That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(42)

Satisfied that Christmas was under control, he grabbed his coat and joined Savannah and Hannah, who’d already retreated to the slowly warming interior of the car. Hannah shivered dramatically when he opened the door.

“I hate cold weather,” she declared.

Trace regarded her in the rearview mirror. “You’re living in the wrong place, then, kiddo. Weren’t you the one who was out here half-buried in snowdrifts yesterday?”

“It’s colder today,” she insisted. “And now I’ve seen snow. Yesterday I hadn’t.”

“Does that mean you want to move back to Florida?” Savannah asked.

There was no mistaking the note of trepidation in her voice, Trace thought. He glanced over and saw the tight lines around her mouth.

“No,” Hannah said at once. “Even if it is cold, I want to stay here.”

Savannah’s relief was almost palpable. “Why?” she asked.

“Because since we got here, you’ve started laughing again,” Hannah said quietly. “You never laughed in Florida.”

Savannah turned her head away, but not before Trace saw a tear sliding down her cheek. He wanted to reach for her, to hold her…to make her laugh.

Instead he glanced toward Hannah. “How about you and me making a pact?” he said. “The one who makes your mom laugh the most today wins.”

Hannah’s eyes lit up. “Okay. What’s the prize?”

“Hmm,” Trace began thoughtfully. “If you win, I make us all hot-fudge sundaes for dessert tonight.”

“Good prize,” Hannah said enthusiastically. “What if you win?”

“Then you make me the biggest, mushiest Christmas card ever, something I can hang on my office wall.”

“Deal,” Hannah said, slapping his hand in a high five.

He glanced toward Savannah and saw that her lips were twitching. It wasn’t a real laugh, but it was at least the beginning of a smile. He pointed it out to Hannah.

“I get the first point,” he said.

“That’s not a real laugh,” Hannah scoffed. She leaned over, slipped her hand down her mother’s back and tickled Savannah until she giggled aloud. “That’s a real laugh,” Hannah said triumphantly.

Savannah wriggled away, then scowled at both of them. “What do I get if I maintain a totally stoic facade all day long?”

“Never happen,” Trace said.

“No way,” Hannah agreed.

“Bet I can,” Savannah retorted, her eyes twinkling.

“Okay, that does make it more interesting,” Trace agreed. “If you win—and that’s a really big if—you get Hannah’s mushy card.”

“What about you? What will you give me?”

Trace met her gaze evenly and felt his heart take a leap into overdrive. “Same as last night,” he said softly.

He noted the flush that crept into her cheeks as she remembered that fleeting kiss they’d shared.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” she challenged.

His gazed remained steady. “Oh, I promise you, darlin’, it will take your breath away.”

The blasted heater in the car must have shot the temperature into the nineties, Savannah thought, barely resisting the urge to fan herself as Trace’s words hung in the air.

Unlike the day before, when his seductive teasing had merely irritated her, today she was immediately all hot and bothered and wishing for more…maybe because she knew for a fact exactly what Trace’s kiss could do to her. Worse, she wanted another of those kisses so badly, she was going to have to try really, really hard not to laugh for the remainder of the day. Given Hannah’s determination to win that bet she’d made with Trace, Savannah was going to have a real struggle on her hands.

She could do it, though. She just had to remember her resolve…and keep a whole lot of distance between herself and those two coconspirators.

The second they reached the hardware store, Hannah begged to take a walk through town.

“Back here in thirty minutes,” Savannah instructed, relieved to be rid of one of them. She looked at Trace. “I’ll meet you back here in a half hour, too.”

“You sure you don’t need my help?” he asked, regarding her with a knowing grin.

“Nope. I’m sure someone will help me carry whatever I buy.”

“Here’s the spare key, then, in case you finish before I get back. You don’t mind if I come in and pick up a few things myself, do you?” he asked.

“What sort of things?” she asked suspiciously. Trace didn’t strike her as the type who had a lot of fix-it projects back home. Then again, didn’t most men get a little giddy around wrenches and screwdrivers and power tools? Maybe he just wanted to soak up the atmosphere.

“This and that,” he said vaguely. “I’ll know when I see it.”

“Fine. It’s a big store. I’m sure you won’t be in my way,” she said.

They parted at the front door. Savannah headed straight for the paint supplies. She’d already thought about the colors she wanted for each of the guest rooms—rich, deep tones, accented by white trim. In no time at all, she’d picked out the appropriate paint chips and had the colors being mixed while she chose brushes, rollers, an edger for trimming and a paint pan.