“What?” He levered himself up on his elbows, his eyes sleepy under lowered lids. “Looks like you were wrong about at least one thing, Kayla Green. Santa does exist.”
And she saw the cause of the weight. A stocking, lying across the bottom of the bed, the shape distorted by mysterious packages stuffed inside. “That’s for me?”
“How would I know? Better take a look.”
She sat up, thinking that there could be no better place to wake up than Jackson’s handcrafted log canopy bed with its uninterrupted view of the lake and forest. A cobweb of early-morning mist hovered over the trees, but the first rays of sunshine were already peeping through, sending shafts of light bouncing across the frozen surface.
“This place must be stunning in the summer.” Reaching down, she dragged the stocking onto her lap, feeling lumps and bumps and interesting shapes. As a child, the lumps had excited her. She’d been intrigued by the anticipation and the endless possibilities that came with not knowing. She’d loved that part so much she’d often prolonged the moment when she’d actually opened the packages. “There’s a note— To Kayla, because you’ve been a good girl this year—” Eyebrows raised, she turned to him and slid her hand over his chest. “That’s funny, because I thought I’d been quite a bad girl the last few days.”
“Yeah, you certainly have.” His voice was husky. “I guess Santa didn’t see that side of you. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”
“I can’t believe you made me a stocking.”
“Honey, I’ve never seen that stocking before in my life.”
She was incredibly touched. And choked. Telling herself she was just tired, Kayla put her hand in the stocking and pulled out the first package, ripped off the paper and laughed.
“Underwear?”
“Thermal. To keep Alice happy, obviously.”
She fingered soft fabric and lace. “It’s sexy.”
“Okay, maybe it’s not just Alice who will be happy. I wanted to buy you a black basque for skating but I decided one Christmas night spent at a police station is enough for anyone.”
Smiling, she ripped off paper, touched by the thoughtful gifts. There was a pretty bottle of maple syrup, warm ski mittens, sachets of hot chocolate and a couple of hand warmers. As she opened the last packet, she laughed. “A toy moose?”
“For your desk.”
“I should have gone shopping. I didn’t buy any gifts—”
“You came here. You put up with my family. You worked until you dropped. And you were the one who made me see how Walter felt.” He leaned back against the pillows. “Eighteen months I’ve been charging around here, burying grief in activity, behaving like a steamroller and not even noticing who I was crushing.”
“You didn’t crush anyone.”
“He was grieving, too. And he was protecting my father’s memory. He saw the changes I was making as a criticism of my father, and he couldn’t handle that. Couldn’t cope with the enormity of losing Snow Crystal.”
“He won’t. You won’t.” She leaned across and kissed him, feeling the roughness of his jaw against her lips. “Our campaign is going to rock. We are going to do what it takes to make sure this place is full.”
“But you won’t be doing the day-to-day work, will you? As vice president you’ll be out winning new business and directing strategy on all the accounts. You won’t be picking up the phones.”
“I can pick up a phone whenever I want to.” But he was right, of course. She wouldn’t be involved in the detail.
Someone else would be doing that part while she moved on to other things.
He eased away from her, sprang from the bed and walked into the shower without looking back at her. “We’d better get moving.”
“Jackson—”
“We’re expected over at the house for Christmas lunch. Or are you going to say you have to work?”
Christmas lunch.
She hadn’t shared Christmas lunch with anyone in years.
Last year she’d heated up a microwave meal. She hadn’t even bothered sitting down to eat it.
“I don’t have to work.”