Mistletoe and Montana (4 page)

It seemed natural to slide across the
foot or so of snow separating them and fall into his arms. They tightened
around her until a gasp was forced from her cold lips, which quickly warmed as
soon as his mouth touched hers.

It was so easy to forget the past and
savor the moment. So perfectly easy to forget she’d ever screamed terrible,
hurtful things at him when they’d parted at the lawyer’s office, or that she’d
jumped from one stranger’s arms into another’s those first, dreadful weeks
after the divorce she never wanted was final. His kiss was firm and demanding,
sucking what little reservation might have lingered. She pushed against his
hard chest. She might have tried to stop a hurtling locomotive, because her
feeble movements did nothing to stop him. Before she could object, she realized
her arms were no longer pushing but grasping.

His lips played along the edge of her
mouth and then skimmed over her cheek to nuzzle her neck. His whiskers rasped
her chilled skin, and she huddled further into his embrace until he uttered a
soft groan. It was more a rumble in his chest than a noise in her ear, because
she could no longer hear anything besides her pounding heart.

Just as quickly, he moved away. She
almost cursed herself for letting her guard down, but he took her hand and
tucked it through his arm. She wanted to ask what the kiss was for, but kept
silent. They resumed walking as if nothing had happened, but now they walked
together. Feeling a little giddy, she was almost disappointed when they reached
the crest of the small hill.

“Is that a tree, or what?”

He stepped back to let her admire the
tree he’d picked. Her laughter echoed around them. “I thought you were going to
show me a diamond mine or something.”

“This is better.” He extricated his arm from
hers and swung the saw in his other hand. “I had a fake tree for the kids last
year, but I thought….” His words broke off. In the bright moonlight reflecting
off the snow, it seemed that he blushed.

She pretended not to notice, and merely
nodded. “I thought you wanted to bring Ian with you.”

“He didn’t want to go, once Mrs. Gomez
took out her cookie baking stuff.” He seemed to study her in the moonlight.
“What’s wrong, Jellybean? Don’t want to chop down trees in the middle of the
night?”

“Actually, it is exactly what I wanted
to do. How did you know?”

“Believe me; I know all kinds of things
about you.”

She chose to laugh rather than ask him
what. “Just don’t go tattling on me to a celebrity magazine.”

“I would never do that.”

“I know.” She shouldn’t have said it.
Lord knew he’d had ample time and opportunity.

“Well, let me see how well you can take
down a tree, or I will call one of them.”
            Within the
hour, Ben had the tree cut and wrapped with twine. Sticky, fragrant sap stuck
to their clothes and she feared there was some in her hair that she might never
get out. They each grabbed a heavy branch, and dragged, pushed, and pulled it
down the hill. By the time they reached the house, they were both panting and
dirty. Mrs. Gomez opened the door, fussing over them like they were kids. She’d
pushed aside some of the furniture so they had an open path to the corner
they’d decided to put the tree.

“It didn’t look that big outside,” Ben
said, scratching his head in such a comical way that Joely laughed. His face
split into a grin. “I’ll get my saw and trim it down.”

“Yeah, by a few feet.” Joely swiped her
hand across her sweaty forehead. “We should get out of these dirty clothes,
first. I’m all sticky.” She pulled at the front of her sweatshirt a few times.

“Good idea. I’ll get the tree trimmed up
tomorrow.”

“You’re just going to leave it in the
middle of the living room?” Mrs. Gomez asked. When Ben nodded, she sighed and
shook her head. “I’ll be back in the morning, then. The kids went to bed fine.”
She pulled on her coat and hat and headed outside.

“You don’t have to rush back in the
morning,” Ben said, walking her to her car. Joely followed them partway.

           
“You’re going to make breakfast and do all the laundry?” Mrs. Gomez asked, and
Joely snickered at the doubt in her voice. Ben obviously heard her amusement,
and laughed a little.

           
“I’m sure I can manage some bacon and eggs.”

           
“As I recall, you used to make some wicked buttermilk pancakes.” The words
nearly choked in her throat. That was a long time ago, when they were newly married,
and before the days when their mutual careers had taken off so that they could
afford a cook. She covered up her gaffe by clearing her throat, but Ben took it
easily.

           
“I still do. And, as fate may have it, I have a quart of buttermilk in the
fridge.”

           
“Okay. I will come at the end of the week. Once the airport reopens, you will
need help in the kitchen again.” She winked at Joely. “Good night, Ms.
Burbank.”

           
The older woman’s words seemed to awaken something inside Joely. She’d nearly
forgotten why she was still at the ranch, and not back at her studio on her
twelve-hours-a-day shooting schedule.

Ben came back inside. When he bolted the
front door, it seemed like they were all being tucked in for the night. He
glanced around the living room at the giant tree lying from one end to the
other. “Tackle this in the morning?”

           
She echoed his grin. “Unless you know of any beavers who like to work
overtime.”

           
He walked to the kitchen, indicating she follow. “Would you like some eggnog?”
Flipping open the fridge door, he removed a carton, opened it and gave it a
sniff. “Smells fresh.”

           
“I’ll get some glasses.”

           
She perched on the edge of the counter while he poured them both a glass. Being
up on the tall counter made her his height. He clinked the edge of her glass
with his.

           
“Here’s to a civilized three days.”

           
“You sound surprised.”

           
“Aren’t you?” He snorted, swishing the eggnog around his glass. “Things haven’t
been exactly polite between us in the past.”

           
“And that’s my fault?”

           
“I was stating a fact, not pointing a finger.” His jaw tensed, but his eyes
stayed focused on her. “I like this, Joely. I like not fighting with you, and being
with our kids together. They like it, too.”
            The glass
chilled her palm. She stared down into the creamy depths of her drink. “Did Ian
tell you what was bothering him?”
            “Yes.” He
drained his glass abruptly, using the excuse of eggnog to pause before
responding. “I talked to him. He’s okay now.”
            “So I don’t
get to know what it was about?”

           
“No, I’ll tell you. He’s mad at you for chasing Matt away.”

           
“What? I didn’t….”

           
“And he’s mad at you for chasing me away.”
            “Great. And
I suppose you….”

           
He held up both hands and gave a short laugh. “Easy, tiger! Don’t shoot the
messenger. I’m just letting you know what he said. I told him you didn’t chase
away either of us. I don’t think he really blames you, anyway. It’s just
something kids do. I blamed my dad for my parents’ divorce, even though it was
all on my mom. Don’t take it personally.”

           
“You’re right, Ben. Why should I take it personally that my son thinks I’m a
man-hater?”

           
“This isn’t how I wanted this conversation to go.” He took her glass from her
and stood directly in front of her, forcing her knees apart so he could wedge
in between them. She gripped his shoulders.

           
“What are you doing?” Her lips still tingled from the earlier kiss. She hadn’t
realized how badly she’d missed him.

           
“You have bits of sticky sap and pine needles in your hair, miss. If you want
me to get them out, I have to take this position.”

           
“Oh, really?” But she didn’t push him away. In fact, it felt good having him so
close. She nearly closed her eyes at the pleasant sensation of being touched,
even though he was picking through her hair like a mother chimp.

           
“All done,” he murmured a few minutes later. The woodsy scent of his cologne
mixed with the pine scent of his fingers and her hair.

           
“You’ve got some in your hair, too,” she said. He was standing too close. A
tiny pulse in his neck vibrated with his heartbeat. She wanted to touch the
place between his neck and the open collar of his flannel shirt where a few
dark hairs poked out. A sharp memory of his hairy chest sliding across her
breasts suddenly flooded her and she nearly groaned in frustration.

           
“Get it out for me, will you?”

           
“Get it…?”

           
“The sap.”

           
“Oh, that.” Almost giddy with desire and a heightened awareness of him, she
lifted her hands and slowly slid them through his hair. He sucked in a breath,
and she watched his eyelids flicker.

           
“What did you think I meant?”

           
His breath misted on her forehead. His lips were too close. Dangerously close.
A rush of heat soared through her cheeks. She was too old to blush, for
heaven’s sake. It had to be the eggnog. Only he hadn’t added any alcohol to it.

           
“I know you meant the sap.” Where had her voice gone? Her fingers stilled, and
she smoothed back the rumpled mess she’d made. He’d hardly had any sap on him
at all. She didn’t even care if she should be embarrassed for finding an excuse
to touch him.

           
“Sure, that’s what I meant.” His eyes sparkled under the fluorescent kitchen
lighting.

           
Since when had his hands dropped to her waist? He pulled her to the edge of the
counter, and her knees bent naturally around him. His nose brushed hers, but
she kept her eyes open, her breath hitching in her chest. The kiss in the woods
had been almost automatic. It was hard not to kiss someone as sexy as Ben and
later blame it on the moonlight and wind rustling through the pines. But in the
stark reality of the kitchen, it was another matter.

           
“What are we doing?” she managed to whisper, but never heard his answer,
because his lips were teasing hers. She tasted the flicker of his tongue and
opened her mouth to utter…something. She’d forgotten what her earlier stance on
physical limits with her ex-husband was. His chest pressed against hers, and he
lifted her off the counter, his hands tucked beneath her bottom as he carried
her out of the kitchen.

           
Stumbling and giggling in the dark house like two teenagers, they managed to
half-crawl, half-walk up the stairs, their hands fumbling with each other’s
clothing until she’d managed to pull one of his sleeves off and her shirt was
unbuttoned to the waist. When they reached the landing, he lifted her again,
and she trailed her hand over his cheek and jaw as he kissed her. He pushed
open his door with his foot, and carried her to the bed. The darkened room
called to them, in the familiar, primeval way the darkness called to lovers.
Her ears filled with the roaring of her blood pushing through her veins, and
every nerve was alit with flames of desire that only grew, unsated.

           
She fell back on the bed and Ben fell with her, pinning her in place while his
lips greedily sought hers. A soft murmur reached her, and she wondered how she
could have made the sound without knowing it. She broke off the kiss to listen.

           
“Mommy?”

           
Heart hammering in her chest, Joely sat up, pushing at Ben, who groaned into a
pillow. “Molly? What are you doing in here?”

           
“I had a nightmare. I went to your room, but you weren’t there. So I came to
Daddy’s room.” The bed stirred beside her. She scooted toward Molly and hugged
her.

           
“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry you had a nightmare.”

           
“How come you’re in Daddy’s room?”

           
Ben chuckled in the darkness. The bed moved as he got up, then moved again when
he lay down on the other side of Molly.

           
“I was showing Mommy my room, just like you did.”

           
“But the lights are off.”

           
“Go to sleep,” Ben muttered. Joely stroked Molly’s hair, her hand finding Ben’s
in the dark. He clasped her hand while she comforted their daughter. “Good
night, little princess,” he said, his voice low in the night.

           
“Good night, Daddy,” Molly said with a yawn. Then, “Did you see my mistletoe
downstairs? Mrs. Gomez gave it to me.”

           
“No, I didn’t see it. I’ll look in the morning,” Joely replied.

           
“Oh,” Molly said sleepily. “I thought you were kissing Daddy because of my
mistletoe.”

           
There was no suitable reply to that. In the darkness, Ben’s fingers squeezed
hers.