Santa's Sweetheart (The Christmas Tree Ranch #4)(49)

“I’ll show you where my dad’s room is, Miss Chapman,” she said. “The clean sheets are in the hall closet, top shelf. Don’t worry about me. I can get myself ready for bed.”

While Maggie busied herself in the bathroom, Grace left her suitcase on a chair in Sam’s room, then took a moment to explore the layout of the house. There were three bedrooms off the hallway, but one had been converted to Sam’s office with a desktop computer, a couple of file cabinets, and a leather chair worn to the shape of his body. A bulky cardboard box had been shoved into a corner. Grace recognized it as the box that held the Santa costume. It was unopened.

Maggie’s framed school picture and another photo of her as a toddler in her mother’s arms hung on the wall above the military surplus desk. Maybe it was that photo that made Grace feel like an intruder. She closed the door and made her way back down the hall, where she found a set of queen-sized sheets in the linen closet.

“I’m going to bed now,” Maggie called from her room. Was she asking to be tucked in?

Grace turned toward the bedroom door, then hesitated. No, she mustn’t do it. Tucking Maggie in, as a parent might do, would send the wrong message to the trusting little girl. Instead, Grace stood in the open doorway. “Good night, Maggie,” she said. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, so you can sleep late. Then we’ll have ourselves a fun day.”

“Good night, Miss Chapman. Thanks for taking care of me. Leave the night-light on in the hall and the door open just a little bit.” Maggie snuggled into the covers and closed her eyes.

And that was that. As Grace walked back to the living room to lock the front door, she felt her body give way to exhaustion. It had been a long, hectic week. Only now did she realize how tired she was. All she wanted to do was sleep. In Sam’s bed.

She opened the suitcase and took the travel kit with her toothbrush, makeup, and other needs into the bathroom. After brushing her teeth and splashing her face, she returned to the bedroom and put on her pajamas. The room was spare and neat. There were no photos on display, not even one of his wife, although Grace had noticed the picture on Maggie’s nightstand.

Sam had made the bed before leaving Thursday morning, unaware that he wouldn’t be back that night. Grace shuddered, thinking how close he’d come to dying, and that the few words she’d exchanged with him after the Wednesday night meeting could have been their last. Life was so short and uncertain. She wanted more time with him, time for them to know each other, time for love to grow, if only she could get past her fears and let it happen.

The jeans and flannel shirt he’d worn Wednesday night were piled with other clothes in a laundry basket on the floor. She would wash everything in the morning to leave it clean for him when he came home.

The fresh sheets lay in a folded stack on a corner of the bed. Grace had meant to change the linens before going to sleep; but she was dead on her feet. The temptation to just fall into bed, between the sheets where Sam had slept, was more than she could resist.

She lifted the covers, slipped into bed, and closed her eyes. Sam’s clean, manly aroma crept around her, seeping into her senses. She breathed him in, feeling strangely safe and cherished, the way she’d felt when he’d held her that night in the fog—the way she’d felt when he kissed her.

She drifted into sleep, Sam’s sheets wrapping her in a cocoon of warm contentment and sensual dreams.

*

By the next day, Sam was feeling stronger, but the pain was still there, shooting arrows into his chest and back whenever he changed position in the bed. “Damn it,” he groused to the nurse who came in to change the IV drip that supplied antibiotics and glucose through a needle in his hand. “I’m sick of lying here. I need to get out of this place and get back to work.”

“Give it time, Sheriff.” Today’s nurse was young, pretty, and visibly pregnant. “You’re dealing with a serious injury. It’s not going to heal overnight, especially if you don’t rest it.”

“So, how long do I need to be hooked up to these blasted tubes?”

“Until tomorrow, at least. Maybe longer if you don’t behave. I saw the story and the interviews on the news. You should count your lucky stars that you didn’t die. People are calling you a hero. At least you can feel good about that.”

“Don’t remind me. A real hero would’ve been smart enough to keep from getting shot.”

The nurse chuckled. “At least you’re well enough to complain. And your vitals are looking good. So just take it easy. That’s the best thing you can do.”

Sam lay back and used the remote to turn on the TV and flip through the channels. At this hour there was nothing on but game shows, kiddie cartoons, and infomercials. He turned the TV off. The phone sat on the table next to the bed. He could use it to call Helen and see how work was going—but no, that would be meddling. He wanted Buck to know that his boss believed he could do the job. He could call Maggie at home. But she would be busy having fun with Grace. Maggie would call him when she wanted to talk.

Last night he’d gone to sleep imagining Grace in his bed. His dreams would’ve gotten him slapped, or maybe even arrested. Damn it, he’d had enough of the games he and Grace were playing. When he got back into shape, he would do whatever it took to convince the woman that they needed to make their relationship real.

His brush with near death had reminded him that life was too short to put happiness on hold.