That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(29)

It was little wonder, though, that Mae had sought out Trace’s company around the holidays, he had realized as she told him the story. The loneliness at a season meant for sharing with family and friends must have been unbearable. Trace wondered if this woman even knew about that part of Mae’s life.

“If you hadn’t been here for years, why are you here now?” Trace asked, unable to hide the note of bitterness in his voice. “Did you come to pick over her belongings?”

She seemed startled by the hostility in the question—or maybe by the fact that he thought he had the right to ask it. “I’m here because my aunt left Holiday Retreat to me,” she said eventually. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m Savannah Holiday. Mae was my grandfather’s sister. And you are? How did you get in here, anyway?” She sighed. “Hannah, I suppose. I’ve told her and told her about not opening the door to strangers.”

It didn’t seem to occur to Savannah Holiday that it had taken her a long time to get around to asking about his identity. In New York, the police would probably have been called the second he appeared in the kitchen doorway and the answers to all those questions could have been sorted out later.

“I’m Trace Franklin,” he said. “A friend of Mae’s.” He retrieved the key from his pocket and plunked it on the table where it glinted in the sunlight. “And I got in with this, though I did see your daughter as I came in.”

She stared at the key. “Where did you get that?”

“From your aunt.”

“Why would she give you a key to Holiday Retreat?”

“Because she’d invited me here for the holidays.” He was only now beginning to grasp just how diabolical that invitation had been. His finding the alluring Savannah Holiday and her daughter underfoot was clearly no accident, but Mae’s last-ditch effort at matchmaking. He wondered if Savannah Holiday had figured out what her aunt was up to.

He regarded his unexpected housemate with a wry expression. “Merry Christmas!”

Three

Compared to the man sitting across from her with his cool, flinty gaze and designer wardrobe, Savannah felt like a dowdy waif. She was pretty sure there was flour in her hair and, more than likely, red and green sprinkles on her nose. When it came to baking, she did it with more enthusiasm than tidiness or expertise. The results were equally unpredictable, though she’d been particularly proud of the batch of golden cookies that were currently lying in crumbles around her feet.

She regarded this interloper with caution, in part at least because his presence rattled her. She’d felt a little flicker of awareness the instant he’d entered the kitchen. At first she’d attributed it to surprise, but then she’d realized it was a whole lot more like the sensation she’d experienced the first time she’d met Rob. It was the caught-off-guard, heart-stopping reaction of a woman to a virile, attractive male…or a doe when confronted by a rifle-toting hunter. She was stunned to discover that she was even remotely susceptible to a man after the bitterness of her divorce, especially to a man wearing the clothes of a business executive to a country inn. It was something her uptight ex-husband would have done.

Because her reaction made her uneasy, she focused on the one topic guaranteed to take her mind off it. “You said Mae invited you here. You do know that my aunt died, right?” she asked.

“Yes.”

His expression was almost as bleak as the one Savannah saw in the mirror every morning. “But you came anyway,” she said, impressed despite the instinct that told her this man was anything but sentimental.

“It’s what she wanted,” he said simply. “I promised I would.”

“And you always keep your promises?”

“I try,” he said. “I don’t make that many, and the ones I do make mean something.”

“What about your family? Won’t they miss you over the holidays?”

“In recent years Mae was the closest thing I had to family. What about your family?”

“Hannah’s here. For all intents and purposes, she’s all I have. My husband and I divorced a year ago.” She hesitated, then added, “My parents and I aren’t on speaking terms at the moment.”

“I see.”

She was grateful that he didn’t bombard her with a lot of questions about that. “How did you know Mae? Forgive me, but you don’t look as if you spend a lot of time in the country.”

He laughed at that, and it transformed his face. The tight lines around his mouth eased. His dark eyes sparkled. “What gave me away?”

“The clothes, for starters. I’m amazed you stayed upright walking from the car to the house in those shoes. I don’t think snow is kind to Italian leather. And I can’t imagine that you’d be able to spend more than a few minutes outdoors before freezing in that shirt. Men around here tend toward flannel.”

“But I think the real secret is what they wear under it,” he said, barely containing what promised to be a wicked grin.

Savannah’s thoughts automatically veered off in a very dangerous direction. She had the oddest desire to strip off his clothes to see if there were practical long johns underneath. She’d never thought that sort of men’s underwear to be particularly sexy, but she imagined Trace Franklin could do amazing things for the look.