Their Mistletoe Matchmakers - Keli Gwyn Mills & Boon Love Inspired Historical

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      “You’ll need this.” She held out the spatula to him.

      He chuckled. “And here I thought you’d turn me down.”

      She probably should have. Working side-by-side was more disconcerting than she’d expected. She was all too aware of Henry’s powerful presence. His muscular arm brushed hers as he attempted to salvage the sorry egg, sending a jolt of electricity through her.

      Taking her cue from him, she adopted a playful tone. “I considered refusing, but since we’re running behind schedule this morning, I decided to let you come to my rescue.” Again. This was their third interaction—and the third time he’d found her in a less than flattering situation.

      He leaned so close that his breath warmed her cheek. “I only come to the rescue of pretty women with piles of curls.” He tugged on one of her curls that had broken free of her pins, let it go and smiled as the spiral sprung back into place.

      Had Henry just flirted with her? The idea seemed preposterous but strangely appealing. Since she had no idea how to respond, she remained silent and focused on her task.

      Several minutes later, they all sat around the table. Every plate boasted crispy strips of bacon and, with one exception, expertly fried eggs that would have made even the finicky chef at the restaurant inside her father’s Royal Crowne Hotel in New York City happy. Henry had taken the remains of her failed attempt. He speared a bite of the egg and ate it with as much relish as the children did theirs.

      He looked up, caught her staring at him and winked. Merriment danced in his blue eyes. It seemed he was just toying with her. She’d been a ninny to think he was drawn to her. Oh, there were sparks between them, however, they weren’t fueled by attraction but by their adversarial relationship. They might have deferred their discussion regarding the children’s future until after Christmas, but it was on her mind. No doubt it was on his, too.

      Alex and Marcie left to walk to school with their next-door neighbor, Norma, a short time later, lunch pails in hand. Dot went to her room to watch her siblings as they headed down Church Street toward the schoolhouse on the west side of Main, which doubled as the church while the small congregation worked to raise the funds needed to construct a building of their own.

      Gladys began to gather the dirty dishes, but Lavinia stopped her. “I’ll see to those. You need to rest.”

      “I’m not one to shirk my duties. If I rub on some liniment, I’ll be fine. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. There’s a meal to be prepared, and I aim to do it.”

      “Now, Gladys,” Henry began, “I’m inclined to agree with Lavinia. Bustling around a kitchen for the next two days when you’re already hurting is likely to make things worse. What you need is someone who could work under your direction. I’m available.”

      Gladys studied him through narrowed eyes. “You can fry an egg, but there’s a lot more work involved in fixing a feast. Are you sure you’re up for that?”

      He nodded. “Provided Lavinia has no objections...” He turned to her. “What do you say?”

      Why must he be so agreeable? And helpful? And adorable? With that boyish eagerness in eyes, she was powerless to resist him. “It appears I don’t have a choice, but it would ease my mind if I knew you’d be able to follow Gladys’s directions.”

      “Ah.” He flashed her a winsome smile and continued, his lovely rolled R a bit more pronounced than usual. “You’re wondering if I can cook. The answer is yes. I’m a long-time bachelor and know my way around a kitchen. Besides, I’ll have Gladys there to make sure I don’t make a mess of things.”

      His confidence eased the tension in Lavinia’s shoulders. “Very well. I’ll leave the meal in your hands then.”

      “Don’t worry. It will be a feast you’ll remember for years to come.”

       Chapter Three

      The blast of pumpkin-scented air that escaped as Henry opened the oven door that afternoon made his mouth water. He could almost taste the rich filling. Plunging a butter knife into it and marring that smooth surface wouldn’t be easy, but he had to know if the pie was fully baked. He stuck in the blade and quickly pulled it out. Clean.

      Gladys lay on the settee he’d moved into the kitchen and watched as he set the pan on a trivet in the middle of the table. “If that tastes as good as it smells, we’re in for a treat. The custard is smooth, and your pie crust turned out quite flaky. I never heard of keeping the ingredients on ice before, but I’m going to try that next time.”

      “I think every kitchen should have an icebox. I’m surprised Mr. Crowne’s doesn’t.”

      She snorted. “He’s not one to think about making life easier for his household staff. It’s a different story when it comes to his hotels and restaurants, though. I hear they have all the modern conveniences.”

      Henry wasn’t surprised. From what he’d seen, Paul Crowne put his hotel empire before everything else, even his own family. They were expected to do his bidding, just as his employees and vendors were. Henry had seen that himself when Jack landed the contract for the iron work at the Crowne Jewel Hotel in Philadelphia. Mr. Crowne had barked orders at Jack. The domineering man had been just as demanding with Pauline, whose artistic bent had earned her the right to plan the hotel’s décor.

      To her credit, his eldest daughter hadn’t cowed under the pressure. Pauline had stood up to her father regarding the work. She did so again when she fell in love with Jack and chose to marry him against her father’s wishes. She’d held her head high at the wedding, even though her father had refused to come and forbade his wife from attending, too.

      At least Lavinia had shown up. Whether she’d chosen to defy her father or not, Henry didn’t know. She was understandably reserved that day, glossing over the matter of her parents’ glaring absence with well-rehearsed comments. Despite her aloofness, he’d detected a note of sadness in her bearing and pain in her eyes.

      His attempt to make her feel more welcome at the wedding had resulted in disaster. She hadn’t heard him coming and had started, causing her to drop the piece of cake she’d been holding. Her mortification led to a temporary collapse of the barrier she’d erected. In that moment, he’d seen a joyless young woman trapped in a lonely existence.

      If only she could break free, as her sister had. But from what he’d seen so far, Lavinia was more deeply entrenched in the ways of her father’s world than before. Worse yet, she wanted to whisk the children away and immerse them in that life, too, which wasn’t going to happen. They deserved to be happy. So did their devoted aunt, who was trying hard to prove that she was capable of caring for them.

      Henry smiled at the memory of Lavinia staring at the frying pans that morning with determination befitting a military commander facing a ruthless foe. If only she could bring that stoutheartedness to bear in her dealings with her iron-fisted father.

      “Don’t be daydreaming, Mr. Henry,” Gladys chided. “This meal won’t fix itself.”

      He roused himself from his musings. “You’re right.”

      “At least you took a pleasant journey, judging by that smile.”

      The front door opened, and childish laughter filled the entryway. Lavinia and the children had returned. With school finished for the day, the holiday recess was officially underway. Despite the terrible losses they’d suffered the past year, they would celebrate with a meal sure to help ease the heaviness in their hearts.

      Dot burst into the kitchen first and flung herself at him. “We’re back, Uncle Henry.”

      “I see.” He scooped her into his arms. “It must be cold out there. Your cheeks are rosy, and your nose is red.” He popped the tip of it with a finger.

      The little girl giggled. “The hot cocoa will warm us up. Is

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