That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(32)

“You’ll want to get all your stuff inside,” she said, her tone suddenly brisk. “Who knows how many deals you might have missed while we’ve been talking?”

“The ones worth making can always wait,” he said.

“Still, I’d hate to feel responsible for you missing out on something important. Besides, I promised Hannah that she and I would go cut down a Christmas tree this afternoon.”

He regarded her as if she’d just mentioned a plan to cut down the entire forest.

“There’s a perfectly good tree lot in town. I passed it on my way out here,” he said. “Those trees are already cut. Less work. Less waste.”

“Is that an expression of environmental concern?” she inquired. “Because the trees I’m talking about are grown specifically for the holidays. It’s how some people make their living.”

He looked skeptical. “Still seems like a lot of work.”

“But this is a tradition,” she countered.

He looked as if she’d used a foreign term.

“Didn’t you have any holiday traditions when you were growing up?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said at once. “Staying out from underfoot while Mom and Dad argued over how much money was being wasted on presents.”

Savannah couldn’t imagine a home in which the holidays had meant anything other than a joyful celebration. For all of the problems she and her parents were having now, they had given her years of memories of idyllic Christmases. Very little of that had had anything at all to do with the materialistic things. It had been about family togetherness, laughter…traditions. For some reason, she suddenly wanted to share just a little of that with this man to whom tradition meant so little. She’d never been able to get through to Rob, but maybe Trace Franklin wasn’t a lost cause.

“Would you like to help us?” she asked impulsively.

He looked even more disconcerted by that invitation than he had been by her request that he join them for dinner. “I had planned to get some work done this afternoon,” he said predictably.

“Surely the company founder can take a break for a couple of hours,” she coaxed. “Most people do relax around the holidays. I doubt anyone will be too upset if they don’t get a fax today or even tomorrow. Some people might actually be hoping to leave work early to finish their holiday shopping.”

A vaguely guilty expression passed across his face, as if he’d already forgotten that Christmas was only a few days away.

“You’re right,” he said eventually. “The work can wait. In fact, maybe I’ll call my secretary and tell her to let everyone leave early.”

Savannah grinned at the unexpected evidence that Scrooge had a heart. “That’s the spirit,” she said. “I’ll get my coat and hurry Hannah along. You’d better change into something warmer, too. My hunch is that this could take a long time. Hannah rushes through most things, but she’s never made a quick decision about a Christmas tree in her life.”

As Savannah left Trace to finish putting his groceries away, she was all too aware that his gaze followed her as she exited from the kitchen. And that she unconsciously put a little extra sway in her h*ps because of it.

Oh, so what? she thought as a guilty blush crept into her cheeks. If she could grant Hannah’s not-so-secret Christmas fantasy of a pair of skis, then surely Fate wouldn’t mind granting her the chance to flirt with a handsome man for a couple of days. After the holidays, what were the chances she’d ever see Trace again? Slim to none, more than likely. He was the perfect guy on which to practice a little harmless flirting. She had to get back into the dating game one of these days. Here was her chance to relearn the rules with a man who absolutely, positively was not her type, and better yet, a man who wouldn’t be around long enough to break her heart.

Then she recalled that desire she’d read in Trace’s eyes only moments before. Harmless was not the first word that came to mind. Okay, she concluded, wicked would be nice, too.

Four

Trace hauled all of his business equipment into Mae’s den, but before he could plug any of it in he was so overcome with emotion that he sank into the chair behind her antique desk and drew in a deep breath. As he did, he was almost certain he could still smell the soft, old-fashioned floral scent she had worn.

The room looked as if she’d just left it moments earlier. A jar of her favorite gourmet jelly beans sat on the desk. He noted with amusement that most of the grape-flavored ones were gone. They had been her favorites, though she had claimed that she continued to buy assorted flavors precisely so she wouldn’t get in a rut. She’d never realized that Trace had added a half-pound or so of the grape-flavored jelly beans each and every time he came to visit, secretly stirring them into the mix.

The inn’s guest book was still beside the phone with reservations carefully noted. He turned to today’s date and saw his own name written in her graceful, flowing script. He saw that Savannah’s arrival had been noted for a date only a few days earlier in a script that seemed less steady.

Had she made those final arrangements for her niece’s inheritance when she’d known the end was near? Had she cleverly schemed to bring him together with Savannah even as her health was failing? It would have been just like her to plot something for those she loved, something to make them less lonely once she was gone.