When Roxanne reentered the den, she found Mark squatting down, tending to the fire. He had added a few large logs and extra kindling to the dulling flames, and the sounds of crackling wood came from the fireplace along with flickering light that danced in shadows across Mark’s handsome face. He must have brought in the wood from outside, because he was wearing a down jacket open against his charcoal grey shirt and there were flecks of snow still white and glistening in his beard. He’d probably left his snow-caked boots at the door; he was barefoot and the edges of his dark denim jeans had been darkened by melted snow. Bogart was, as usual, fast asleep on the rug by the fire, completely undisturbed by his master’s work at the hearth.

Mark obviously hadn’t heard her enter, her feet muffled by the padding of the woolen socks, so Roxanne cleared her throat to announce her arrival. Mark looked up at her and an expression like surprise passed across his face, before he cleared his throat, too, and returned his eyes to the fire. Roxanne shifted in her socks, worried that she’d done something wrong, or had perhaps vastly overestimated the appeal of being dressed in men’s clothes.

“Is something wrong?” she ventured, really hoping nothing was.

“Not at all,” he replied quickly, and then made a noise that sounded like a laugh was hiding in his breath. “You just look, well, different.”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Roxanne was flustered. Okay, so what she’d thought was the all-natural, fresh from the shower look was apparently playing less “boyfriend chic” and more “homeless girl” in oversized clothes and wet hair. She tugged on the shirt and fingered a piece of hair that had fallen loose from her bun. This was even more embarrassing than finding herself bundled in a rescue blanket in the snow. What she wouldn’t give for a proper tube of lipstick right about now, or one of her own sweaters that knew just how to hug her curves. She felt frumpy.

Mark leaned the fire poker he’d been using against the edge of the stone fireplace, but didn’t look at her as he lifted a bellows and breathed air into the fire. “You look…” His voice trailed off as he puffed a few more blows out of the bellows. He seemed to be stuck trying to find the right word.

“That bad?” She fake-laughed to hide her discomfort. If he said yes, it might be worth spending the night freezing in her car rather than warm and humiliated in the cabin.

He squeezed one last breath out of the bellows and let it drop limp between his knees. “Beautiful,” he said into the fire. He let the word hang in the air for a moment without turning to face her, and then busied himself messing with the fire that was already burning brightly. “You look warm and comfortable,” he went on, then swallowed heavily. “I think you’re even prettier now than you were before.”

It took a few moments for the smile to fade enough from Roxanne’s face that she could force her mouth to move again, and she was grateful that Mark had kept his attention on the fire rather than looking at her. “Thanks for everything you set out for me,” she attempted, willing her voice not to crack. “I really appreciate it.”

When he spoke, his voice was huskier than normal. “You’re welcome,” he said, dusting off his knees as he rose beside her. He smiled down at her, and there was something different about the way that he looked at her. She couldn't quite describe it, but she could feel it. It was warm and pulsing, and lingered in the lower parts of her stomach. She felt warm suddenly—warmer than she should have been, even with the winter clothes and roaring fireplace—and his eyes were such a dazzling shade of green as they stared into hers that she was sure she’d never seen a similar hue before, which was saying something about a woman who stared at color swatches for hours nearly every day.

“Everything fits okay?” His mouth was so close and his words so deep that they nearly vibrated against her lips when he spoke. They seemed to be falling toward each other, though neither of them was trying.

The word that came out of Roxanne’s mouth was supposed to be yes, but it sounded more like a throaty gurgle, so she tried again. “Everything is great,” she said, and then desperate to find a way out of his heat before she melted, she ducked her head and added, “you thought of everything. I had no idea your feet were so small though. You might wear a shoe size even smaller than me.” She hadn’t meant to throw in that last part about the boots, but apparently her subconscious had other plans for her. While she’d been lost in Mark’s eyes, her insecurity had slipped out of her lips.

His eyebrows crinkled in confusion for a split second as he drew back, and then a smile softened them back into place. “Maggie’s,” he said, and when Roxanne looked at him blankly he finally released her from his gaze long enough to pick a silver picture frame off the mantle behind her head. He pulled it around so that she could see it, then tapped his finger against the glass on the image of a lovely brunette, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. “My sister, Maggie.”

Roxanne studied the picture. Maggie had the same dark hair as Mark, the same green eyes the color of evergreen, and the same easy smile. The two were nearly the same height, too, as they stood, arm in arm, at the trailhead to a path that led into a wall of trees.

“Twins?” she asked.

“Yep,” he confirmed, shrugged out of his jacket and tossing it away on the armchair with his free hand. He smiled down at her. “She comes out this way sometimes around the holidays. Never met a girl who loves the snow as much as Mags does—she’d be loving this right now.”

For the first time, Roxanne remembered she wasn’t the only one going home for the holidays. “Oh. Is she coming for Christmas? What about the rest of your family?” The worrisome feeling that she’d put him at an imposition at the worst possible time flooded her, effectively extinguishing the heat that had been building between them. “Oh no,” she gasped, and her hand fluttered to her heart. “I haven’t ruined your holiday plans have I? I'm so sorry.”

Eyebrows up in concern, Mark caught her hand where it hovered and quieted it in his grip. “No,” he laughed, steadying her. “Mags is off sailing around the world—probably somewhere in the southern seas by now.” Roxanne eyed him suspiciously, and he squeezed her hand reassuringly again. “She’s a professor for Semester at Sea. Really, you haven’t inconvenienced me at all, Roxy.” He stared into her eyes for a moment too long, and then released her hands, moving backward as he returned the frame to its home on the mantel.

Roxanne thought about correcting Mark on the nickname—no one besides her father was allowed to call her Roxy—but she didn’t. Normally she despised the nickname, but she kind of liked it when it was sliding off the handsome ranger’s lips.

“What about your parents?”

Mark directed his answer at the photograph of him and his sister. “No parents.” He cleared his throat. “They passed away a long time ago. Just me and Mags now.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said automatically, and meant it. She had been so busy finding excuses not to visit her family that she’d never actually stopped to think about how she’d feel if they weren’t there. Even though she hadn’t seen her parents in well over two years, it never really felt like they were gone.

Mark turned and gave her an easy smile. “It was a long time ago, but thank you.”

“So,” she said, rocking on her feet and having a hard time making eye contact again. “What’s next?”

“Well, he sighed. “I’ve got dinner in the oven—I was planning on some roasted chicken and a salad, is that all right with you? I’ve got a bottle of wine, I think, and some homemade maple pie for dessert.”

Roxanne’s stomach answered for her. Laughing, she put a hand over her rumbling stomach. “It sounds delicious. Thank you.”

He smiled. “Afterward, if you’re up for it, maybe you could help Santa get ready for Christmas?” He gestured over at the undecorated Christmas tree and the half-opened boxes of assorted decorations. Behind these, in rings around the bottom of the tree, were several bags and smaller boxes filled with what looked like various children’s toys and books, and several pieces of children’s clothing. He walked over and began pulling bag after bag out from behind the tree; so many that Roxanne could hardly believe they’d been so easily hidden.

“What is all that?” she asked, eyeing what could easily be a sleigh full of gifts as well as several rolls of bright and festive wrapping paper, ribbon, and tissue paper that had previously been piled in the corner behind the tree. “Are you running deliveries in your Snow-cat-mobile or something?”

“It’s called a Snowcat,” he corrected her, shaking his head in amusement, “and something like that. These toys are for the Green Mountain Patrol’s ranger toy drive. Lots of poor folks on the edge of these mountains, and most couldn’t get out for the holidays even if they could afford it. So, starting around September, we start collecting, and then every year I get everything wrapped up, put on the big red suit, and ride out on the Snowcat”—he said this slowly and winked at her when he did—“and do my best to play Santa. Somebody’s got to deliver out to all the kids in Vermont, too.”

Roxanne was touched, and if she hadn’t already been looking at the ranger with adoration, she was certainly doing so now. She thought about his last words—that Santa had to deliver in Vermont—and chuckled.

“Don’t think I can pull off Santa with this measly excuse for a beard, do you?” he teased, stroking the thin strip of beard on his jaw. Then, lifting a plush reindeer with a bright red plastic nose from one of the boxes, he restated his question to it in mock jest. “Roxy doesn’t think I can pull off Santa, Rudolph.”

“No, it’s not that!” Roxanne laughed, enjoying the silly moment. “You just reminded me of something my friend Spencer said before I left New York is all.”

Something that looked like disappointment flashed across Mark’s face, and was gone. “Boyfriend?” he asked a little too lightly, and Roxanne got the impression he was trying to sound disinterested.

“No, definitely not. Wrong team,” she explained, without bothering to bring up Hunter. “He’d just been teasing me…” Roxanne stopped midsentence. Spencer had been teasing her about Santa bringing her a new mountain man for Christmas, and that was not something she was exactly eager to share when she was sitting, snowed in, in the borrowed clothes of Vermont’s most handsome and philanthropic ranger.

“Teasing you about what,” he coaxed. He turned Rudolph to her so the stuffed animal could echo the question, too. “This Spencer doesn’t think the Big Guy in Red delivers out here in the boonies?”

“Oh, it was nothing”—she waved his words, away—“just nonsense about spending Christmas up in Vermont. But it looks like I’m all yours for the night, so put me to work, Santa.”