A Snow Country Christmas (The Carsons of Mustang Creek #4)(16)

“Santorini. I was in Athens on business. I couldn’t skip a tour of the island while I was already in Greece.”

“It’s gorgeous.”

He held her gaze for a beat. “Maybe that’s why I thought of you.”

*

Well done.

Raine was fairly sure that smooth compliment was overheard by almost everyone in the room. If nothing else, Mick Branson had style down pat.

It was unsettling to be under the Carson microscope at this particular moment. She was grateful for the extended family for both her daughter and herself, but the scrutiny that accompanied it was a bit much. Slater was fine, they’d come to an understanding a long time ago, and she was genuinely happy he was married to Grace. She loved Drake, Mace and their wives as well, but she wished they’d focus on their own gifts right now.

Instead, all eyes were on her and Mick.

She was keenly aware of it, and so was he from his expression.

The framed print he’d given her was simply priceless. No matter what he’d spent—and she didn’t want to think about what it had probably cost him—it was the fact that he’d seemed to know exactly what she’d love that moved her the most. She figured she could forgive him the purse triumph. She was touched he’d thought of Daisy at all.

Both gifts were the perfect choice.

The same was true for what he’d selected for Ryder, and everyone else; he’d clearly put some time into it, and no small amount of thought.

No one had ever managed to gain her attention in quite this way. It wasn’t his money. She was fine all on her own. For that matter, if money was a draw for her, she’d have married Slater all those years ago when he asked.

Mick had read her grandfather’s books. He could easily name his favorite, and since it was hers, too, well...

A small voice in her head said: Watch yourself, McCall.

“And now yours.” She took a box from under the tree, wading through the sea of wrapping paper. Drake and Mace were supposed to be keeping up with gathering the discarded colorful paper and putting it into bags as each gift was eagerly unwrapped, but there was quite the crowd, a ridiculous amount of gifts, especially for the kids, and they’d finally looked at each other and declared jointly they’d pick it up afterward.

“Mine?” Mick raised his brows. “You didn’t have a lot of shopping time.”

“I didn’t need it.” She perched on the edge of his chair, sharing it with him. She wanted to see his expression when he opened it.

Delilah, Ryder’s little long-haired mutt, had taken a shine to Mick and was currently draped over his expensive shoe and his gentle attempts to dislodge her merely made her wag her floppy tail, so he’d evidently resigned himself to her adoration and the amount of hair being deposited on his tailored pants. Samson was having a ball attacking discarded wads of paper, while Drake’s two well-behaved German shepherds watched with superior resignation, as if inwardly they were shaking their heads. Blythe’s cat was used to the turmoil enough to doze on the top on the couch, having an afternoon siesta.

A man like Mick Branson probably thought he was having Christmas at a zoo. He accepted the box with a look of protest. “You didn’t have to—”

“Give? None of us have to, we want to. Now open it.”

He obligingly tore open the paper and lifted the lid on the box. His expression went from curious to stunned. “You’re kidding. An original manuscript? I don’t recognize the title.”

“It’s never been published,” she explained as he stared at the manuscript, reverently touching the title page. “Grandpa started it right before he died. The Aspen Trail was something he thought about for a long time, one of the books that run circles in your head, he told me once. He still used that old typewriter, so you’ll find some penciled-in corrections.”

He tore his gaze away from it to look at her. “You can’t give me this. It’s probably worth a small fortune.”

“I just did. But, well, it comes with a catch.”

“What?” He was understandably wary.

“Could you maybe finish it?”

“What?”

“Read it. I want to know what happens next.”

“I can’t possibly—”

“Put that English minor to good use. You said you have imagination. So prove it.”

Harry emerged from the kitchen right then and saved Mick by making the grand announcement. “Okay, ladies and gents, it’s time.”

The males in the room rushed to help her carry in food, which wasn’t surprising since they would eat most of it. And it wasn’t like Harry just roasted a turkey; she’d made prime rib, Swedish meatballs, ribs, fish...a variety of side dishes in order to please everyone, and Blythe had baked her legendary rolls, so it was quite a varied feast, as Raine had come to expect. Ask for it, and you got it as a special Harry gift. Dessert was a miracle, too, with everyone’s favorites on the table, but then again, with all the leftovers, Harry would get a few days off to balance all the marathon baking and cooking.

Today, she also got another special gift.

When Harry sat down with the inevitable cup of tea, she picked up the envelope that had mysteriously appeared on her placemat during her last trip into the kitchen. “What’s this?”

It was almost as much of a pleasure to see her open that envelope as it was to see Daisy sitting with her precious purse at the table, trying to eat one-handed because she didn’t want to let go of it.