A Snow Country Christmas (The Carsons of Mustang Creek #4)(21)

He couldn’t help laughing at himself all the way up the snowy sidewalk, but he thought it was a good description and would stand by it. When Raine opened the door at his knock, she gave him a quizzical look. “What’s so funny?”

He smiled. “Let’s just say I think my mother likes you.”

“Um, I’d ask why you were talking about me to your mother, but something tells me I’d rather not know. Come on in. Fire and wine are in place. If I eat again in this lifetime I’ll be surprised, but Harry sent cookies and turkey sandwiches. If you get hungry, speak up.”

“I will.” He was certainly hungry, but he wasn’t thinking that much about food and he had a feeling she knew it. He really wasn’t like this with women, more pursued than the pursuer most of the time, but there was some serious chemistry going on his part anyway.

He was lucky that the lion didn’t have an entire pride waiting for him. Mr. Bojangles barely let him get in the door before he launched a sneak attack, darting out from his super-not-so-secret hiding place and nailing his ankle again. It added comic relief that when the critter went back under the tree, his bushy tail was fully visible, even if his ample body was hidden.

“He must have trained with the special forces. The ambush was perfect, but he may have skipped class on hiding day.”

Raine observed wryly, “He’s not quite figured out that his size is a problem. I’ve thought about getting a bigger tree just to make sure he doesn’t get insecure about his ability to be stealthy.”

“That would be the compassionate thing to do.”

She’d changed into soft, drawstring pajama pants, a flowing top with the same pattern, and slippers with raccoon faces on them. How that could be sexier than a slinky nightgown he wasn’t sure, but it worked for him. There was a nice fire, and two glasses of wine on the coffee table.

The mixed signals were driving him crazy. He was invited—or maybe he’d invited himself by suggesting they spend the evening together—and yet she was dressed like she was going to a sorority slumber party. She’d told him flat-out she was unsure how she viewed things between them, but agreed to have him over again anyway.

The agreement was good. The rest of it was up in the air.

“What smells so good in here?”

“That candle from the local store that Grace bought for me. She knows I love vanilla.” Raine sat down and visibly relaxed, cradling her wineglass in her slender fingers, propping her feet on the coffee table and wiggling her toes in those ridiculous slippers. “I love Christmas at the ranch, but a little peace and quiet afterward is nice, too. I always manage to forget how exhausting a big crowd can be. I go out to lunch with friends now and then, but mostly I’m by myself all day, at least during the school year.” She smiled. “I love my daughter—that goes without saying—but the quiet is nice. Feel free, by the way, to take off those Italian loafers and put your feet up. Formality is almost a dirty word in this house.”

“My mother would faint if I put my feet on your coffee table, but taking off my shoes sounds great.” He slipped them off. “Solitude can be a friend or an enemy, depending on the person. I know far too many people who can’t stand to be alone, almost never eat at home, and in general love the bustle of a big city.” He relaxed, too, just enjoying the view, and he wasn’t looking at the sparkling tree or the fire. “Is this the beginning of our deep philosophical discussion?”

“Or maybe just two people talking. You still worry about what your mother thinks of you?”

“I wouldn’t say worry, exactly. But I try to keep on her good side.”

“Good for you.” Her tone was approving. “I like that.”

“Hopefully that isn’t the only thing you like about me.”

“No.” She smiled playfully. “You have great hair.”

He shot her a look. “Not quite the compliment I was angling for. I was hoping to hear my intellect amazes you and my charm is unsurpassed in your experience.”

“Both those things could be true, but I just can’t get past the hair. Do you have a stylist?”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you.”

She laughed, hiding her mouth behind her hand. “Kind of.”

“No, I don’t have a stylist. I get it cut and I wash and comb it. Surely there’s something else you like.”

She pretended to think it over. “Now I suppose I have to mention those gorgeous movie-star eyes and high cheekbones. Nice shoulders, too, unless there’s padding in your shirts.”

“And here I thought I wasn’t in Hollywood...throw me a bone here.” He was laughing, too, but also serious.

Her smile faded as she held his gaze. “I trust you are a good man. If I didn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

It was exactly the type of compliment he might have expected from Raine—frank and straightforward—but he was aware that she meant what she said. “And you wouldn’t be giving me your grandfather’s property. We’ll have to talk over that one again later. You really can’t do that.”

“I talked to Slater. He said it was a sound idea. Drake agreed and Mace was with it, too. One of the reasons I like you so much is that they all trust you. Those are some pigheaded, stubborn men, but they’re some of the best judges of character that I know. And lucky for me, they don’t even think about your hair.”