Even though they were lying in ice, Roxanne was pretty sure her body was on fire. When Mark finally pulled his lips away from hers, she was fairly certain the heat of his kiss had all but melted her into the snow. She was completely certain, however, that she had never been kissed like that before. It had been a tender, chaste, mistletoe-appropriate kiss, which somehow made it even more intoxicating. She felt it all the way in her toes.

Clara squealed and the boys made exaggerated gagging noises, but Roxanne hardly heard any of it as Mark pushed himself to his feet and helped her up beside him. It was impossible not to stare at him, but Roxanne did her best to pretend that one simple kiss hadn’t rocked her entire world. She should feel guilty, she scolded herself. Mistletoe or not, she had no business kissing someone who was barely more than a stranger like that, not when she still had an estranged boyfriend to deal with and not when she was about to say goodbye to Ranger Mark Foster forever. Thanks to his hospitality and unwavering holiday cheer, she’d fallen victim to the drawing of the Christmas Spirit over the past day, but the thought of Mark walking out of her life in a matter of hours was only serving to set this up to be the most heartbreaking holiday ever. Her Grinch status was about to go up another notch, her heart shrink one more size. She might even consider wearing green, which was totally not her color.

But, all that could wait. Currently, Roxanne was so lost in the aftershock of her impromptu mistletoe kiss that she only barely moved through the motions of saying goodbye to the Costa kids and their mother, who had appeared in the doorway with thank-yours and to hug first Mark and then her before they climbed back into the Snowcat and began the last leg of their trek to ward Roxanne’s family’s cabin. The blue winter sky was quickly turning purple, and it would be night soon. Everyone was starting to tuck in for a long winter’s night, except Roxanne. There was a hollow feeling growing in her stomach, and it got a little bit bigger with every crunch of the wheels on the uneven snowy ground. She no longer had the energy to sing along with the radio, and was entirely aware that she was pouting although she couldn’t summon the will to do anything about it.

Humbug, she felt like saying, but didn’t.

“Everything okay,” asked Mark, filling in the silence that had been hanging in the cab since they’d left the Costa homestead. He reached out and turned the volume on the radio down just a touch, so that listening to the music could no longer be a handy excuse. The Snowcat became an echo chamber as he stared at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes, of course.” Roxanne shook her head and smiled at him, waiting just a little too long to answer as she thought up a valid excuse for her silence. “I’m just surprised we got done with delivering all of those presents so quickly. I think it took longer to wrap them all than it did to hand them out.”

Mark laughed, letting her off the hook. “Tell me about it. It was great seeing all those kids, though. Best part of my Christmas Eve for sure.”

“Plus you’ve got enough pie to keep you full on sweets till Valentine’s Day,” Roxanne noted, surveying the bakery that had taken up residence in the backseat of the Snowcat.

“That I do,” Mark agreed. Elvis Presley’s Blue Christmas had come on the radio, and he tapped his fingers to the crooner’s beat on the steering wheel. Roxanne smiled politely, but wasn't sure what to say next. “There are a few maple pies back there,” he said. “You should take one, or three. You earned them.”

Just the thought of the rich, creamy dessert made Roxanne’s stomach growl with anticipation. She patted her stomach quiet. In a few days’ time, she’d be back in her office working on summer fashions, which meant one thing: bathing suits. It was kind of crazy to be thinking about swimwear when everything outside was a field of solid white, but the world of fashion had one speed—light speed—and it didn’t pause for holidays once retail had moved on to the next big season. Designers had already been sending in samples of their upcoming summer fashions, and Roxanne didn’t have the bandwidth to add another pie into her calorie budget for the holiday. Her diet wasn’t as strict as some of her colleagues, and it was nowhere near as severe as Hunter’s, but appearances were everything in her world and the last thing she needed to look like was a woman who ate whole pies for breakfast—though she totally had the sweet tooth to make that happen. Body shaming was out, but the media’s definition of beautiful hadn’t quite caught up, especially not in high fashion. It was something she hoped she could be part of changing later in her career when she had the influence to make it happen. She thought again of Andrea Steiner, the lovely young model that had all the symptoms of an eating disorder. Besides Spencer, Roxanne didn’t really have many friends in the City—just colleagues and people who were more frenemies than actual friends. It wasn’t something she’d really given much thought to until she’d watched the families greet Mark on their delivery route.

Maybe she and Andrea could become friends. Maybe they could be the kind of girlfriends who drank wine and ate pie together, too. Swimsuits be damned. There was more to life than having a perfect reflection—even in her Grinch state that was a truth Roxanne had seen very clearly as she helped Mark deliver presents to the children of rural Vermont.

“I think I will,” she said, the promise of the sweet custard already sweeting her taste buds. “I might even take two.”

Mark laughed but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pointed to a clearing up ahead, and when Roxanne looked up she recognized the landscape immediately even though it had been years since she’d last seen it, and even though night was quickly falling and blanketing the scene in darkness. At the edge of an unmarked street ahead was a large hemlock tree, that, as a girl, she’d loved to climb. Just beyond that was the long driveway that served as the entrance to the private road that led to her family’s cabin. Her father’s truck would be parked out front where he always liked to leave it when they visited the cabin, and there would be piles of seasoned firewood on the porch. Even at the slow pace of the Snowcat, they’d be there in less than five minutes. Already Roxanne could see the evidence of chimney smoke unfurling in the air, and telltale tire tracks on an otherwise unblemished road that meant there were cars parked ahead.

“Hey,” Roxanne started, but then she had to pause to take a breath. The hollow feeling growing inside her had swelled into a pit, and her pulse had started to race. “Listen, I was thinking. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Pulling me out of the snow, taking me in for the night, today—everything. Would you like to come to Christmas dinner tomorrow night at my parents’?”

When he didn't answer right away, Roxanne’s stomach bit deepened. “Not, like, a date or anything. Just…just a thank you. For everything. I promise there’ll be more than just pie,” she added. “I totally understand if you have other plans—” which she knew he didn’t, since he’d told her as much “—but I’d really love it if you came.”

Mark pursed his lips as if in thought, and finally answered. “I would love to,” he said as the old log cabin came into full view. There was hesitancy in his voice, and Roxanne had that uncomfortable small and uncertain feeling that she hated. “But I’d hate to interrupt a family holiday. Maybe you should talk it over with your folks first, and—”

“Trust me, they won’t mind at all,” she interrupted, relieved that his hesitancy was out of consideration for her family, and not rejection of her. She probably should have asked her parents before inviting over the ranger for their holiday dinner, but it wasn’t like they’d have said no. After all, if nothing else, Mark had literally rescued her from becoming a human popsicle during a blizzard. Besides, she was pretty sure she was allowed a plus one. Her sister, Rachel, had brought home a different guy every year before she’d gotten married, and no one had said a thing. Roxanne had barely come home herself, much less brought a date, so she was pretty sure she had a few favors to call in. In the time they’d been together, she’d never even invited Hunter to come with her on the few times she’d visited her family, even though he was drop dead gorgeous and would have made her sister’s head spin with envy. Of course, she reminded herself, inviting Mark to Christmas dinner was not a date. It was a thank you, and just a thank you. And, he wasn’t a stranger, either. Her dad had spoken to him pretty familiarly on the radio. He probably knew Mark better than she did.

“Okay. Well, in that case, count me in,” Mark agreed, bringing the Snowcat to a full stop a few yards from the cabin’s long front porch. He didn’t turn the engine off this time, but he dimmed the headlights and slipped on his gloves before opening the driver side door. He pushed it open, clicked on a flashlight to help him see in the deepening twilight, and then turned back to give her a look over his shoulder that let her know he was serious about what he’d say next. “Thank you for the invite, Roxy, really. I’d love to join you for Christmas dinner.” He grinned. “I’ll bring some bourbon to go with all the pies you’re confiscating.”

He winked at her and she forgot how busy she had been brooding, laughing at his back as he slid out of the Snowcat. “Okay. Deal,” she agreed.

Roxanne waited for Mark to pull open her door and then allowed herself to be stepped out of the passenger side, along with her purse and a pie in each of her hands. Mark put the flashlight in his teeth as he held her elbow with one hand—it took her a moment, again, to get her footing in the snow, and he graciously gave her ample time—and grabbed the handle of her suitcase with the other. When he had everything situated, he used his shoulder to push the door shut, and then made sure she was steady before releasing her elbow and palming the flashlight. He returned a few anchoring fingers to her forearm, in case she needed a quick rescue from the snowy terrain.

“All set?” he asked. The flashlight was aimed at their feet.

“Yep,” Roxanne confirmed, although what she wanted to say was forget this, let’s go back to your place. Several similar sentiments were competing for her voice, so she decided not to attempt anything else and trudged through the snow quietly, Mark at her side. She’d felt a different sensation when he touched her now, and she desperately wanted to know if he felt the same way, but she also desperately wanted rational thinking to reconvene in her brain. She was Roxanne Hudson, up and coming fashion editor at Vogue for Pete’s sake! Model-dater, jet setter, Milan fashion show veteran. Women like Roxanne did not get weak-kneed over a simple kiss with some random, rugged mountain man…not even if they were as sweet, and genuine, and annoyingly perfect as Mark Foster. In two days, she’d be back in the City and life would go on as it had all along. The past twenty-four hours would be chalked up to holiday sugar highs and bourbon. She’d probably never even tell Spencer about Mark. She damn sure wouldn’t tell Hunter.

As they neared the cabin, Mark’s flashlight became unnecessary, thanks to the warm glow of the Christmas lights that decorated the outside of the cabin and the reflection of the huge, decorated fur tree in the cabin’s front picture window. Roxanne had been right: at least from the outside, the scene was very Currier and Ives—or Martha and Snoop Dogg. Whatever. Her father, always a holiday decoration enthusiast, and her mother, an interior designer, had spared no detail in equipping the cabin’s exterior to be everything Grandma Myrtle may have wanted for her last Christmas. Red velveteen ribbon and frosted light bulbs were wrapped around any fixture that did not move. Icicle lights clung to the edges of the cabin’s eaves, dotted with circular red bulbs that looked like holly berries. Ivy garland made the cabin green and alive even in the ice and snow. As a final touch a large fake snowman stood invitingly beside the picture window as if he were wishing to be asked indoors, despite the flickering light of what was surely a roaring fire, to gaze upon the massive fur tree decked with so much garland and ornamentation that from the outset it appeared that every branch of the tree had been gilded with holiday cheer.

It was hard not to feel warm, standing outside in the snowy cold, when presented with such a heartwarming view.

Mark’s fingers pressed lightly into Roxanne’s arm meaningfully, and his voice rumbled down to her as they closed the distance between the Snowcat and the cabin. “Your folks really outdid themselves. I haven’t seen the place this decked out in years. It looks fantastic.”

“Yeah,” Roxanne mused. “It’s beautiful.”

The pair climbed up to small stairway to the porch landing, and stopped at the welcome mat. Roxanne noticed that it was the same one that always sat on the front porch this time of year—a coconut fiber rectangle that featured an image of Santa in his sleigh, presents piled high. As they paused at the door and Mark settled her luggage at her side, Roxanne pretended not to notice the spray of mistletoe hanging above their heads.

“Well,” she said, exhaling so heavily that a puff of smoke punctuated the air between them. “I guess this is it.”

Mark peered down at her, and Roxanne was surprised to find that he was standing so close to her that she could see the reflections of the light strung along the eaves in his eyes. She heard the rustling sound of his coat as he slid the flashlight into his pocket. One of his hands closed around the bend of her elbow, and he began to slowly draw her into him.

“I’m just glad I could get you home in time for the holiday,” he said, a playful smile flitting across his lips.

Roxanne resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him, but a laugh slipped out despite herself. “Well, I couldn't miss Christmas,” she teased, jerking her head toward the door and her family on the other side. She took a step in closer, so that Mark’s coat pressed against hers. “They’d never let me live it down.”

“Aw, come on,” he breathed as his other hand slid around her waist. “I think you’re starting to like Christmas just a little bit more than you’re letting on.”

Roxanne summoned her courage. “I do like the mistletoe,” she admitted. She bit her lip, hoping the sting of her teeth would help her keep from giggling stupidly. She hadn’t felt this good standing on her parent’s front porch with a boy in a long time.

“You know, I’m normally not a big fan. But, I have to admit there is something different about it this year.” He’d taken her hint, and was pulling her in, locked in his arms under the mistletoe for the second time that day.

She was still watching Mark’s lips move as he bent his head toward hers when the sound of the front door opening behind her snared her attention. As the two abruptly released each other the whiff of cologne so expensive you could almost literally smell the price tag flooded Roxanne’s senses. When she looked up, it wasn’t her father or brother-in-law who was welcoming her home—it was Hunter.