Chapter 17
Amelia awoke to the scent of something sweet in the air. She blinked her eyes open to the soft glow of dawn. The tip of her nose was cold and her breath frosty in the chill of the bedroom air, but her body was thoroughly warm.
As more wakefulness seeped through her, she became aware that she was warm for two reasons.
One, her feet in her thick wool socks were pressed against a warming stone—a warming stone that was still heated and had obviously been tucked under the covers recently.
Two, several extra blankets were tucked around her securely—blankets that hadn’t been there when she’d fallen asleep last night.
She couldn’t hold back a smile. A blast of arctic air had blown in with the winter storm yesterday.
With the frigid temperature, the stove and fireplace hadn’t been able to keep the whole place heated.
Thatcher had obviously recognized how cold the bedroom had gotten and had been in and taken care of her the way he always did.
Just as soon as the smile came, it faded away. Today was Christmas Day, which meant tomorrow they would have to talk again about their marriage mix-up. She didn’t even want to think about it. But after the past two days of ignoring it, the deadline was fast approaching.
She had to ignore it for today too. She couldn’t let the fears and uncertainties about her future—their future—infringe on her enjoyment of her last day with Thatcher.
She didn’t want it to be her last day, but how could she prove to him that she could be enough?
She’d wanted to show him over the past two days that she was a good wife, a perfect wife, so that he wouldn’t push her aside for another woman.
While he’d been busy with projects around the farm, she’d finished cleaning the house and had baked a pecan pie—although the filling had spilled over and burned.
She’d cut pine boughs and hung them on the mantel with red ribbon she’d found in a trunk.
She’d created a centerpiece for the kitchen table with more pine boughs and red ribbon.
And she’d decorated the lanterns with sprigs of holly.
Yesterday they’d cut down a small pine tree in the woods near the cabin and brought it in and made it festive with strings of popcorn and berries along with bows of the red ribbon tied on the ends of branches.
He’d complimented her on how pretty everything looked, and he’d enjoyed every bite of his pie. He’d told her numerous times how much he appreciated her help with tidying and cleaning and organizing. And he’d been as sweet to her as always.
But had she won him over? Or did she need more time to show him that she could be enough?
Today would be the last day to do it. If they were able to brave the cold and the snow, they were planning to go over to his cousin’s house for Christmas dinner.
The snow had been blowing too hard last night for them to make it to the Christmas Eve service in Breckenridge, but from the silence outside, it sounded like the wind had died down today.
He’d only made two veterinarian calls over the past couple of days.
Even though both had been at the same ranch near Frisco, at least it had been something.
Thatcher had said the family probably hadn’t yet heard the rumors about him, which was why they’d requested his services.
She hoped that wasn’t the whole truth and that people would soon forgive and forget any grudges they might have against him.
In her effort to show him she could be a good wife, she’d declined to go with him on the visits even though she’d wanted to accompany him, not only to help him but also to spend time with him. Instead, she’d stayed at the cabin and cooked and cleaned and done laundry.
What else could she do to show him that she cared about their marriage? The truth was, she didn’t want it to end. She didn’t want to be with any other man. She only wanted him.
But she couldn’t just come out and say that and put pressure on him to stay with her. Not when he was such a good man and wanted to do what was right and straighten out the mix-up for everyone.
She shifted so she was facing the bedroom doorway and could see into the main room. The area glowed with low light, and she could hear the clanking of a pan.
Was he making breakfast? Was that what she was smelling?
Her heart swelled with all the feelings that had been settling there since marrying him. He was so caring. In fact, he spoiled her. The warming stone and the extra blankets were proof of that.
She rested her head against her pillow and closed her eyes, savoring the warmth that was swirling around inside her chest. She had to admit that being with him recently had been bringing a warmth all of its own.
All she knew was that she loved seeing his smile, loved hearing him talk, and loved simply being with him.
Even now, her body tingled with a strange need to be with him.
Although she didn’t want to leave her warm cocoon, she pushed the covers off.
As the cold air hit her, she shuddered. She’d opted not to wear her thin nightgown last night and had worn layers of clothing.
Even so, she wrapped one of the blankets around her shoulders before stepping into her boots and crossing to the door.
As she exited the bedroom, she stopped short at the sight that met her. The candle centerpiece was lit and two places set at the table with what appeared to be a present on one of the plates. Thatcher stood in front of the stove and was cooking eggs.
Somehow he’d heard her, and he shifted, offering her one of his easy smiles. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” His hair was mussed and one of his suspenders down, but he’d never looked better, especially with the heavy layer of scruff that he hadn’t shaved over the past couple of days.
“Merry Christmas.” She let her gaze drift to his chest and then his arms, both of which strained against his shirt. The warmth inside fanned a few degrees hotter. How was it that he looked more handsome every day? Or was she just growing more attracted to him?
His smile tilted up higher on one side. “I can tell you’re hungry.”
She was staring at him as if he were on the menu for breakfast. Could he see the hunger for him in her expression? Or was he referring to the meal?
He waggled his brows playfully before turning back to the pan.
Her heart tumbled over itself in a dizzying spin. Yes, he’d noticed her ogling him and was teasing her, and she should be embarrassed by it. But strangely, she wasn’t. Did she want him to know of her hunger for him? That she was attracted? That she desired him?
This hunger, attraction, desire—that was what he’d wanted to develop between them when he’d talked to her about waiting to share the marriage bed. She understood that now in a way she hadn’t previously because she’d never experienced this kind of desire before.
If she showed him more of her desire today, would that finally win him over?
He nodded toward the loaf on the back burner. “I warmed the Christmas stollen I purchased in Frisco yesterday.”
“That must have been what I smelled in bed.” She breathed in the scent of sweet citrus and almond. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air too.
“My mother made stollen every year at Christmas, and so when I saw it, I thought it would help me not miss them so much this year.”
At the wistfulness in his tone, she crossed to him.
It was his first Christmas without his family, because even when he’d been in school, he’d always traveled home at Christmas over his breaks.
They’d talked about that last night, about missing their loved ones and how even though he had his cousin Lee in the area, that didn’t make up for missing his parents and siblings.
As she stepped behind him, she laid a hand on his back, similar to the gentle way he often did with her. “What can I do to help?”
“It’s all ready.” He lifted the pan off the burner and placed it on the warmer at the back of the stove next to the loaf of stollen.
“I could pour the coffee.”
He tossed aside the towel he’d been using to move the hot pan, then pivoted and placed his hands on her hips before she could back away.
She nearly swooned at the pressure of his hands there, the strength of his fingers and yet the gentleness of his hold. She couldn’t deny that she adored it whenever he held her this way. He’d only done it a few times, but with each successive time, she loved it even more.
“All you have to do is go sit down,” he said with a smile that made her pulse stutter. “I want to serve you breakfast this morning.”
“I can carry something—”
He lifted a finger to her lips and cut her off.
Of course, then she was much too conscious of his finger against her lips—the hard length, the calloused skin, and the sweet taste of almond glaze.
Without thinking, she licked his finger, getting a small taste of the glaze.
His smile disappeared, and his eyes darkened.
What had she done? Had she really been so bold as to lick him?
He didn’t immediately move his finger away, but his gaze dropped to her mouth.
She needed to apologize, didn’t she? Or what if she didn’t?
Because she wasn’t sorry, and she actually wanted to do it again.
What did she have to lose? If she didn’t show him that she was attracted to him, then tomorrow would come and he would send her on her way.
But if she made today all about letting him know that she did feel something for him, then maybe he would have second thoughts.
Giving herself no chance to object, she stuck out her tongue and licked his finger again, this time more slowly.
The hand that remained on her hip tightened. Then, as if her licks had somehow unlocked a territory that had previously been forbidden, he traced his finger across her bottom lip.
Oh my. The heat inside radiated out, sending tight, pleasurable waves through her belly.