the
carving away." She pressed her hand against her skirt pocket,
feeling the tiny piece of wood that had become her constant
companion. "You're avoiding my question," she said.

"And you're avoiding mine."

She set her hot cup on the counter. "It was
too beautiful to throw away."

"Thank you.

"Stop being evasive." She crossed her arms
over her chest and scowled at him. "You are an artist, and yet you
spend your time tending a saloon. Why?"

"Because I enjoy it."

She eyed him, sensing his answer was only
half honest. "Does your mother know you're an artist?"

"I'm not an artist."

"Does she know about your talent for
sculpting snow castles and carving roses in wood?"

He leaned against the door. "Yes, Claire.
I've given her enough of my boyhood carvings to fill her
house."

"How about the carvings you make now? Does
she have any of those?"

He sipped his cocoa and studied her. "Why are
you so interested in me all of a sudden?"

"I'm interested in your talent and why you're
not using it."

A wry grin lifted his mouth. "Ah, I
understand. You're hoping you can convince me to give up the saloon
and pursue this talent of mine."

The idea thrilled her. No more saloon. No
more noise.

No more worries.

"Sorry, Claire. I'm a saloon owner, not an
artist," He leaned over and set his empty cup on the table. "Thanks
for the cocoa."

"Wait. I wasn't trying to offend you," she
said, moving toward him. "I just don't understand how you could
possess such talent and not use it."

"I do use it. I build things for my saloon. I
teach people how to carve furniture. I dabble with bits of wood
when I'm bored. I have a piece of my handiwork in my pocket right
now."

"Really? Can I see it?" she asked, wondering
what treasure he was hiding.

He slipped his hand into his pocket, then
pulled it out and lifted the item above her head.

"What is it?" she asked, squinting up at his
hand.

"Mistletoe. "

He leaned down and kissed her, his firm lips
still cool from his hour in the snow.

The thrill racing through her rooted her to
the floorboards. Everything inside her dipped and swirled then
exploded outward in a million fragments of sensation. She felt
alive and vibrant, connected to another human being for the first
time in years.

He cupped her chin and angled her mouth,
nudging her lips open to deepen the kiss. The smell of fresh air
clung to his hair and clothes, the taste of cocoa lingered on his
tongue and mingled with the chocolate in her own mouth.

She savored the feel and taste of him even as
she pushed him away. She wouldn't deny her attraction, nor the
intense longing rushing through her. Both were real.

Too real.

And both were terrible mistakes.

He lifted his mouth an inch from hers, his
eyes gazing into her own. "Merry Christmas," he whispered. "Sure
you don't want to come to my mother's with me?"

She clutched the table for support and stared
at him. "You purposely tricked me with that mistletoe."

"You deserved it."

How could she chastise him for his behavior
when her own motives were suspect? He'd been a gentleman all day,
thoughtful to the point of gallantry. She had been the one to use
his talent to press him about closing his saloon.

No wonder he'd retaliated.

But to trick her into a kiss?

Kissing was so... It was so...intimate.

"You're impossible," she whispered.