It's a Christmas Thing (The Christmas Tree Ranch #2)(33)

“I want to make a snowman!” Clara called out to her. “Can you show us how?”

Tracy came down the porch steps to join them. Picking up a handful of snow, she blew on it, scattering the flakes into the wind. “For snowman building, and things like snow forts and snowball fights, you need the kind of snow that sticks together,” she said. “This snow is too fluffy. But I can show you some other games to play. Have you ever made snow angels?” She paused, glancing at their puzzled faces. “Watch. I’ll show you.”

She was already a snow angel, Rush thought. Her cheeks were becoming flushed with cold. Wind fluttered tendrils of golden hair around her face as she tromped to a fresh patch of snow, turned back toward them, grinned, and toppled over to land flat on her back.

For an instant, Rush was alarmed. Then he heard her laugh. “Just watch.” She moved her arms up and down and her legs in and out, making a pattern in the snow. “Wow,” she said, sounding a little breathless. “I haven’t done this since I was in grade school! Now, somebody has to stand at my feet and pull me up.”

Still laughing, she reached up for him. He caught her gloved hands, anchored his feet, and easily pulled her up. There, where she’d lain in the snow, was the imprint of a round head, sweeping wings, and a long skirt. “See?” Tracy said, “A perfect snow angel.”

Clara clapped her hands, jumping up and down. “I want to make one, too!”

“Okay, I’ll help you. Take my hands and lean back.” Holding the small, mittened hands, Tracy eased the little girl onto her back in the snow. “Now, go for it!”

Clara had watched Tracy, so she knew what to do. She giggled, sweeping the snow with her arms and legs.

“Ready?” Tracy asked.

“Ready.” She let Tracy pull her up. “Look!” she pointed, laughing. “It’s a little snow angel. Like me.”

“You did a great job. Are you cold?” Rush asked her.

“Kind of. But it was fun. Now it’s your turn, Daddy. Make a big snow angel.”

Rush hadn’t planned on this. He was taller and heavier than Tracy or Clara. He would fall hard, and the snow wasn’t deep enough to cushion the landing. But there was no way out except to be a good sport. As Clara and Tracy cheered him on, he found an undisturbed patch of snow and took a deep breath.

“Timber . . .” he shouted, as he keeled over backward and crashed like a fallen tree to the snowy ground. Slightly dazed, he lay still for a few seconds, watching the snowflakes swirl out of the pewter sky.

“Make an angel, Daddy!” Clara urged.

Rush moved his arms and legs, pushing away the cold snow with Clara laughing and cheering him on. “A little more! That’s perfect, Daddy!”

Rush lay still. “Now, which one of you is strong enough to pull me up?” he joked.

“Hang on.” Leaning over him, Tracy held out her hands. Rush gripped them as she braced her feet. Tracy might not be strong enough to lift him, but Rush knew that if he tried to help by getting his legs under him, that would spoil the snow angel for Clara.

Tracy met his eyes and nodded. Yes, they had to give it a try.

“Here goes,” she said. “One . . . two . . . three.” On the count of three, she flung her full weight backward, straining to pull him to his feet. He was partway up when her boots slipped on an icy spot. She lost traction and might have toppled onto her rump if he’d let go, but his firm grip pulled her the other way. She pitched forward, landing on top of him. They collapsed together in the snow, laughing.

From somewhere beyond his sight, Clara was shrieking with laughter. But Rush’s awareness was fixed on Tracy—her womanly curves pressing his body, her lovely lips so close to his that, if they’d been alone, he would have been tempted to kiss her.

Her hat had fallen off, freeing her hair to tumble around her face. Snow sparkled on her lashes; laughter danced in her hazel eyes.

Damn, but she was beautiful!

Rush knew that he wasn’t ready to fall in love. He had too many unhealed wounds for that. But he wanted her—wanted her with a hunger he could feel in every part of his body.

And there wasn’t a blasted thing he could do about it.

She rolled her weight off him and rose to her knees. Snow clung to her hair and her clothes. “I’m afraid there’s not much left of your snow angel,” she said, brushing away the snow almost too energetically.

“That’s fine with me, as long as you’re all right.” He scrambled to his feet, heedless of the pattern in the snow. “Did I hurt you?”

“No . . . not at all.” She sounded shaken. Had the fall scared her, or had she felt the same stirrings that he had—and been unsettled by them?

But never mind. Either way, he’d be a fool to assume anything.

“Do it again, Daddy!” Clara clapped her hands. “Make another snow angel!”

“Not on your life!” He picked her up, swung her high in his arms, and set her down as she giggled.

“Hey, your dad’s snow angel doesn’t look that bad,” Tracy said to Clara. “Look at it. The skirt is a mess where he had to get up, but the head and wings are fine. I’ll bet you and I could fix it. Want to try?”

Rush watched them work, patting and furrowing the snow. The two of them seemed so comfortable together, laughing and talking. Tracy would make a wonderful mother, he found himself thinking.