A Chance This Christmas(53)

She had very fair skin, which he figured went with the red hair, and a neat little nose. When she stopped in front of him, he found himself looking into a pair of pale, almost translucent green eyes. He could see bright intelligence behind them, as well as a good measure of professional reserve.

“Jenna, this is Sawyer, my brother,” Lacey said.

Jenna’s smile was polite as she offered him her hand. “Good to meet you, Sawyer.”

Her slender hand disappeared within his, and suddenly he was acutely aware of the fact that he hadn’t had a haircut for six months and that his I’m-too-busy-to-shave beard probably made him look like a crazed axe murderer. Then there was the fact that there were sap-stains on his jeans, scuff marks on his metal-toed boots, and duct tape criss-crossed on one shoulder of his puffer jacket, covering the slash he’d scored last week wrestling with a recalcitrant Douglas fir.

“You, too,” he said, quickly averting his gaze from her face. It was that, or get lost staring into her striking eyes.

“You want a coffee?” Lacey said to Jenna.

Sawyer frowned. The cabin was not visitor-ready right now. He’d tidied up a little in honor of Lacey coming home, but she was his sister. He knew she wouldn’t give a crap about the pile of dishes in the sink, or the tower of magazines and newspapers on the coffee table, or the fact that the toilet seat was almost certainly up.

Jenna Macintosh would notice those things, though. It had only taken one glance into her clear, green eyes for him to know she paid attention to what was going on around her.

Lacey started herding Jenna across the parking lot before the other woman had a chance to respond to her question. He watched them for a few seconds, taking in the feminine sway to Jenna’s walk.

Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he started after them, feeling more and more caught short with every second. His boot steps rang loudly as he climbed the stairs to the front porch behind the two women. Lacey led the way into the cabin, peeling off her jacket the moment she hit the warmth of the central heating. Jenna did the same, and Sawyer froze on the threshold as he got an eyeful of her backside.

Nice. Very nice.

He used his foot to nudge the door closed, and it slammed shut, causing both women to glance his way.

“Wind caught it,” he lied.

Lacey frowned slightly. Sawyer shrugged out of his patched jacket and brushed past her on his way into the kitchen.

“Probably need to brew a fresh pot of coffee,” he said.

“Oh, please don’t bother on my account. As long as it’s hot and full of caffeine, it’ll do the trick,” Jenna said.

Sawyer took the pot off the coffee maker and dumped its contents in the sink. No way was he feeding her hours-old, bitter coffee.

“You want something to eat?” Lacey asked, heading for the pantry.

“I’m fine. That burger from lunch is still sitting like a rock in my belly,” Jenna said.

“What about some cookies? We’ve got chocolate chip and – oh, my God, Sawyer. Did you make molasses cookies?” Lacey spun around to stare at him as he spooned fresh coffee into the filter. In her hands was a ceramic cookie jar that had been in the Gallagher family for generations.

He shrugged, uncomfortable with the fact she’d drawn attention to the small act of domesticity. He hadn’t known what else to do for someone fresh out of the big house, so he’d made a truck load of his sister’s favorite cookies late last night. No big deal.

“Thank you,” Lacey said, and he shrugged again.

He didn’t need to look in a mirror to know his face was red.

“You have to have one of these cookies, Jenna. They’re Grammy Gallagher’s secret recipe. Not that there’s much secret to the ingredients – sugar, sugar, and more sugar. Oh, and don’t forget the butter.”

Lacey shoveled a fistful of cookies onto a plate and set them on the counter in front of Jenna. Sawyer busied himself loading dirty dishes into the dishwasher. Not that it would make much of a difference; he’d already noted Jenna taking in the piled up dishes, pots and pans.

“Sawyer, have you thought about offering some of these to the customers?” Lacey asked suddenly.

He frowned. Why on earth would he want to trumpet the fact that he’d been baking, of all things, to the wider Marietta community?

“Uh, no,” he said.

“You should. Y’know, a special treat just before Thanksgiving. Half of them are probably just scoping out the trees at different farms before deciding where to buy from in December. Why don’t I go sweeten them up?”

Before he’d fully comprehended her intention, Lacey had emptied the cookie jar onto another plate and was heading for the door.

Which meant he was about to be left alone with Jenna of the All-Seeing Green Eyes and very nice backside.

Shit.

He opened his mouth to protest, but Lacey was already halfway out the door. The sound of his jaw clicking shut was audible in the heavy silence, as was the rasp of sugar-dusted cookie against sugar-dusted cookie as Jenna dutifully took one from the plate.

“Do you, um, bake much, Sawyer?” she asked.

Sawyer shot her an incredulous look. Did he look like the kind of guy who baked on a regular basis?

He really hoped not.

“No,” he said.

The single word came out sounding more terse and gruff than he’d intended. Jenna’s mouth flattened out momentarily.