“There’s not much chance of that.”
Natalie turned. The lieutenant bit the head off the gingerbread man in his hand. Was his cavalier attitude toward Sam’s safety bugging her, or was it the fact that looking at him had her insides clamoring for…for what? For something she hadn’t wanted in such a long time, she had no name for it. But the strange yearning she couldn’t name made her want to snarl at him in a primal reaction similar to fight or flight. Remember you want his help with the auction. Neither fight nor flight would get her what she wanted for Sam.
“Easy for you to say. He’s not your son,” she pointed out and grit her teeth, not understanding her reaction to Des Gallagher. Grumpiness aside, he wasn’t menacing, despite his disheveled appearance, and yet, he threatened her on some visceral level.
“Even if he was,” he said, brushing cookie crumbs off his shirt as if he didn’t have a care in the world, “it doesn’t change facts.”
She narrowed her eyes at Des as if he represented some sort of threat. He does, a voice screamed at her. But the danger wasn’t physical…well, unless you counted her body’s reaction to him. He wasn’t her type, she argued with herself. For one thing, he was too tall, at least two or three inches over six feet to her mere five foot two. Okay, okay, five feet and one and a half inches. He couldn’t be called charming or even pleasant.
His face was covered in stubble, his eyes a little bloodshot. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday, a red-and-black buffalo-plaid flannel shirt over a cream-colored, waffle-knit shirt and faded jeans. Had he been up all night? Working or drinking?
She was going with working because she hadn’t smelled any alcohol or even breath mints on him. Besides, Tavie hadn’t said anything about a drinking problem, and she would know. Natalie was convinced the owner of Loon Lake General Store knew everything about everyone.
Des muttered something under his breath and limped toward Sam. How come she hadn’t noticed that limp before? Maybe because he’d been sitting down. As her neighbor’s little brother might say, “Duh, Natalie.” Being around this man had her on her toes. Too bad being around him also drained IQ points.
“Have you ever been on a snowmobile?” Des hunkered down next to Sam with an exhaled grunt.
What was the matter with his left leg? Was that why he was no longer in the navy? She took back every nasty or unkind thought she’d ever had about Des Gallagher. Except the thoughts you were thinking last night weren’t unkind. Some might call them nasty but with a totally different connotation of that particular word.
Tavie Whatley had talked about Des but hadn’t said anything about permanent or debilitating injuries. Was it simple politeness or was Tavie caught under his spell, too?
What’s this too business? I haven’t fallen under his spell.
“This will be our first winter here,” she said, hoping to steer her thoughts to more wholesome topics. “We didn’t get much snow where we lived before. We’re looking forward to real snow, aren’t we, Sam?”
His blue eyes wide, Sam nodded enthusiastically.
“Real snow? What other kind is there?” Des snorted and threw her a questioning glance. “Where the heck did you live before?”
“Nashville. We’d get some snow accumulation, but it didn’t last much past noon on sunny days. Sam and I are looking forward to building our first snowman, going sledding and having snowball fights.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he said. “Along with all those snowmen come shoveling, scraping your car, crappy driving conditions, salt and sand all winter long. To name a few of the exciting perks.”
“And yet, here you are.” She parroted his words from yesterday and made sure the challenge was evident in her tone.
He made a noise, blowing air through his lips. “Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment.”
She laughed. He was enjoying this too much to be as fractious as he wanted her to believe. “I’ll bet you enjoy every minute of the snow. The more miserable, the better.”
He rolled his eyes. “Remind me not to play poker with you.”
She frowned at his comment. Wait, was he groaning? “Why? I don’t understand your meaning.”
“You see too much.” He shook his head. “I predict if we have a bad winter, you’ll be crying uncle long before mud season.”
“Mud season?”
“It’s Vermont’s fifth season and comes between winter and spring.” He glanced at her sneakers. “You might want to invest in a decent pair of rubber boots before then, not to mention snow boots for the snow you’re wanting.”
“We’re here to stay. It would take more than snow or mud to chase us away.” She squared her shoulders and forced strength into her voice. “And that’s a promise, not a threat. In case you were wondering.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.” The side of his mouth lifted a fraction, the only indication he might be amused.
She moved closer and rested her hand on the padded seat of the snowmobile. “I must say, you have an impressive piece of equipment.”
“Gee, thanks, it’s been a while since anyone has complimented me on my…equipment,” he said in a deadpan tone.
She turned toward him. What did she—Oh! So much for wholesome. She closed her eyes, wishing the ground would swallow her up because now her imagination was going there. The last time she’d flirted could be measured in years, definitely before her marriage to Ryan. Her face burning up, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. His face was impassive except for an ever-so-slight lift of his eyebrows.
Her mouth opened and closed. Great, she couldn’t manage anything except an imitation of a goldfish. His expression didn’t change, but she had the distinct feeling he was relishing her discomfort. When she narrowed her eyes at him, he rubbed a hand over his mouth, his fingers making a scratching sound on the stubble. How would those dark whiskers feel against her skin? Stay away from there, Natalie. You’re way out of your depth.
Okay, so the man had a sense of humor hidden under that ill-mannered exterior. What would he be like if—No, she wanted him to make some ornaments for her auction. That was all. Nothing more. But there was no harm in noticing how his chest filled out that flannel shirt, was there?
“…on a snowmobile before?” Des had been talking to Sam while she’d been daydreaming about things she shouldn’t.
Sam, who seemed to be hanging on every word Des said, shook his head. Natalie’s chest tightened. Last year her dad had suffered one of those widow-maker heart attacks, and Sam had lost the closest male role model he’d had since his dad and her late husband, Ryan, passed away. Sure, he had plenty of doting women in his life, but she knew they couldn’t fill the void the same way a man could. Her father had been a crusty career army drill sergeant but had had a soft spot for Sam she could have hit blindfolded.
She listened as Des explained how the snowmobile worked and she made a mental note to look for a toy one Sam could add to his beloved collection of die-cast miniature cars. It would make a nice stocking stuffer. There wasn’t an abundance of extra money for Christmas presents, so she was making sure each gift from Santa was well thought out.
Des rose and stepped back until he stood shoulder to shoulder with her. “He doesn’t say much.”
She knew she could agree with him and that would be the end of the matter. That was what she’d learned to do with people who passed anonymously through their lives. She’d even perfected her smile when people said things like “I wish mine was that quiet.”
“That’s because he can’t. Three years ago, when Sam was two, a car jumped the curb into a crowd of people leaving a minor league baseball game in Nashville,