That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(35)

“Oh, my,” Savannah said a few minutes later, collapsing into the snow. “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

“Me, either,” Trace said, his gaze clashing with hers. In fact, he could barely recall ever laughing that hard.

Or wanting a woman as much as he wanted the virtual stranger lying beside him in the icy snow right this minute. With all the heat crackling between them, he was surprised they hadn’t melted the snow right out from under them.

He started to reach out to touch her cheek, but recalling Hannah’s presence, he drew back. “Do you know what I’d like to do right now?” he asked, his gaze locked with Savannah’s.

She swallowed hard at the question and shook her head.

Trace realized that her thoughts had drifted down the same dangerous path as his own. “Not that,” he protested, deliberately teasing her.

Her cheeks, already pink from the chill in the air, turned an even brighter shade. Another woman might have called his bluff, but she merely kept her gaze on him, apparently waiting to see just how deep a hole he intended to dig for himself.

“What I’d like to do,” he said, “is go back to the house, build a nice warm fire in the fireplace, and…” He deliberately let the suspense build. He saw the pulse beating a little more rapidly in her neck. He permitted himself a hint of a smile, then said softly, “Take a nap.”

She was still blinking in confusion when Hannah plopped down between them and said, “Grown-ups don’t take naps.”

“Sure we do,” Trace told her. His gaze went back to Savannah. “In fact, sometimes when adults take naps, we have the very best dreams ever.”

Savannah shot him a knowing look, then rose gracefully to her feet. “Well, by all means, let’s get home so you can get some sleep,” she said testily.

She muttered something more, something obviously meant for Trace’s ears, not Hannah’s. He caught her hand and held her back until they were well out of Hannah’s hearing.

“What was that?” he inquired.

She leveled a look straight at him. “I said, I hope you have nightmares.”

“No dream with you in it could ever be a nightmare,” he said, locking gazes with her once more. “Then again, you could take a nap with me.”

“In your dreams,” she retorted.

He winked at her. “Exactly.”

She stopped in her tracks and scowled up at him. “Is this some sort of game with you?”

There was a hint of anger behind the question that threw Trace completely. “Game? I’m not sure what you mean.”

“When you found me at the inn, did you decide I was Aunt Mae’s gift to you or something? Because I am here to tell you that hell will freeze over before I fall into bed with you just because it’s convenient.”

With that, she whirled away and stalked off as gracefully as the deep snow permitted, leaving him to deal with the tree. He considered running after her, trying to explain, but maybe it was better to give her time to cool down.

So he struggled with the monster tree, finally getting a firm grip on the trunk, then dragging it through the snow. The trek took forever. By the time he reached the car, Savannah and Hannah were nowhere to be seen. Since the inn was less than a mile down the road, they’d probably decided to walk.

Trace wrestled with the tree and finally got it half in and half out of the SUV, cursing at the mess it was making of the car’s interior. He tied it securely, then climbed into the vehicle and turned the heater up full blast.

He was still stinging from Savannah’s tongue-lashing as he drove back to the inn. Granted, he’d only been teasing her, but she didn’t know him well enough to understand that. He’d deserved every bit of scorn she’d heaped on him.

As he pulled up in front of the house, he noted that the lights were blazing and that smoke was curling from the chimney. Dusk was falling rapidly, and along with it, the temperature was dropping.

He lugged the tree onto the porch, then left it there to be dealt with after he warmed up with a cup of coffee or maybe some of that hot chocolate Savannah and her daughter were so fond of.

Inside, he stomped the snow off his boots and tossed his jacket over a chair, then headed for the kitchen where he could hear the low murmur of voices. He found Savannah at the stove stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce. The weathered older man to whom she was talking caught sight of Trace and gave him a wink.

“You must be Trace. Savannah here’s been giving me an earful about you,” he said. “’Course, it’s not exactly the same high praise I was used to hearing from Mae.”

Trace saw Savannah’s back stiffen, but she didn’t turn around. Obviously, the walk had done nothing to cool her temper. She was still royally ticked at him. The apology he owed her would have to wait, though. The man regarding him with such amusement had to be Mae’s longtime lover.

“You must be Nate Daniels,” Trace guessed at once. “I heard a lot about you over the years, as well, all of it good.”

“Only because Mae never had a sharp word to say about anyone,” Nate said. “Maybe that’s because she brought out the best in people.”

“I know she did in me,” Trace said solemnly, his gaze on Savannah.

Nate looked from him to Savannah, then stood up and began pulling on his jacket. “Think I’ll be going along now.”