“Okay, Cullen!” Harry said, handing him a cookie. “You paint this one. It’s a bell.”

“I see that.”

“So paint it.”

“With frosting,” Wendy qualified. “But you should also wash your hands first.”

He was going to say no. He’d never done anything like this in his life and he was too old to start now. But just the mention of the word frosting squeezed his heart. Unable to catch every word said about him, Harry had repeated what he’d thought he heard and called himself a “frosting child.” He was a sweet little boy, left in the hands of a cold, sterile system. How could Cullen turn away the request of a child who’d just lost his mother?

“Okay.”

Wendy smiled. Cullen’s heart tripped over itself in his chest. Now that they were in a comfortable environment he’d begun thinking of things a little more normally. But that wasn’t necessarily good. Instead of envisioning off-the-wall images like sparkling angels when he looked at her, he was now thinking how he’d like to kiss the lips that had pulled upward into a smile.

But that was wrong. They’d be working together for the next weeks. Visions of angels were one thing. Actually wanting to kiss his temporary employee was another.

Susan Meier spent most of her twenties thinking she was a job-hopper—until she began to write and realised everything that had come before was only research! One of eleven children, with twenty-four nieces and nephews and three kids of her own, Susan has had plenty of real-life experience watching romance blossom in unexpected ways. She lives in Western Pennsylvania with her wonderful husband Mike, three children, and two over-fed, well-cuddled cats, Sophie and Fluffy. You can visit Susan’s website at www.susanmeier.com

The Magic of a Family Christmas

BY

Susan Meier

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For the people at Gardners Candies

in Tyrone, Pennsylvania!

Thanks for a great tour and your help with this story!

Merry Christmas!

For my mom,

who was the inspiration for Harry’s Christmas cookie.

Prologue

“I’VE hired a nurse.”

“Really?” Wendy Winston tried to sound surprised by her next-door neighbor’s announcement, but she wasn’t. Betsy’s cancer hadn’t responded to treatment. Wendy had been able to help Betsy struggle through the aftereffects of the initial round of chemotherapy, but her friend needed real care now. Care beyond what a neighbor could provide.

“I appreciate all the help you’ve given me over the past few weeks, but I’ll bet you’ll be glad for the break.”

Fluffing the fat pillow before she slid it under Betsy’s head, Wendy laughed. “You think I’ll be glad to go back to an empty house?”

Betsy frowned. “I’ve always wondered why you didn’t move back to your family in Ohio after your husband died.”

She shrugged. “Memories mostly. It seemed too abrupt just to leave when he died. I needed time to process everything.”

“It’s been two years.”

“I also have a job.”

“No one stays away from family for a job.”

She grinned at Betsy. “Would you believe I can’t sell that monstrosity I call a house?”

Betsy laughed.

“One of these days I’ll have the kitchen and bathrooms remodeled and then I can put it on the market and go.”

Even Wendy heard the wistfulness in her own voice so she wasn’t surprised when Betsy said, “It makes you sad to think of leaving.”

“Four years ago I settled here with the assumption that Barrington would be my home. I can’t shake the feeling that this is where I belong. No matter how alone I am.”

“Why didn’t you and Greg ever have kids?”

“He wanted to be done with his residency before we even tried.”

“Makes sense.”

Wendy smiled sadly.

“But it didn’t make you happy.”

“If we’d done what I wanted and had a child I wouldn’t be alone right now.” She sighed. “Not that I only wanted a child to keep from being lonely. It was more than that. My whole life I longed to be a mom. But what Greg wanted always came first. Some days I struggle with that.”

“That’s one of those tough choices that happens in a marriage. Nobody’s fault.”

Wendy turned away. “Yeah.” She wouldn’t burden Betsy with stories of how her late husband had been so focused and determined that he frequently didn’t even listen when she talked. She didn’t want to give Betsy any more to worry about or the wrong idea. She had loved Greg and missed him so much after he died that she had genuinely believed she would never be happy again. But because he was so selfabsorbed, their marriage was far from perfect.

Silence stretched out in Betsy’s sunny bedroom as Wendy walked around the room tidying the dresser and bedside tables.

“You know, it won’t be the nurse’s job to read Harry a story or tuck him in at night,” Betsy said, referring to her six-year-old son.

Wendy turned from the dresser.

“So if you want to keep coming over to do that, I know it would make Harry happy. He loves it when you read to him.”

Wendy smiled. “I love it, too.”

Chapter One

WENDY Winston twisted the key to silence her small car and turned to the boy on the seat beside her. Six-year-old Harry Martin blinked at her from behind brown-framed glasses. A knit cap covered his short yellow hair. His blue eyes were far too serious to be those of a child. A thick winter coat swallowed his thin body. His mittened hand clutched a bag of toy soldiers.

“I’m really sorry to have to bring you to work.”

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “S’okay.”

She wanted to say not really. It wasn’t okay that he’d be forced to sit and play with his plastic soldiers for God only knew how long while she worked. It wasn’t okay that he’d lost his mom. Or that Betsy’s lawyer had been out of town when she’d died. It had been four weeks before Attorney Costello had finally called to tell Wendy that Betsy had granted her custody of Harry in her will, and another few days before social services could pull him out of his foster home and give Wendy custody—and then only temporarily.

Regardless of what Betsy’s will said, Harry’s biological father’s rights superseded her custody bequest. But no one knew where Harry’s dad was, so, for now, Wendy had a child who needed her, and, for the first time in two years, she had someone to anticipate Christmas with. Though social services was searching for Harry’s dad, Wendy believed she and Harry could have as long as a month to shop, bake cookies and decorate. If it killed her she would make it the best month before Christmas this little boy had ever had.

She smiled. “I promise I’ll make this up to you.”

“Can we bake cookies?”

Her heart soared. It seemed that what he needed done for him was what she needed to do. They were the perfect combination. Maybe fate wasn’t so despicable after all.

“You bet we can bake cookies. Any kind you want.”

Wicked wind battered them with freezing rain as they raced across the icy parking lot to the executive entrance for Barrington Candies. Juggling her umbrella and her purse as they ran toward the door, she rummaged for her key, but before she found it, the right side of the glass double doors burst open.

Cullen Barrington stood in the entryway. Six foot three, with black hair and eyes every bit as dark, and wearing a pale-blue sweater that was probably cashmere, the owner of Barrington Candies was the consummate playboy. He was rich, handsome and rarely around, assigning her boss Paul McCoy the task of managing the day-to-day operations of the company while he handled the big-picture details from the comfort of his home in Miami. Cullen was also so tight with money that no one in the plant had gotten a raise since control of Barrington Candies had been handed to him by his mother.

Scrooge.

That’s what she’d taken to calling the man who’d summoned her to work on a Saturday afternoon. Even though he’d surprised everyone with his offer to fill in for her boss so Mr. McCoy could take an extended Christmas vacation, Wendy wasn’t fooled into thinking he’d changed his ways and become generous. Though he’d probably called her in today to prepare before he took over on Monday morning, he’d paid no thought to the fact that she would lose her day off. She’d lose precious minutes with Harry. She’d lose the chance for them to enjoy whatever time they had together, and maybe even the chance for her to show him life wasn’t entirely bad, just parts of it.

Even if, some days, she didn’t quite believe that herself.

Occupied with her thoughts, she slipped on the ice and plowed into Cullen. She braced her hand on his chest to stop her forward momentum and it sank into the downy cashmere covering the hard muscle of his chest. His body was like a rock.

Confused, because she thought all rich men were soft and pampered, she looked up. He glanced down. And everything inside Wendy stilled. She swore the world stopped revolving. As dark as moonless midnight, his eyes held hers. Her femininity stirred inside her.

That confused her even more. She hadn’t felt anything for a man since her husband’s death, and Cullen Barrington was the last man on the planet she wanted to be attracted to. A playboy from Miami? No thanks. She’d glimpsed him a time or two in the four years she’d been working for his company and never felt anything but distaste at the way he treated his employees. She had no idea what was going on with her hormones, but it had to be an aberration of some sort.

She stepped away, and as the door swung closed behind her a bell rang.

Funny, she didn’t remember a bell being on that door.

She turned to investigate and sure enough someone had tied a bell to the spring mechanism at the top of the door. Probably Wendell, the janitor, making sure he’d be alerted if one of the executives sneaked in to check up on him.

“Why did you bring your little boy?”

She pulled off her mittens. “Oh, I don’t know. Because I wasn’t supposed to be working today? Because it’s such short notice that I couldn’t get a sitter?” She shrugged. “Take your pick.”

His gorgeous eyes narrowed. He obviously didn’t like her speaking so freely with him.

Wendy almost groaned at her stupidity. A single woman who might get custody of a little boy couldn’t afford to be fired!

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. It’s just cold and I had things to do. So tell me what you want to work on and we can get started.”

“I’d like to catch up on what’s been going on, so I’ll need production schedules and the financials. Once you help me find those, you can go home.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t give any reason at all for her heart to catch at the smooth baritone of his voice, but it did. Her entire body felt warm and soft, feminine in response to his masculinity.

She stepped back. She did not want to be attracted to him. It had taken her two long, miserable years to get over Greg’s death. And she refused to go through the misery of loss again by being attracted to a playboy who—as sure as the sun rises every day—would dump her.

Of course, she might not be attracted to Cullen as much as she was simply waking up from the sexual dead. It had been two years. And she had been feeling like her normal self for at least three months. Maybe this was just a stage?

She peeked at Cullen, knowing that beneath that soft sweater was a very hard male body. Something sweet and syrupy floated through her. Moving her gaze upward, she met his simmering dark eyes and knew she could get lost in them.

She swallowed. Nope. Not a stage. It was him. She was attracted to him.

He turned to walk back to the office. Following him, she caught Harry’s hand and brought him along with her.

“As far as the financials go, I don’t want those fancy reports that go out in the annual statement. I want the spreadsheets. The nuts and bolts.”

She stopped with a frown. She had access to everything, but if he was looking for the whys behind the line entries, she couldn’t help him. “Why didn’t you call Nolan, the accountant?”

He faced her. “Are you saying you can’t get me the financials?”

“No. I have them. Everything is in my filing cabinet. But—”

She stopped talking. First, his eyes were simmering sexily again and her whole body began to hum—which made her want to groan in frustration. Second, she was making this harder than it had to be. All she had to do was find a few documents for him. The faster she found them, the sooner she’d be at home making cookies.

She squeezed Harry’s hand. “I can get you anything you need.”

“Thank you.”

Cullen turned and resumed his walk to the executive suite. Wendy and Harry scurried behind him.

In her office, she stripped off her coat and removed Harry’s. Cullen stood patiently by her desk as she rummaged through her purse for the key to the filing cabinet. Walking over, she noticed the door to her boss’s office was open. Papers were strewn across his desk.

“Oh, you’re already working?”

Cullen nodded. “I typed a few letters. But there isn’t a printer in the office. I’m guessing I have to send my things to a remote printer, but I’m not sure which one is which.”

“E-mail them to me and I’ll print them.”

“Why don’t you just come to the computer with me and show me which printer to send them to?”

Okay. So he didn’t want her to see what he’d written. No big deal. Whatever he wanted to print was probably personal. Not her business. She not only got the message; she also agreed. The less she knew about this man and the faster she got away from him, the better.

She unlocked the cabinet, pulled out the accordion file that contained the backup documentation for the financials for the year that had passed and handed it to him.

He glanced at the packet, then back up at her. Her stomach flip-flopped. His eyes were incredible. Dark. Shiny. Sexy. And the perfect complement to his angular face. He had the look of a matador. Strong. Bold. Everything about him was dramatic, male.

“Is the forecast in here?”

With a quick shake of her head, she rid herself of those ridiculous thoughts, not sure where the heck they kept coming from but knowing they were absolutely wrong. She returned her attention to the open drawer and pulled the file folder for the five-year plan.

“Here you go.”

“Great.”

Cullen took the folder from her hands and stepped back. He’d thought that bringing in Paul’s administrative assistant would make his life easier, but this woman wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. For a widow, she was young and incredibly good-looking. Long, loosely curled red hair fell to the shoulders of her thick green cable-knit sweater. Her cheeks had become pink in the cold, accenting the green of her eyes. Lowriding jeans hugged a shapely bottom.

He wasn’t sure what the heck had happened when she’d fallen into his arms after she’d slipped on the ice. Their eyes had met and he’d felt a jolt of something so foreign it had rendered him speechless. He couldn’t blame it on the fact that she was attractive. He knew hundreds of gorgeous women. Women even prettier than she was. He couldn’t say it was because she was sexy. He knew sexy women. And he couldn’t say he’d felt a jolt because he was happy to see her. He didn’t know her.

But whatever the hell that jolt was, he was smart enough to ignore it.

He was also taking that damned bell off the door. The whole point of having an executive entry was so the workers didn’t know when he was there or he wasn’t!

“Come on. Show me how to send these letters to a remote printer.”

She followed him into the office of the current company president and her little boy followed her.

“What’s your name?”

“Harry.”

Cullen couldn’t help it; he laughed. “Like Harry Potter?”

“No, like my grandpa.”

He turned to Wendy Winston. “So your father was a Harry?”

“No, his grandfather’s name was Harry.”

Confused, Cullen stopped and faced them again. He looked from Wendy to Harry and back to Wendy again. They didn’t look a thing alike. So the kid probably resembled his dad which meant that Grandpa Harry had been her late husband’s dad. Whatever the deal, he really didn’t care. He was trying to make light conversation so the afternoon would go more smoothly. If they wanted to play guessing games, he wasn’t interested.

He turned and walked behind the desk, falling into the uncomfortable desk chair. With a few keystrokes he minimized his letters and left a blank screen. He rose and motioned for Wendy to take a seat in the chair.

“Show me which printer to send these to.”

She sat. “Okay. Well, you just do all the things you need to do to print—” Using the mouse, she clicked the appropriate icon to get the print menu.

When the print menu popped on the screen, he leaned down to get a closer look. The scent of something floral drifted to his nose. With a slight movement of his eyes, he took in her shiny red hair—more the color of cinnamon than autumn leaves—then let his gaze drift down to her shapely breasts.

Damn it! Why did he keep looking at her?

“Once you get this screen, you scroll to the top, click this menu to get the available printers, and choose this printer. Your documents will be sent to the printer by my desk.”

He cleared his throat. “Okay. I get it. Thank you. You can go now.”

She rose from the desk chair and caught Harry’s hand. “I can leave?”

“Yes. All I wanted were the financials and production reports, and to know which printer was closest.” He plopped down on the chair again and she turned to go but another thought struck him. “Wait!”

She faced him.

“You aren’t leaving town, are you?”

She laughed and he frowned. The last review in the personnel file for Wendy Winston had described her as quiet and unassuming, but extremely capable. He’d never know that from her behavior today. Of course, the way he kept staring at her, his attention continually caught by parts of her body he normally wouldn’t look at with an employee, wasn’t normal either. All because she’d fallen into his arms.

So maybe that brush had affected her as much as him? And maybe he should just ignore the way she was acting?

After a few seconds of silence, she gasped. “Oh, you weren’t kidding about my leaving town?”

“Why did you think I was kidding? Everybody else in this company is out of town.”

She gaped at him. “Because it’s the holiday! People are going to parties and visiting friends and relatives for Thanksgiving!”

“Right.” Because his holiday had been uneventful he’d almost forgotten it altogether. He looked down at his papers, then back up at her. “I’m not Scrooge. I’m just trying to make sure I don’t lose my source for information.”

She pulled in a breath. Her breasts rose and fell. Realizing he was staring, he jerked his eyes upward, cursing himself for acting like a horny teenager.

“No, Harry and I are staying in town. Even weekends.”

“Great.” Forcing his mind off her sweater and to the mission he was here to accomplish, he rubbed his hands together over the keyboard. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

She turned and left the office. Though Cullen had thought his attention was on the family business, where it was supposed to be, he couldn’t resist glancing up to watch the sway of her hips as she left.

Because her back was to him, he braced his elbow on his desk and his chin on his closed fist, letting himself watch as he tried to figure this out. He felt bewitched. But he couldn’t be. They hadn’t spent more than ten minutes together. And she wasn’t his type. He liked blondes. And she was a widow. A serious woman, not to be trifled with.

So he wouldn’t trifle. He would be the perfect gentleman for the few weeks he had to run this company, and then he’d leave Barrington, Pennsylvania, and, he hoped, never again even set foot in the town that bore his family’s name.

Wendy hustled Harry into the foyer of her echoing home. Her house was a monstrosity, a five-bedroom, three-bath mansion built in the eighteen hundreds that had been updated with the times, but had gone into disrepair when the last owner had left town and let it sit empty for over a year. She and her husband had purchased it with the idea of turning it into their dream home. They’d gotten as far as ripping out carpeting and finishing the hardwood floors throughout the house, chucking wood paneling in favor of plastered walls and installing a new furnace, roof and windows. But Greg had died before they even touched the bathrooms or the kitchen, which could best be described as early-American. As in Revolutionary War.

She turned up the thermostat to accommodate the howling wind outside and pointed Harry in the direction of the kitchen.

Creamsicle, her fat orange-and-white cat, thumped down the stairs and wrapped himself around her legs in greeting.

She motioned to the cat, diverting Harry’s attention to him. “Harry, this is Creamsicle. Creamsicle, this is Harry.”

The cat blinked. Harry grinned. “You have a cat!”

“Yes, but he’s old and moody, so you have to be nice to him.” She stooped down to pet Creamsicle, who ignored Harry—which was probably for the best. “I seem to remember something about Christmas cookies.”

Harry’s eyes grew as big as her cat’s belly. “Can we make them red and green?”

She began walking to the kitchen. “Hey, if you want to paint stained-glass windows on the church cookies, that’s fine by me.”

“We’re making churches?”

“I have a cutter for a church. One for Santa. An angel.”

She walked to the cabinet by the refrigerator. Her cupboards were knotty pine that actually made her dizzy. Especially when combined with the green-and-white print in the linoleum floor. She’d replaced the busy leaf-print curtains with simple taupe panels, removed the floral wallpaper and painted the walls a soothing sage color. But she hadn’t been able to replace the cabinets or the floor and the floor/cabinet combo sometimes gave her motion sickness.

“Here’s a bell, a wreath, a Christmas tree,” she said, pulling the cookie cutters from the deep drawer. “Let me grab the ingredients for the cookies and we’ll get this show on the road.”

“Don’t you think I should take off my coat first?”

She laughed, walking toward him, as Creamsicle waddled in and took his place on the floor in the corner, watching her and the newcomer.

“I don’t have any kids so I’m going to forget some obvious things every once in a while.” She unzipped his coat and tugged on the sleeve to pull it off then yanked his cap off his head. “Don’t be afraid to remind me!”

“Okay.” He pushed his glasses up his nose.

After stowing his coat and hat in the hall closet, Wendy gathered sugar, vanilla and flour from the cupboards and eggs, butter and milk from the refrigerator. Harry climbed on a chair.

“Oh, no! No sitting for you! You have to help.”

He peeked up at her. “Really?”

“Sure.” She handed him a measuring cup. “Fill that with flour.”

Standing on the chair, he peered into the canister, then back at her. “Fill it?”

“Just dip it in.” She cupped his soft little hand over the handle of the measuring cup and scooped it into the flour to fill it. “See? Like that.”

“Cool!”

“I’m guessing you’ve never baked before.”

He shook his head. “My mom didn’t have time.”

Wendy nearly cursed at her stupid mistake. The last thing she wanted to do was remind him of his mother, but before she had a chance to say anything, the phone rang.

Wendy walked to the wall unit talking. “You never having baked isn’t a big deal. In fact, it will be fun for me to teach you. Something new for both of us.” She lifted the phone receiver. “Hello?”

“This isn’t the right forecast.”

“Oh, hello, Mr. Barrington.”

“This forecast has draft written on it. Every copy in the file has draft stamped on it. Isn’t there a final version?”

“Yes.” She thought for a second, wondering why her final copy wasn’t in the file, but in the end decided it didn’t matter. “I probably have to print you another copy.”

“Great. I’ll see you when you get here.” He paused then added, “And don’t dillydally.”

He hung up the phone.

She sighed. “Harry, do me a favor and put the butter back in the fridge.”

He scooted off the chair and took the butter to the refrigerator. Right behind him with the milk and eggs, Wendy caught the door as he opened it.

“This is so much fun!”

She frowned. “Getting things out and putting them away again is fun?”

“Having somewhere to go!”

“You like going to work?”

“I like going anywhere. My mom didn’t go places.” He frowned then glanced at the floor. “She was sick.”

Wendy stooped down in front of him. Her own pang of loss rippled through her as she remembered Betsy. “I know she was sick. And I’ll bet you miss her. But I don’t think she’d want you dwelling on her.”

“What’s dwelling?”

“Thinking about her when she can’t be here. I’ll bet she’d want you to think happy thoughts this close to Christmas.”

Even as the words came out of her mouth they brought a rush of memory. Her mom had told her the same thing about Greg. That she shouldn’t dwell on him, their plans, their life. She remembered thinking that her mom was right and still being angry that he’d died, had left her when she’d loved him so much, needed him so much. Two years without him had taught her to be stronger, bolder and independent enough never to fall into the trap of needing a man the way she had Greg. But when her mom had said those words, she’d been devastated.

Harry, however, nodded sagely.

She rose and helped him with his coat. After shrugging into her own coat and getting her purse and keys from the table in the foyer, she caught Harry’s hand and led him outside into the driving wind and freezing rain.

Ice now covered tree branches and clung to the mailboxes of the row of older, but welltended homes. She paused in front of her little blue car, studying the icicles that hung from the door handle. It was so easy for a car to slide on ice. Walking might be safer. “I’m not sure about this.”

“About what?”

“The plant isn’t very far from here. We could actually walk.”

But it was raining. And Harry was a little boy. A simple ten-minute walk for her might not be so easy for short legs.

She frowned. “Never mind. We’ll drive.”

As they waited for the car windows to defrost, she said, “So do you know what you want to be when you grow up?”

“A fireman.”

“That’s a great job.”

“I want to save people.”

Wendy yanked her gearshift out of Park and into Drive. With his mother’s passing so fresh in his memory, there was no way Wendy would let him go down that road. Not this close to Christmas. If nothing else, she intended to give this little boy a break from reality. A few days or weeks of comfort and joy while social services employees hunted for his dad.

“Maybe if you’re good enough with the cookies, you might want to consider being a baker.”

He giggled. “Girls are bakers.”

“Not really.” As they drove to the plant, they talked about the different kinds of jobs he could consider then she took his hand again to help him navigate the icy parking lot. This time she needed her key to get in.

When they arrived in her office, Cullen Barrington was standing by her desk, looking at his watch.

“Five minutes? I told you to hurry, but I didn’t mean for you to be reckless.”

“I wasn’t. I don’t live far.” She rubbed her hands together before removing her coat. “We actually considered walking, but it’s freezing out there.”

“If you think you’re cold, you should be me. In Miami the temperature rarely falls below sixty. I’m lucky that I remembered to bring a winter coat. Even with it I shiver.”

He was trying to make small talk, to be nice, she supposed, to take the sting out of calling her into the office again, and she smiled at him. He returned her smile and her nerve endings shimmered with life and energy, even as her brain filled with silly, romantic notions. Maybe this incredibly handsome man wasn’t a Scrooge after all? Maybe beneath that playboy exterior was a nice guy? Then all these feelings she had of drowning in his dark eyes wouldn’t be wrong. Maybe she’d get to kiss that mouth, be held in his strong arms—

Luckily, he had turned and didn’t see her shaking her head to clear those thoughts. They were ridiculous! Even thinking about getting involved with someone like him was dangerous. He probably practiced being nice to seduce unsuspecting females like her! She needed to keep her feet firmly grounded in her real world. She was strong now, independent, not dreamy as she had been when she’d fallen for Greg. Cullen needed one little thing printed, the forecast, then she and Harry could go home and bake.

She slid onto her desk chair, turned on her computer, hit a few keystrokes and the room went dark.

Chapter Two

“WHAT did you do?”

So much for thinking that deep down inside he was a nice guy. “I didn’t do anything!”

A childish whimper floated to Wendy. Her office didn’t have a window, so when the lights went out, the room became pitch-black.

She bounced from her seat. “Harry, everything’s fine. The ice probably brought down a power line or two.”

“Damn.”

That had been Cullen.

Sliding her fingers across the edge of her desk, she began feeling her way to Harry. Instead, she bumped into Cullen’s thighs. Once again solid muscle greeted her and she jerked her hands away. It seemed fate was determined to find ways for her to touch him.

“Sorry!”

He cleared his throat. “It’s fine. I think Harry’s about two paces to your left.”

She found her way to Harry. Putting her hand on his shoulder for security, she said, “Here’s what we’ll do. It’s still light outside, so we can open the drapes in Mr. McCoy’s office.” She squeezed the little boy’s shoulder. “Is it okay for me to go and do that?”

Harry said, “Yes.”

“Okay. You stay here.” She carefully navigated past her desk, praying Cullen hadn’t moved in the thirty seconds she’d spoken with Harry.

“Don’t you have a flashlight or something?”

Cullen’s voice came from behind her, thank God.

“I’m sure there’s one in maintenance. Would you like to walk through the dark plant and then down the dark-as-night steps to the basement to get it?”

“Very funny.”

In another few seconds she found her boss’s desk and walked to the window behind it. Running her hands along the curtain, she found the pull string and opened the drapes. Pale light filtered in, but it was enough that she could see Harry and Cullen.

“If you guys want to sit in here, I’ll—”

Before she finished her sentence, Harry raced into the office. She stooped and caught him as he threw himself at her. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, but he hugged her fiercely.

Looking away, Cullen scrubbed his hand across his mouth. “Now, what do we do?”

“It depends on how long it takes for the electricity to come back on.” She rose and grabbed Harry’s hand. “Benny Owens works just inside the door to the plant. He has a radio. It runs on batteries. It’s a mandate of our safety manual because in an emergency, we can tune it to the local station and hear what’s going on. There are five of them in strategic locations throughout the building. Benny’s is the closest.”

“Makes sense.”

“I’m the most familiar with the plant layout so I’ll go and get the radio.” She stooped in front of Harry. “Do you want to stay here with Mr. Barrington or come with me?”

He glanced at Cullen, then back at her, pulled in a big breath and said, “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Wendy laughed, rose and tousled his hair. The kid certainly caught on fast. “This should only take about five minutes.”

Standing in the semi-dark room with the uncomfortable little boy who’d promised to keep an eye on him, Cullen frowned. One minute turned into two. Two turned into three. Harry began to squirm.

“Don’t worry. Your mom will be back soon.”

The little boy peered up at him. “She’s not my mom.”

“Your aunt?”

He shook his head. “She’s nothing.”

Cullen frowned. “Nothing?”

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’m a frosting child.”

“A frosting child?”

“You know. Somebody else has to take care of me until portal services decides what to do with me.”

“Portal services?”

Exasperated, Harry said, “The place that puts kids in a home.”

“Oh! Social services. You’re a foster kid.”

He nodded. “Yeah. My mom died.”

Cullen’s heart stopped. Sadness filled him. Hoping he’d heard wrong, he said, “Your mom died?”

He nodded again.

Cullen bent down to talk to Harry on his own level. “Mine did, too.”

“Really?”

“A few months ago. January.” He shook his head in wonder. Time had certainly flown. “It’s been almost a year, but I still miss her.”

“I miss my mom, too.” He caught Cullen’s gaze. “She was sick though. Everybody says she’s happy now.”

Cullen nearly cursed. At the wake when people had told him his mother was in a better place, he’d believed it. But it was cruel to tell this little boy his mom preferred leaving him to staying with him.

“I’m guessing you don’t have any aunts or uncles?”

He shook his head.

Though he hesitated, half afraid of the answer, Cullen asked, “Where’s your dad?”

Harry shrugged. “He’s around somewhere.” Then he flapped his arms in exasperation, as if this is what he’d seen and heard adults do when they talked about his dad. “We’ll find him eventually.”

The kid was just a tad too observant.

The light from the window in Mr. McCoy’s office thinned as Wendy walked farther into the building, but when she reached the main corridor, emergency lights were lit. She scrambled to the door and into the plant. At Benny Owens’s workstation, she snatched the radio and quickly made her way back to Cullen and Harry.

The second she stepped into the office, Cullen caught her gaze. His normally bright eyes were soft, sincere.

“Harry was telling me about his mom.”

“Oh.” She glanced at Harry, who looked up at her with a smile. “You okay, little guy?”

Still smiling, he nodded.

Whatever had happened between the two of them, Harry was okay. He might have even gotten afraid in the dark again and Cullen had taken care of him. Surprising, but good. She turned to smile at Cullen in thanks, but when their gazes caught, that funny feeling happened in her stomach again. Only this time, her chest also tightened. It became hard to breathe. She sort of felt as if she were drowning in the deep pools of his eyes, once again overwhelmed by the strange instinct that deep down he really was a nice guy—

The church bell across the street rang twice, jolting her back to reality.

“Must be two o’clock,” she said, brightly, trying to pretend nothing had happened because nothing had happened. So they’d looked into each other’s eyes? It wasn’t a big deal.

Setting the radio on her boss’s desk, she said, “I forgot about the emergency lights. The corridors are well-lit. The plant has emergency lighting, too.”

She turned on the radio and slowly moved the dial until she found the local station. The announcer said, “The mayor is telling everybody to just sit tight—”

She glanced at Cullen. “Either I have perfect timing or this is an emergency broadcast that’s repeating.”

“To repeat…Trees and power lines are down all over town. Route 81 has been shut down due to accidents.”

Cullen cursed.

She faced him. “What?”

“That’s the only highway out of town. The only way to get to my hotel.”

“I’m sure it will be open before you want to go back.”

“Since I can’t work without a computer, I want to go back now.”

“Good point.”

They both glanced at the radio.

“I’m sorry to say, folks,” the announcer said, “the power company is warning that this is going to be an all-nighter. Get out your candles, light your fireplace, and be careful.”

The announcer stopped talking and a song floated from the radio. Wendy shifted away from the desk. Technically, she and Harry could leave. They could even bake their cookies. She had a gas stove. And a fireplace. They could roast marshmallows and sleep in sleeping bags on the living-room floor.

This could actually be the most fun day of his stay with her.

She put her hand on Harry’s shoulder, took another step back, easing toward the door.

It almost seemed wrong to leave. Almost. The truth was she didn’t know Cullen Barrington. And she was attracted to him. The first man since Greg. That left her feeling odd enough. When she added that he was a playboy, out of her reach, the man who owned the company she worked for, in front of whom she’d prefer to be on her best behavior, not walking around a dark old house with a flashlight…Well, it was for the best that she not invite him to her home. She shouldn’t feel guilty for leaving him to figure out what he’d do for the next twelve to twenty-four hours—in the dark—when she not only had light and warmth, she could also cook dinner.

While he sat in the dark? Slept on the floor with his jacket for a cover?

Damn it!

Why couldn’t her conscience just shut up long enough for her to get to her car?

“Do you want to come with us?”

His head jerked up. “Where are you going?”

“As you said, we can’t work in the dark. So Harry and I are going home. I have a gas stove and a working fireplace in the living room. Even my hot-water heater is gas. We can be without power for a week and the only thing we’ll miss is television.”

“I don’t watch television.”

“Then you should be fine.”

He growled as if annoyed with the inconvenience of humbling himself to go to the home of an employee, and she said a silent prayer that he’d be stubborn enough—or maybe independent enough—to decide he’d rather sit alone in the office, maybe reading files by the emergency lights in the corridor, than go with her.

Please, God…

He pulled in a breath. “Okay. Fine. Let me get my coat.”

Chapter Three

THEY stepped out into the parking lot and Cullen motioned to the right. “That’s my rental car.”

“And it’s a fine car,” Wendy said, “but with power lines down, we can’t drive. We don’t want to become part of the problem.”

Cullen ignored her sarcasm in favor of more pressing concerns. “Part of the problem?”

“We could get halfway home, come across a tree that’s down and either have to leave our cars in the middle of the road or drive back here and walk anyway.”

She faced him. Sunlight sparkled off the thick ice on the trees surrounding the parking lot, encircling her with a glow that made her look like a shimmering angel. He shook his head to clear the haze, but there was no haze. She truly sparkled in the icy world they were caught in.

“So what do you say we skip the first few steps we know might not work, and just walk?”

Great. Maybe a little exercise would help him get himself back to normal around her. “Fine.”

“Good. You can carry Harry.”

He gaped at her. “Carry Harry?”

“It’s a ten-minute walk. And he’s a fortypound kid. Are you telling me that rich guys are too soft to carry forty-pound kids?”

He snatched the little boy off the ground and hoisted him to his shoulder. Not that he took her bait about him being soft. He liked Harry. Who wouldn’t? The kid had suffered the kind of loss that would flatten most adults, yet he was taking it like a man. He deserved a little special treatment.

“You have a smart mouth.”

She grimaced. “Not usually.”

He didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to know that she was behaving out of character in his presence. It was confirmation that she was attracted to him, too. If they were attracted to each other and about to spend the night together that might be trouble. Of course, if she was being smart with him it could be because she didn’t like the attraction any more than he did—which should make them perfectly safe.

Occupied with his thoughts, Cullen slipped on the ice and bobbled Harry, who squealed with delight. “This is fun!”

“Always happy to oblige,” Cullen told Harry, before he leaned toward Wendy and whispered, “Italian loafers weren’t made for walking on ice.”

“It’s a very short walk. Ten minutes tops.” She pointed to the grassy strip beside the sidewalk. “But if I were you I’d walk in that.”

He stepped into the bumpier grass and found the footing a little more solid. Harry groaned. “Darn.”

With his hands on Harry’s thighs, holding him on his shoulders, Cullen shook his head. “Kids. You think the weirdest things are fun.”

Harry giggled. Cullen’s spirits unexpectedly lifted, but he told himself to settle down. He might want to make Harry’s life a little brighter, but he wasn’t here for fun and games. He had to work with Wendy Winston for the next few weeks. He had to be nice to her, but he also had to keep his distance. He didn’t want to accidentally start a relationship that would have to end when he left.

He stayed quiet the rest of the way to her home. Walking on the grass, he managed to slip only a time or two, but that provided Harry with a few laughs, and Wendy with something to talk about with Harry.

Suddenly she turned up an icy walkway to the right, and Cullen stopped.

Oh. Dear. God.

“Come on.”

Swallowing back a protest, Cullen carefully navigated the walkway and the five icy stairs to the wide front porch. They stepped inside a freezing-cold foyer with beautiful hardwood floors, a new paint job and a modern table holding a ginger-jar lamp and a stack of unopened mail.

She stripped off her coat. “As soon as I light the fireplace and turn on the oven, the downstairs will be toasty warm.” Heading for the kitchen, she called over her shoulder, “If you’re cold, don’t take off your coat until the place heats up.”

He slid Harry to the floor. The little boy immediately shucked his coat, found the hall closet and tossed it inside. Cullen grimaced. He’d look like a real wimp if he stayed in his coat, so he shrugged it off and followed Harry into the kitchen.

Wendy beamed at Harry. “Oh, you took off your own coat!”

Harry nodded. “I saw you put it in the closet before so I know what to do now.”

Cullen caught the exchange but he was too busy staring at the kitchen cabinets to comment.

Wendy winced. “I know they’re ugly.”

“My father hated them, too.”

Her pretty green eyes widened. “This was your house? Your family was the rich family that left town and neglected it?”

“That would be us.”

“And your mother is responsible for this floor?”

He shrugged. “It was the eighties. Linoleum was all the rage.”

“Yeah, but now I’m stuck with it. I should shoot at least one of you.”

Cullen heard her, but didn’t respond. Memories of conversations over breakfast with Gabby, the Barrington’s housekeeper, came tumbling back.

Are you ever going to learn to make pancakes?

No.

I like pancakes!

Little boys aren’t supposed to get everything they want. Makes them spoiled.

Gabby hadn’t been mean about it. She’d laughed. She was a fun, easygoing woman who sometimes even sat at the table and ate scrambled eggs and toast with him before she drove him to school.

“I asked if you wanted anything to drink.”

Hearing Wendy’s question, he spun to face her. Standing by the open refrigerator, she held a pitcher of something pink. “What is it?”

“Pink lemonade.”

“Got any bottled water?”

“I have tap water.”

“That’s fine.”

“Glasses are in the cupboard.” She pointed at the one by the sink. “Help yourself.”

Walking to the sink, he watched her pour a drink for Harry and one for herself then carry eggs, butter and milk to the center island after storing the lemonade. He tried to remember his mom even being in the kitchen, let alone cooking, and not one memory surfaced.

“We’re baking cookies, if you want to help.”

He turned at Wendy’s question. Her smile was forced. Her eyes not as bright as they had been. She obviously didn’t want his help and he wasn’t really in the mood to remember things that only made him a weird combination of angry and sad.

“No, if you have a book somewhere I wouldn’t mind passing the time reading.”

She relaxed. “I have a roomful of bookcases stuffed with just about anything you could want. Third door…”

“On the right. I know. It used to be a library and office. That’s why there are built-in bookcases.”

“Okay. Just open the drapes. When it starts to get dark, we’ll break out the candles and flashlights.”

“Great.”

He entered the library feeling a mix of nostalgia and disappointment. His mother had worked in this room every night and most weekends. But Wendy didn’t have a desk and leather chairs. Instead, a chaise sat by the bay window. A well-worn yellow comforter lay across the foot. The room that had been a place of work was now a place of peace and quiet. He scanned her titles, found a thriller by a favorite author, and settled in on the chaise.

After an hour, the scent of fresh-baked cookies drifted into the room. He closed the book and inhaled deeply before rising from the chaise and walking into the kitchen.

“Smells good in here.”

Green icing on the tip of his nose and flour across one cheek, Harry grinned at him from his chair beside the kitchen island. “I’m painting stained-glass windows on a church.”

Cullen laughed. “No kidding!”

Wendy looked offended. “Hey, I can get pretty fancy with my cookies.”

Glancing at the rows of already painted cookies on the far end of the island, Cullen nodded. “So I see.”

Harry nodded. “You paint one, Mr…”

“This is Mr. Barrington,” Wendy supplied.

“Since we’re kind of in close quarters and unusual circumstances I think you might as well call me Cullen.”

“Okay, Cullen!” Harry said, handing him a cookie. “You paint this one. It’s a bell.”

“I see that.”

“So paint it.”

“With frosting,” Wendy qualified. “But you should also wash your hands first.”

He was going to say no. He’d never done anything like this in his life and he was too old to start now. But just the mention of the word frosting squeezed his heart. Unable to catch every word said about him, Harry had repeated what he thought he’d heard and had called himself a frosting child. In a way he was. He was a sweet little boy left in the hands of a cold, sterile system. How could Cullen turn away the request of a child who’d just lost his mother?

“Okay.”

He washed his hands, picked up his cookie again and chose a paintbrush from those assembled beside the colorful cups of frosting. He watched Wendy dip her brush into the yellow icing and paint the bell she held a bright yellow, then switch brushes to add red icing to create a bow. He mimicked her movements, except he dipped his brush in blue. He covered his cookie in pale-blue frosting and painted the bow shape at the top white.

Harry approved it with a smile. “I like it.”

“I like it, too, but you know what? I’m kind of getting hungry.”

Wendy said, “Let me finish up here and I’ll make hamburgers.”

“Actually, I make a great hamburger. You said your gas stove will work, right?”

She nodded. “That’s how we made these cookies.”

“Then you guys just go ahead and keep painting. I’ll make burgers and by the time you’re done, dinner will be ready.”

Wendy smiled. Cullen’s heart tripped over itself in his chest. Now that they were in a comfortable environment, he’d begun thinking of things a little more normally. But that wasn’t necessarily good. Instead of envisioning off-the-wall images like sparkling angels when he looked at her, he was now thinking how he’d like to kiss the lips that had pulled upward into a smile. They were a soft reddish color. Untarnished by lipstick or gloss. Very real. Plump. Tempting.

But that was wrong. They’d be working together for the next weeks. Visions of angels were one thing. Actually wanting to kiss his employee was another. Anything he said or did could turn into a sexual-harassment suit. He had to stop this and stop it right now.

He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out the hamburger. “What’s going to happen to everything in your refrigerator if the power stays out for a long time?”

“If we don’t open the refrigerator often, lots of it will be okay. Plus, I have blocks of ice in the freezer for times when this happens. It acts like a big cooler. Everything in there will stay frozen and I can put the important things from the refrigerator in there, if I need to.”

“You’re pretty smart.”

Holding a cookie she’d just painted with bright-red frosting, she laughed. “Yeah. Right.”

Happy to have their minds back on work, he said, “You are. All your performance appraisals say that.”

“You read my performance appraisals?”

“I read your file this morning. You are my administrative assistant for the next four weeks. I figured I’d better know who I was getting.”

“Oh.” She placed her cookie on the aluminum foil that lined the far end of the island and reached for another one. “So, how did you learn to cook?”

He grimaced. “Our housekeeper taught me.”

“That’s right. Your mom was the last company president.”

He nodded. “My dad owned an investment firm and my mom ran the factory, so my parents were overly busy. Our housekeeper was the one who fed me, nudged me to get dressed, drove me to school…” He pointed at the stove. “And taught me to cook. Nothing fancy, just the basics. Eggs. Hamburgers.” He shrugged. “That kind of stuff.”

“So that makes you pretty handy to have around the house.”

He laughed. “And also a good roommate for everybody in college.”

“Where did you go to school?”

He could tell she was only making casual conversation, but he nonetheless felt odd, as if he were bragging and he winced. “Harvard.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Where’d you go to school?”

“Community college for two years, then I met my husband and realized I could be an administrative assistant while he did his internship at the local hospital. When he died, I probably should have gone back for a degree.” She shrugged. “But I just never found anything I wanted to study.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

With her focus on choosing the next cookie to paint, Wendy shrugged again. “It’s all right.” She said the well-practiced words easily, but the emptiness that shuddered through her contradicted them. Still, as she’d told Harry, she shouldn’t dwell. She’d moved on. Gotten tougher, smarter. “It’s been two years since Greg died.”

Surveying the cookies to be painted, Harry casually said, “Cullen’s mom died this year.”

Wendy spun to face the stove. “Now, I’m sorry.”

“As you said, it’s all right. She actually died in January. So my dad and I are pretty much beyond it.”

Finished patting the hamburgers into shape, Cullen poked through cupboards, looking for a frying pan. Wendy watched him, feeling a shift in the funny catch she got in her heart every time she looked at him. Hearing about his mom’s death reminded her that he was as human as everybody else. But was it really good to begin seeing him as a normal man? Wasn’t it wiser to continue thinking of him as a super-good-looking but unapproachable playboy?

By the time the hamburgers were ready, Wendy and Harry had finished painting their cookies, and laid them on the island to dry. Wendy pulled paper plates from the pantry and handed them to Harry.

“Since we’re not sure when we’ll get power again, it’s probably a good idea for us not to dirty too many dishes.”

Harry scurried to the round table in the corner of the room and arranged the plates in front of three chairs. Cullen set a platter of hamburgers in the center.

Wendy found the plastic cutlery and carried it to the table along with a bag of hamburger buns and a bag of potato chips. “We can eat reject cookies for dessert.”

“Sounds good to me,” Cullen said, pulling a seat up to the table.

But Harry stopped him. “I want to sit there!” he said, shifting Cullen to the left, to the place beside Wendy.

Wendy looked over at the little boy. He didn’t seem upset. He seemed to genuinely want the seat on the end. So she said nothing. They passed the hamburgers and buns around the table, then the chips. Pale light filtered in from the windows in the top half of the back door. The sun was setting.

“I think I might need to get a candle.”

“Do you want some help?”

“No, I’m fine. I just have a feeling it’ll be dark before we’re done eating.” She rose from the table and found the big round candles and matches she kept for times the electricity failed. She lit one of the fat beige candles, set it between the hamburgers and the chips and took her seat again.

As they ate, the light from the window faded and the candle’s light replaced it, creating an unfortunately romantic glow. Wendy stole a look at Cullen. He was stealing a glance at her. A sizzle of electricity arced between them. Time stood still as they simply stared into each other’s eyes.

“My head looks like a watermelon,” Harry said with a giggle, pointing at a shadow cast by the flickering candlelight.

Wendy laughed. It was exactly the comic relief they needed. “So does mine.”

Cullen turned to see the wall behind him. He laughed. “So does mine.”

Harry settled into his seat again. “I like this.”

One of Cullen’s black eyebrows rose. “Eating in the dark?”

“No. Laughing.”

Wendy glanced at Cullen, again just as he looked at her. This time, instead of chemistry sparking between them, understanding did. This little boy had spent the past months of his life not doing anything, not going anywhere, probably never laughing.

Cullen rose and unexpectedly grabbed Harry, hoisting him over his shoulder and tickling the strip of belly exposed when his T-shirt rose. “Yeah, well, if you like to laugh so much how about this?” He tickled him again and Harry giggled with delight.

Wendy’s heart melted in her chest. Never in a million years would she guess somebody like Cullen could be so perceptive, but he was and she was grateful.

“I have a good idea,” she said, rising from the table. “Why don’t we throw away these dishes and take the cookies into the living room? The fireplace is already lit. We’ll put our sleeping bags down on the floor and make popcorn.”

Cullen swung Harry to the floor. “Or we could tell ghost stories.”

As Harry’s small feet touched down he said, “Ghost stories?”

Cullen smiled evilly. “Oh, I know plenty. I spent some time in Gettysburg.”

Harry’s nose wrinkled. “You were in prison?”

Cullen and Wendy both laughed. Wendy said, “No! Gettysburg is a famous battlefield. But rather than ghost stories,” she said, giving Cullen a look, hoping he’d understand, “why don’t we tell funny stories?”

Harry jumped up and down. “I love funny stories!” Then he raced out of the kitchen, toward the living room.

Obviously realizing his mistake, Cullen rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Sorry. I forgot his mom just died or I never would have mentioned ghosts.”

“That’s okay. I’ve slipped up a time or two myself today.”

He glanced around. “Have you got any marshmallows?”

Dipping into the pantry and then out again, she displayed a bag of fat white marshmallows. “I always keep a bag on hand in case I ever want to make s’mores.”

“We’ll start toasting those over the fire and tell funny stories and he’ll forget all about the ghosts.”

Wendy smiled her agreement, but her smile faded when he turned away, gathered the catsup and mustard and walked to the refrigerator as if it were very normal for him to be in her kitchen. In a way she supposed it was. This had been his home. But she had the oddest feeling that he was right where he was supposed to be.

And so was she.

Blaming that feeling on the fact that they both called this house home, she shook her head, told herself to stop acting like an idiot and carried the marshmallows to the living room where Harry eagerly awaited her.

They spent the next hour roasting marshmallows and teasing Harry. Then Cullen realized he’d not only have to sleep in his uncomfortable clothes; he’d also have to wear them the next day unless he went to his car.

Wendy grabbed two flashlights from the kitchen and met him at the front door.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“It’s a ten-minute walk to my car, remember? I hadn’t yet checked into my hotel, so I can grab my duffel bag and be back in twenty-two minutes.”

As he spoke, he smiled down at her, and she suddenly knew why she kept getting these odd feelings. In the office when he was Cullen Barrington, owner of Barrington Candies, he was an unapproachable playboy. But here in this house where he was comfortable, with a little boy he couldn’t resist being kind to, she was seeing a side of him she would bet few people—if any—had ever seen. And she was beginning to like him.

She quickly looked away and stepped back. She didn’t want to like this guy. At least not romantically. This time next month, he’d probably be on a beach or in a casino. There was no sense forming an attachment. But more than that they came from two different worlds, saw life two different ways, probably had totally opposite beliefs about most things. Liking him was just wrong.

“See you when you get back.”

He opened the door and pointed at his Italian loafers. “Wish me luck.”

Wendy couldn’t help it; she laughed. “Luck.”

While he was gone, Wendy went to the storage room and found the two sleeping bags that she and her husband had used on camping trips. Because there were only two, she grabbed blankets from the linen closet and brought them along, too.

After she and Harry laid the open sleeping bags on the floor to serve as a cushion, they covered them in blankets. She took Harry upstairs, helped him wash up and eased him into his pajamas. On the way back to the living room they stopped in the library and found a tattered copy of A Christmas Story.

By the time Cullen returned, she’d begun reading it aloud to Harry. Cullen took his duffel bag upstairs and returned dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. Not interrupting her reading, he slid under the blanket on the other side of Harry. She read a few chapters until Harry’s eyelids began to droop and eventually closed completely.

Wendy slid the blanket up to his chin. He snuggled into the pillow.

She glanced over at Cullen and whispered, “This wasn’t exactly how I’d hoped our first night would turn out.”

“This was your first day with him?”

She nodded.

He laughed softly. “I don’t think Harry minded.” He pulled in a breath. “And I have to thank you, too. I’d have been sleeping on your boss’s lumpy couch tonight if you hadn’t come to my rescue.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, another employee might have been too intimidated to invite me. I appreciate that you not only opened your home, but you didn’t make a big deal of it.”

Cullen rose from the makeshift bed and tossed another log on the fire. Levering his hand on the coffee table, he lowered himself to the floor again, but as he pulled his hand away he jarred the table enough that the silver bell decoration in a Christmas flower arrangement rang.

Hearing the bell, Harry squeezed his eyes shut even more tightly.

Please, let Miss Wendy and Cullen get married and adopt me.

He made the wish quickly, just as he had the other two times he’d wished.

The first time he’d wished they’d get married and adopt him had been at the door of Miss Wendy’s work, when she’d slipped on the ice. He’d seen her and Cullen look at each other funny like Jimmy Franklin’s mom and dad looked at each other, and he knew they could be a mom and dad. His mom and dad. So he’d wished and when he was done wishing the bell rang.

Then, when she came back from getting the radio, she and Cullen had looked at each other funny again, he’d wished again and church bells had rung.

He snuggled more deeply into the pillow, a plan forming in his head. What if he made the wish every time he heard a bell ring? He’d tried to wish that his mom would get well and that wish hadn’t worked. But maybe that was because he didn’t have a bell? So this time, he’d wish every time he heard a bell. And maybe his wish would come true.

Chapter Four

WENDY woke first. Sunlight poured in from the big window behind the sofa. Guessing it was probably around nine o’clock, she sat up and her back protested.

“Floor’s not the most comfortable place to sleep,” Cullen whispered.

“You can say that again.” She pulled in a breath and smiled ruefully. “My coffeemaker’s electric, but if you’d like some tea, we can make that.”

“Anything with caffeine is fine.”

She rolled over to lift herself off the floor. On the other side of Harry, Cullen did the same.

While Cullen went upstairs to change out of his sweatpants and T-shirt, Wendy boiled water for tea. He returned to her kitchen dressed in dark trousers and a black-and-beige-striped sweater. Her stomach took a tumble. He was so damned good-looking.

She turned back to the stove, poured boiling water over tea bags in two cups and brought them to the table.

“You were very good with Harry last night,” he said.

“You’re no slouch yourself.”

He laughed. “Thank you.” He toyed with his tea bag. “So what’s the story with him?”

“Right after he and his mom moved in next door, his mom was diagnosed with cancer.” She dipped her tea bag in and pulled it out, testing the strength of her tea. “I started visiting once a week to see if she needed anything and soon I was helping her get through chemo. Eventually I was doing pretty much everything at her house.” She smiled at the memory. “Including reading Harry a story every night and tucking him in.”

“So social services considered you a good candidate to take him in while they look for his dad?”

She snorted a laugh. “Not even close. His mom gave me custody in her will.”

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