LITMIR.BIZ

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would love it and see what a beautiful summer place it could make for them once they were married, he had hated it. He had told her, snobbishly, with hostility, that she was trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

      That was something else he had in common with her mother, who hated this place so much she hadn’t even come back for Granny’s funeral.

      And then the final blow—by telephone, the coward! Monique was more suited to his world. It was Emma’s own fault for going to the inn. For putting her interests ahead of his.

      How had the love of her life, the man who was her dream, turned out to be a snobby version of her mother? To both of them, their interests came first. They didn’t even hesitate to divest themselves of anyone or anything that asked something of them, that wanted a return on an investment. And Emma had bought into it for so long, telling herself real love didn’t ask for anything. It only gave, never took, exhausting and unrewarding as that was.

      Why did Emma think Lynelle would come for Christmas when she hadn’t even come to her own mother’s funeral?

      She’ll come, Emma told herself. She said she would come. But a promise in her mother’s world was not always something you could take to the bank. The doubt was going to be there until the moment her mother stepped off the bus.

      And Emma felt guilty about her lack of faith in Lynelle.

      “Emma, Emma, Emma,” her mother had said, annoyed, the last time they’d spoken and Emma had pressed for an answer about Christmas. “Where do you get that sentimental streak from?”

      As if somehow Emma was in the wrong for wanting her to come.

      “Okay, okay, okay,” Lynelle had finally said, irritated. “I’ll come. Send the damned ticket. Are you happy now?”

      “Hey,” Ryder said. When had he come back beside her? “Don’t take it like that. The road could be open tonight.” And then, softer, “Please don’t cry.”

      Which was when she realized she was crying! She swiped at her cheeks with a mittened hand. “I’m not crying,” she said stubbornly. “I poked myself in the eye with a branch.”

      She held out a branch to show him, but he looked right past it and right past the words.

      He cupped her chin in his gloved hand, slipped the glove off his other hand with his teeth, brushed the tear from her cheek. She saw the struggle in his face, knew he wanted nothing more than to walk away from her pain.

      And she knew she was seeing something he tried to hide when he didn’t walk away, or couldn’t.

      “Come on,” he said, throwing a casual brotherly arm over her shoulder, guiding her away from the road, “you’ll have a good Christmas this year. Meanwhile, let’s see what that miracle worker Mona has planned for supper.”

      As soon as he walked in the door, Sue and Peggy, who had apparently lugged Tess around all afternoon, were on him as if he were a favored uncle. They handed over Tess, who now sported several more bows, somewhat reluctantly.

      “Mama,” she said.

      “No, Tess,” Sue said sternly.

      “Ubba?” Tess guessed.

      “Yes!” The gleeful girls danced around as if Tess had scored a touchdown. Ryder stroked Tess’s combed hair, and Tess didn’t even howl a protest.

      “Me preffree,” she declared to her uncle. “Har.”

      “She means she’s pretty,” Sue translated officiously. “’Cause of her hair.”

      “Pretty,” Ryder said thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so.”

      All three girls looked shattered at his pronouncement, but the smiles started when he said, “Um, no, pretty isn’t good enough. Lovely?” He seemed to think it over, regarded Tess, then shook his head. “Gorgeous. Beautiful. Stunning. Dazzling.”

      “Creative!” Sue crowed, and he smiled.

      And then he lifted his niece up with that easy masculine grace, dangled her over his head, her little legs waggling with glee, and then he swooped her down and blew a kiss onto her belly.

      Emma could have watched him play with the baby forever. But even thinking that word in close proximity to him seemed to be inviting danger, so she deliberately turned her back on the scene and went in search of Mona. Mona was on the back porch, assembling the bundles of balsam and fir and spruce that went into wreaths.

      “The road’s not open,” Emma said, glad to have this moment alone with Mona. “I’m not sure we need any more of those. We probably won’t be able to sell what we have.”

      She took a deep breath, “I appreciate you and Tim and the girls spending the day, but I’m not sure about tomorrow. If Holiday Happenings doesn’t happen soon, I’m not going to be able to pay you.”

      Mona gave her an insulted look. “We came as your neighbors and your friends today, not as your employees, and we’ll be here as long as you need us.”

      Emma could feel those awful tears burning in her eyes again.

      “Besides, you know how I love this house and it’s good to keep busy. It keeps all of us from thinking about Tim. Two more Canadian soldiers were wounded yesterday.”

      And then Mona’s eyes were full of tears, too, but she quickly brushed them aside. “Let’s have supper at my place. I can cook on the wood burner. I took out chicken this morning. Plus the whole house will be nice and warm from the woodstove.”

      The thought of so much warmth—physical and emotional—was more than Emma could refuse.

      But Ryder refused with ease, closing something in himself that had opened during the snowball fight. “Tess and I will stay here,” he said. “I’ve got food for her. I can have a hot dog for supper.”

      Emma knew something about all this bothered him: the children, the family, the moments of playfulness, the togetherness. She could see that he deliberately planned to turn his back on it. She refused to beg him to come, which woman-scorned was very pleased about. Emma knew he was posing a danger to her. She could see that by coming to the inn she had deliberately removed herself from all those things that, after Peter, she was ill-equipped to handle.

      But Mona was having none of it. “You are not having a hot dog for supper after the kind of work you did today.”

      Ryder still looked stubborn.

      Peggy came and took his hand, shook it vigorously to make sure she had his full attention. “Tess has to come to my house. I want to show her my dollhouse that my daddy made.”

      “I could use another man,” Tim said, clearly having to overcome his pride to ask. “The pump won’t be working, and I’ll need to haul water from the creek.”

      Emma was not sure which of those arguments won him over, but she was aware of the sweet sensation within herself of wanting to be with him and to spend more time with him, and being glad she didn’t have to reveal any of that by convincing him herself.

      Somehow they all managed it in one trip, Mona on the snowmobile behind her father-in-law, Ryder, Emma, girls and baby squashed onto the sled.

      Ryder went in first, Emma between his legs, the baby on her lap. She had to push hard into his chest to make room for Sue and Peggy, who squeezed in practically on top of her and the baby.

      The extremely crowded ride the short distance to the Fenshaws’ should have been uncomfortable. Instead, it felt incredible. It wasn’t just because she was so close to him, though she could feel his heart beating through his jacket, feel the steel of his strong legs where they formed a V around the small of her back. It was the whole picture, the baby and the girls shouting with laughter as their grandfather picked up speed, the snowmobile cutting a smooth path through the snow.

      It was the party atmosphere the Fenshaws insisted on creating, as if closed roads

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