One Christmas Knight (4 page)

“I only know that Emma would sell her soul to make sure that baby is well cared for.”

“And you?”

Damon opened his beer. “What about me?”

“Where do you fit into the equation?”

“I
don’t.
I’ve resigned, remember? That position in L.A. is locked in.”

“And your family’s expecting you Christmas Day.”

He always had a great time with family. Being with Emma and Shelley held a different enjoyment factor. But…

He thought, and then knocked back a mouthful of beer.

Nah.

“Emma wouldn’t want me hanging around Christmas Day.”

“Sounds like you two are getting on though.” Max swirled his beer. “Attraction is a weird and wonderful thing.”

“You and Olivia… You never forgot her, did you?”

“Not in the all years I was away from the Point. Best thing I ever did was come back. As my grown-up son likes to tell me,
it was meant to be
.”

Damon thought of Kyrstal showing up early at Emma’s place. If she’d arrived on Christmas Eve as scheduled, he’d have been gone.

Meant to be…

“Have you spoken to her?” Max asked.

“Emma knows how I feel.”

“Where women are concerned, never assume.”

“On the flip side, she let me know point blank. She doesn’t want to get involved.”

“So, guess you’ll ride off into the sunset alone.”

That was the plan.

Damon checked the time. “I wonder how the baby’s doing?”

“Why don’t you go find out? Emma can only tell you to back off.”  Max grinned over his beer. “But I’ll bet Rudolph his red nose that she won’t.”

When Damon knocked softly on Emma’s door the next morning, she greeted him with a smile that exuded quiet confidence. Deep-seated contentment. She was literally glowing.

“Shelley’s asleep,” she said softly, stepping aside to let him in.

“You got my message?”

“Uh-huh. Great that Max was there to help with all that water. You’ll miss him when you’re gone.”

“We’ll keep in touch.”

She tacked her smile back up. “Absolutely.”

Heading for the lounge room, so warm after the freshly fallen snow outside, he rubbed his bare hands close to the fire’s reviving flames. “The center called this morning. They’ve hired my replacement.”

She frowned. “I thought they might’ve asked you to stay.”

“They did.” He kept rubbing. “This is a great town. Wonderful people.” He’d tell her straight. “But I don’t feel a part of it.”

She dropped her gaze. “I didn’t help.”

“That’s past history.” He joined her. “We’re over that, right?”

“Are we?”

She looked as if she wanted to say more. But then, breaking the moment, she gestured toward the fireplace. He hadn’t noticed. A mini Christmas tree sat to one side of the mantle.

“Thought I’d make an effort,” she said, walking over, “for Shelley.”

“You don’t usually decorate?”

“No point. It’s just me.”

He rotated to face her. A reflection from the fire sent a light show dancing over her red pants and Christmas themed sweater. She’d put on lipstick…red, too. Her lips looked so moist and kissable and…off limits?

“Now you’ve made a start,” he said, referring to the mini tree, “you ought to keep going.”

“Suggestions?”

“A wreath on the door.”

“Doable.”

“A blow-up Santa on the lawn.”

She grinned. “Too much.”

He edged closer, focused on her lips. “Mistletoe.”

He watched her throat bob as she swallowed. “I can look into that.”

“I can help.”

“I bet you can.”

“Just say the word.”

“What word is that?”

“Any word,’ he leaned in closer, “but preferably
yes
.”

So many times since that day, he’d wanted to hold her again. He’d never got the chance. Never thought he
ever
would. But now she was peering into his eyes and the message was clear. She wanted him to hold her. Never more than at that moment, he wanted that, too.

His palms slid up the slender column of her throat until he cupped her jaw and cheeks. Then he took a deep steadying breath before his lips brushed over hers. When she trembled, pressed closer, he angled his head and his mouth gently covered hers. Her palms slid up and over his shoulders.

The deeper he kissed her, the harder she clung.

When he finally drew away, his mouth stayed close to hers while liquid fire flowed sweet and blistering-hot through his veins. Every cell in his body was revved up, aching to go.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” he murmured and grazed his lips over hers again.

“Different to six months ago.”

“I’d go with
better
.” He hummed through a hungry smile. “Which, frankly, I thought was impossible.”

When he moved to kiss her again, Emma stiffened and he drew away. Had he got something wrong?

“Em? I got the impression you liked it, too.”

“I like it the first time,” she said. “That doesn’t change how I feel.”

“You mean about getting involved.” When she nodded, he joked, “Commitment is usually a man’s hang up.”

“The twenty-first century, remember?”

“If you want to know, this minute, I can barely remember my own name.”

And this was about
now
, about him bundling her closer and letting bone-melting attraction speak for itself. But her eyes were sparkling like he’d never seen before. In a way that let him know she needed to get something off her chest.

He took her hand and led her to the sofa. As they sat side by side, she flicked a hesitant glance toward the baby’s bedroom.

“This will sound a little déjà vu,” she began, “but just before that boyfriend and I broke up, I took a home pregnancy test.”

Damon’s world screeched halt. His voice was a disbelieving rasp. “You’re a
mother
, Em?”

“The test was inconclusive,” she went on. “But I was late, my breasts were tender. All the signs. We hadn’t planned it. Actually, Grant didn’t want children for a while―if ever. But, I couldn’t help but be happy. Couldn’t stop smiling thinking about the possibilities. I hoped when Grant found out, he’d be excited, too.”

Damon kept the growl contained in his chest. The more he found out about this guy, the more he wanted to dismantle his jaw.

“Is that why he broke it off?” he ground out. “Because he didn’t want to take responsibility?”

“He never knew about the test. Turned out I wasn’t…or wasn’t any more.”

“And now your sister has a baby,” Damon said, half to himself. He ran a hand back through his hair.

Talk about bittersweet.

Emma shrugged. “Grant had a temper, like my dad. I’m sure we only stayed together as long as we did because I was used to smoothing over the bumps.”

“Definitely not the Emma I know.”

“I’m big on overcompensating. Now, no one walks over me. I speak up for myself.” She stopped and seemed to think before she added, “Maybe I’m more like my father than I want to admit.”

The pieces were falling into place.

Damon laid an arm along the sofa back behind her. “My father has a philosophy. Every day, do what you can to make your wife happy.”

She sat back, too, found a smile. “I like that philosophy.”

“He says marriage isn’t fifty-fifty. It’s one hundred percent on both sides.”

“I’m guessing your parents have an amazing marriage.”

“They’ve had disagreements. Not that they wanted the kids to ever know when they didn’t see eye to eye. My dad’s business got clobbered by the recession in the 80s. Mom never got on with Dad’s mother. But my parents still got it right. They support everyone in the family where they can, but they don’t interfere.”

“How did they meet?”

“College. At a party. They started arguing about which was more important―pure maths or social sciences.”

“Who won?”

Brushing hair away from her eyes, he grinned. “They both did.”

An hour later, the baby was awake, but when Emma came out with her niece, Damon was missing.

She searched practically every room. His car was still in the driveway. His keys were still on the kitchen counter. Then, through a window, she caught sight of something in the vacant block next door. A man, rugged up in coat and beanie, was lumping snow together, rolling a big ball. A second more sizeable ball sat waiting nearby.

Bringing Shelley close to the pane, she pointed. “See that? Uncle Damon’s building a snowman.”

They watched a while longer, until he tried to lift the second ball. It cracked down the middle then fell completely apart. While he stood over the attempt, fists low on hips, Emma laughed. “Someone needs a lesson in snowman building Maine style.”

When she’d finished Shelley’s diaper change and feed, Damon was still at it. Cradling the baby close, Emma watched as Frosty’s head rolled off and cracked open on the ground. Damon kicked the snow once, twice, then crouched down and started to repack.

Emma checked out the sky. This morning’s blanket of clouds had swept away, leaving only blue. She spoke to the baby. “Let’s go help.”

She’d bundled Shelley up nice and warm and was on her way outside when Krystal’s call came through.

A few minutes later, Emma began her trek through the snow-covered lot feeling unsettled now rather than playful. As Damon swivelled and squashed a second snowman’s head into place, he spotted them and then looked at her sideways.

He called out, “That hat suits you.
Not
.”

She touched the severely battered Black Bears cap she’d slapped on over her white beanie. “A trucker passing through left it on the office counter last summer. It goes with my Bean boot attire,” she posed, planting a toe into the snow, heel facing out. “But I’m willing to sacrifice for a worthy cause.”

“For Frosty?” Damon asked, as she held Shelley in one arm and offered over the cap.

Then she delved into her coat pocket and drew out a carrot. “He needs a nose, too.”

Damon took the carrot but frowned over its bent shape. “How’s he supposed to breathe through that?”

Emma was checking out around the trunk of a towering white pine. She crouched down and collected a couple of decent sized pebbles.

“Hey.” She tossed them over. “Catch!”

Damon caught one in each mitten and pushed them in above the carrot nose. Finally, he wound his own blue scarf around Frosty’s neck.

Damon stood back, set his fists on his hips and this time nodded.

“What do you think, Shell-Bell? Is that a snowman, or is
that
a snowman?”

Suddenly Emma was back in the field next to the house where she’d grown up. She was a little girl again, holding her baby sister, watching as their dad built a snowman just for them. Despite his moods, Harry Bagwell was a big fan of Christmas. He sang carols at the top of his lungs, and the gifts Santa brought never disappointed―the best pushbikes and dolls and gadgets galore.

Life had its ups and downs, but the Bagwells had always been happy at Christmas.

“Any news?” Damon asked, straightening the snowman’s cap.

Emma got her thoughts back on track. “Krystal called. Says she needs another day.”

He exhaled a plume of frosty air. “We were expecting it.”

“She said definitely tomorrow.”

He came up to them both and spoke to a rugged-up Shelley. “Looks like you’ve got us for another night.”

Emma didn’t want him to feel obliged. “You must have lots to do with your house situation…the insurance and all.”

“Insurance is done. Repairs can wait until after the holidays. A bit soggy, but I’ll survive.”

He was so close, looking into her eyes like nothing could ever get in his way. Like he had ‘dependable’ written across his chest in neon lights. But no one had to sleep in a water damaged house.

“There’s a spare bed here,” she cleared her throat, “if you, ah, need one.”

He arched a mischievous eyebrow. “What will the neighbors think?”

“That maybe all the rumors aren’t true.”

“Rumors?”

“You know.
New kid scores epic fail with local prude
.”

He pulled a face. “Prude’s a bit harsh.”

She studied him, virile and handsome and who in their right mind could resist?

“You know,” she said, stepping up to close the space between them, “you could be right.”

Careful of Shelley, she coiled a hand around his neck and pulled him down.

The kiss was light but also lingering. Carefree as well as heartfelt. The kind of caress that could leave a girl crying for more.

When she released him, his mouth stayed intoxicatingly close.

He said, “Prude definitely doesn’t fit.”

“Still feel lightning bolts?”

His expression sobered. “Getting stronger all the time.”

The baby fell asleep before her early evening bottle was completely drained. When they put her down, she didn’t move a muscle. Emma smiled. Must have been all that outside activity.

She and Damon stood in the muted lamp light watching as quiet moments ticked by. The world felt balanced, calm…very close to perfect.

Damon whispered. “Here’s hoping she’ll sleep through.”

“I’ll snap awake if she so much as squeaks.”

“It’s amazing how parents cope on so little sleep.”

“Must be endorphins.”

His arm curled around her waist and then simply rested there, like it belonged. Like they stood here together like this every night. Everything about him felt familiar…his scent, his warmth, his palpable strength.

“There’s a theory in evolutionary biology,” he said. “Do you know why babies are cute?”

“Evolutionary biology?” She grinned. “Watch it. Your degrees are showing.”

When his fingers kneaded her side, her smile grew. It tickled….felt nice.

“Cuteness,” he said, “brings out our protective nature, our instinct to nurture.”

“Which helps specious numbers survive and grow.”

His hand filed up her side as he rotated around to face her and murmured, “Nature is one smart lady.”

When the tip of his nose touched hers, Emma tingled with need. Her eyes drifted shut. She wanted Damon to kiss her again. Only…