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some cookies.” She placed the basket on his desk and pulled back the cloth. The delicious scent of the cookies wafted out.

      He glanced at the cookies, then at her.

      “I appreciate that,” he said. “Was there another reason for your visit?”

      Marlee was slightly miffed he hadn’t taken one of the cookies, then reminded herself that Carson was known to be a man in a hurry. She decided it was best to get right to the point.

      “I’m sure you know about Mr. Barrett’s accident, and how the family has rushed to his bedside,” Marlee said. “And I’m sure you also know that the family had agreed to perform at the Christmas festival, but now can’t possibly do so.”

      Carson just nodded.

      “It’s become necessary to hire another musical group to perform,” Marlee said. “The good news is that Mrs. Tuttle has found a wonderful replacement who has graciously agreed to come to Harmony on very short notice.”

      Carson stared at her. She’d hoped he’d ask some questions, or at least express some pleasure that the Christmas festival would go forward. Surely he knew what it meant to the town of Harmony.

      “However, this new musical group is charging for their appearances,” Marlee said, “which makes it necessary to ask for a donation—”

      “No.”

      “—from—”

      “No.”

      Marlee huffed. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

      Carson looked properly contrite, and gestured for her to continue.

      “What were you going to ask?” he said.

      “I was going to ask if you could find it in your heart to donate the money—”

      “No.”

      Anger spiked in Marlee. “You haven’t heard the amount.”

      “Fine, then,” Carson said. “How much?”

      “Only one hundred dollars—”

      “A hundred dollars? For people to come here and sing?”

      “They’ll perform a number of concerts,” Marlee pointed out.

      “Hell,” Carson grumbled. “Maybe I’m in the wrong business.”

      “Those performances will bring lots of visitors to town,” Marlee said.

      “No wonder old man Barrett was always trotting those kids of his from place to place to perform,” Carson said.

      “It will mean a great deal of business for our merchants,” Marlee said.

      Carson shook his head. “Look, Miss Carrington, I—”

      “It’s for Christmas,” she implored.

      A moment passed, and finally Carson said, “I can’t help you.”

      “But—”

      “I make money. I don’t give it away.” Carson gestured to her market basket. “Did you think some cookies would convince me to donate that kind of money?”

      Yes, she did think that it would at least help, but now she felt the gesture had made her look naive and silly. Still, she wasn’t going to tell him that.

      Marlee pushed her chin up. “It’s accepted tradition to offer refreshments during a business discussion,” she told him.

      “A business discussion involves two people each getting something out of the deal,” Carson told her. “What are you offering—besides cookies?”

      Wild notions flew into Marlee’s head, things she’d only heard whispered about among the girls at the Claremont School for Young Ladies. And now she was actually thinking about them—and doing them—with Carson.

      The room seemed to grow warmer as Carson leaned his elbow on his desk and edged closer.

      “Well, Miss Carrington?” he asked.

      His voice sounded deeper, richer. His eyes looked darker. The heat he gave off pulled her closer, as if she were bound to him, unable to break away.

      “What else are you offering?” he asked.

      A spark of heat forced its way through her muddled thoughts.

      Had he just made an indecent proposal?

      Marlee replayed his words in her mind. Good gracious, he had.

      Of all the nerve. How dare he? Anger, outrage—something—raced through her. She should slap his face and stomp out of his office, and never speak to him again.

      But what about the money for the musical group? The festival? The town of Harmony that was counting on her?

      Well, she would have to give him a piece of her mind later—which she certainly would do.

      Marlee tamped down her feelings and looked at Carson across the desk.

      “If you weren’t aware, Mr. Tate,” she told him, “I’m currently in the employ of Mrs. Lillian Montgomery of Philadelphia, where I perform social and business duties with the utmost efficiency and competence, having been trained at the Claremont School for Young Ladies.”

      “The Claremont School for Young Ladies, huh?” Carson reared back in his chair.

      “It’s a very prestigious institution,” Marlee assured him.

      “I’m sure it is.” He shook his head. “But I’ve got Drew to handle my business, and I don’t have a need for social help, whatever that is.”

      “Oh, but you do,” Marlee assured him. “Your home isn’t decorated for Christmas. I could do that for you—and in good taste.”

      “I don’t need my house decorated,” Carson said.

      “I could purchase gifts for everyone on your Christmas list,” she said.

      Carson shook his head. “I don’t give Christmas gifts.”

      “You don’t give gifts?” Marlee blurted the words out.

      He sat forward. “How about cooking? Are you good at it?”

      Cooking? Who said anything about cooking? Why would he mention it?

      “How about scrubbing and washing?” he asked.

      She kept her belongings neat and organized, but Mrs. Montgomery employed servants who did the heavy cleaning.

      Marlee’s spirits dipped considerably. If her cooking and cleaning skills were what it took to convince Carson to give her the money she needed, the Christmas festival was doomed.

      “My request for a donation is made in the spirit of Christmas, and for the betterment of Harmony,” Marlee said. “I think you’re missing the point.”

      “No, I believe you’re the one missing the point,” Carson told her.

      Not a hint of a smile showed on Carson’s face. His expression hardened. He exuded a toughness, a strength that she hadn’t seen before. Marlee knew she was gazing at a man who knew how to drive a hard bargain, to force a deal to go his way, to get the upper hand and keep it. She imagined other, less hardy men cowing down, giving him his way.

      Yet something inside Marlee seemed to rise up, anxious to take him on.

      “I run a business, not a charity,” Carson told her. “The gifts I give folks in Harmony are jobs so they’ll have money in their pockets, food on their tables. I bring new business to this town so it will grow, so more families can have better lives. I work hard at that. Very hard. And I’m not about to give away a hundred dollars so that a bunch of people can come here and sing songs.”

      Marlee’s

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