Emersyn

I discreetly checked my watch for the fifth time in the last ten minutes.

This was not what I needed.

Not today.

On Christmas Eve.

Not after the week I’d already had.

This is what you get for your inability to say no, I chastised myself. I never seem to be able to do that when a friend asks me for help. I feel like I disappoint them. It just isn’t who I am. Though I sure wish I did this time, I thought as I watched Daxton McArthur’s arrogant ass strut through the rooms of the main building for the third time. This was going beyond doing a friend a favor. The man in question had had business in Boulder for the last two days and had insisted on seeing the property today. He would not come back any time soon if he could help it—his words—so if Linda, the local realtor and my friend, didn’t want to lose a potential buyer, she had to figure something out and quick—again, his words. The property he’d wanted to see was the most expensive on the market seeing as it was the Birch Haven Cottages, which, if it sold, would make Linda a very happy lady and would bring the town of Cedar Creek good yet hopefully modest—we appreciated our privacy out here—business if it reopened.

Enter me.

I’m not a real estate agent, but I did on occasion help Linda out when she was in a bind and needed someone. It didn’t happen all the time but frequently enough, so I knew my way around. I usually didn’t mind showing properties; it was kind of fun and something completely different from what I did in my job as a freelance editor. I enjoyed it. Usually. So when Linda had called me in a frenzy, begging and bribing me, I couldn’t say no. What can I say? It was Christmas Eve, and Linda had a family to cook for. I didn’t. But not even five minutes into this showing, it turned out to be the most aggravating one I’d ever done. Not because Mr. McArthur—what he insisted on a scowl I call him, even though he couldn’t be more than a handful of years older than my thirty-two, when I introduced myself by my first name—had a lot of questions. No. It was because Daxton McArthur was the rudest, most condescending person I had ever met. To alleviate the pressure in my head that threatened to explode and would not make me Linda’s favorite person, I’d called him Mr. Jerkface in my mind for the bigger part of the past four hours.

It helped.

Somewhat.

And yes, I said four hours.

The longest four hours of my life.

“Am I keeping you from something?”

I clenched my teeth from saying what I really wanted to say. Yes, you’re keeping me from something. And you know goddarn well what it is you’re keeping me from, you arrogant bastard. But I couldn’t say what I was thinking and risk his wrath. I knew from having been in his presence for only one afternoon he would use anything he could to squeeze as much money as possible out of this deal. I was positive he was interested in buying and either remodeling the cottages or tearing them down and building something new. Though I was leaning towards remodeling. Why else would he keep looking around? If all he was interested in was the land, he wouldn’t care about the state the buildings were in. And if he weren’t seriously interested, he would have never come out here himself. A guy like him has people who do trivial things for him.

“No, Mr. McArthur. Of course not. Take as much time as you need. I’m just worried about the road conditions. Didn’t you say you’d be driving back to Colorado Springs today?” Cedar Creek was about an hour from Boulder, which was an hour and a half from Colorado Springs. The way the snow was coming down, a two-and-a-half-hour drive could easily turn into four hours or more, especially in the dark. And seeing as it was close to five in the afternoon, the sky would soon turn pitch black. Not that I cared how long it would take him to get home. I just wanted to get out of here so I could salvage what was left of my Christmas Eve. Even if it would only be a Christmas for one this year.

“Please, do me the favor of not taking me for a fool. We both know that isn’t why you checked your watch for the fifth time in the last ten minutes.”

What? Did this guy have eyes in the back of his head?

I forced a smile. “I really am concerned about the roads,” I lied. “The snow is coming down heavily.” He raised one eyebrow in a dare, so I gave him some of the truth. “But yes, I have to admit I’d prefer to get home shortly. It’s Christmas Eve and I—”

“Christmas is overrated. Just another holiday people use as an excuse to not work and cost their employers money.”

Of course, he would think that.

“I’m sorry you think that way. But as you can see, I am here, working on a holiday, but it is getting fairly late and I—”

I clamped my mouth shut as he interrupted me yet again. I’d lost count of how many times he had done it.

“Yeah, you’re here. Though I could argue you actually doing any work.”

See? Total jerk.

I forced another smile. My cheek muscles were starting to hurt I was so practiced at it by now. I’m not usually one to fake anything. Yes, I have to bite my tongue from time to time, but hey, who doesn’t? I have my own mind and speak it. Usually. I this case, though, I couldn’t, no matter if this haughty ass was insulting me or not. I had to stay polite. “Again, I am sorry you think that way.”

He waited for more, I could tell, but I didn’t say anything else.

Take a deep breath, my Emmy. This, too, shall pass, I heard my mother’s words, words she had spoken to me countless times. God, I missed her. I longed to let her comforting voice and wise words soothe me. Sadness settled in my stomach. I hadn’t heard her voice in real life in almost a decade. I would never get the chance again.

“If you don’t mind,”—his harsh tone snapped me back to reality—“please do what you’re paid to do and call your boss. Have her email me the last inspection report. I want to go over it tonight.” His brows were furrowed and his words were clipped. I really wanted to know who pissed in his cereal this morning, but then again, he was probably this charming every moment of his rich but otherwise sad existence. Proves money isn’t everything.

Knowing my objections about interrupting Linda’s Christmas Eve would fall on deaf ears—and I wouldn’t mention setting him straight about her being my boss and me getting paid either; it would only result in having to spend more time in his presence—I simply nodded. “I will contact her.”

“Good.” Then he turned and marched out the door and to his car without a ‘Thank you,’ without a ‘Have a nice day,’ without a ‘Merry Christmas.’ Not that I’d expected it. Still, it was beyond rude.

“This, too, shall pass. In about two minutes,” I mumbled to myself when he was out of earshot. Then I slowly followed him outside, locked the door behind me, and trudged through the snow to my car. He was already sitting in his, his phone to his ear, his narrowed eyes on me. I ignored him.

Until I couldn’t.

***

No, no, no. This is not happening.

I checked my rearview mirror and let out a frustrated sound in the back of my throat at the scene unfolding behind me.

Shit.

I didn’t think I could spend one more minute in his presence.

He had already ruined most of my day by being nothing but a jerk. There was only so much patience left in me before I gave in to the urge to deck him.

“No, no, no,” I chanted under my breath. “Please don’t let this be happening.”

I’d been sitting in the car for the last five minutes, during which I’d called Linda with a profanity-infused update while my car was heating up, pleading to whatever power could hear me, that what I was seeing wasn’t happening. I checked the mirror again in the hopes a Christmas miracle had occurred and his car was gone.

No, I really didn’t want to deal with this man for even one more second.

But I also couldn’t just drive away. That would be rude. And my parents had not raised a rude daughter. Opinionated with a healthy dose of sass? Possibly. But not rude. Even though he had been nothing but insulting towards me. I was a better person.

So, I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders, then I opened my door and got out, leaving my car running to have it fully heated up for my return trip home.

He didn’t notice my approach—or so I thought, since he didn’t show any indication he did. Yet when I was five feet away and still behind him as he was leaning over the opened hood of his fancy—and I had to admit sexy—Lexus, probably trying to glare the engine into submission, I learned I was wrong.

“What, Emersyn with a y, you finally decided to offer your help after contemplating if you could get away with ignoring me? You think you’ll show more skill at this than you’ve presented so far? I highly doubt they let you anywhere near shop class when you were in high school. And even if, it’s clearly been a while since you graduated.” He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat.

Jerkface, I thought yet again, now leaving off the Mr. because I didn’t feel he deserved any courtesy. I should add ‘Fucking.’ That nasty comment more than deserved it. Incidentally, I had introduced myself as Emersyn with a y. It usually brought a smile to people’s faces and started an easygoing conversation about why my parents had chosen an uncommon spelling—to offset my last name—Moore—one of the most common names in the United States. But that was before I’d realized what an ass he was. I should turn around and drive away. But it was cold outside and the snow was falling heavier by the minute. I didn’t have it in me to leave anyone stranded in the middle of nowhere, no matter how awful they were.

Linda owed me huge for this.

I ignored his obvious animosity but answered his question. “Unless it’s a dead battery I can help you jumpstart, you’re right, I won’t be able to help you determine what’s wrong with your car. But I do happen to know where the garage is located.”

He scowled some more. No surprise there. A scowl was pretty much the only expression I’d had the pleasure of seeing on his face, with intense glares and sneers liberally mixed in for seemingly no reason at all. I wondered if his face was stuck at that grimace and if it gave him headaches. A girl could hope.

“It’s not the battery.”

“Okay, then, would you like me to give you a ride to the garage? I’m sure they can tow your car there or send someone out here to have a look.”

He straightened and looked down his nose at me. “Yeah? You think?” More sarcasm.

Asshole.

Since I had already told him what I thought, I didn’t answer, not that he actually gave me the chance to.

“You seem to be forgetting what day it is, even though you didn’t fail to mention it no less than three times in the last hour. Not that I’m surprised by the lack of mental capability which would keep you from making the logical connection that the local garage will most certainly be closed on this fine evening.”

I was glowering at him now. That man could not be believed. Though he was right. The guys at Lucid would probably all be home by now, enjoying their wives’ Christmas roast or turkey or ham. Or all three if they were lucky. I ground my teeth and managed to pull out my phone instead of scratching his eyes out. Maybe I’d be fortunate enough to catch someone on their way out.

After six rings, the answering machine kicked in, informing me the shop would be closed for the holidays and would not re-open until December twenty-sixth. “Shit,” I hissed, eyes to my boots. On a grunt from him, they shot to his face.

Jerkface gave me nothing more but raised eyebrows before he reached up to close the hood of his car with a loud bang. “I don’t suppose you have any accommodation that isn’t infected with rats in this charming little town of yours.”

He was referring to the cottages, I knew. They weren’t infected with rats. Not even close. Yes, they had seen better days, but they’d also been closed for a couple of years with no one taking care of them. They needed some love and hard work, no doubt. But his derisive comment was unnecessary. “I can make a couple of calls,” I forced out through clenched teeth. Though I didn’t hold my breath. It was past five in the afternoon on Christmas Eve and we were in the Rocky Mountains. The chances of finding open accommodations were slim to none. Not to mention we didn’t have a hotel in town, or a motel, or a taxi service which could drive him to Boulder, the closest city. The only tourist accommodations we had since the Birch Haven Cottages had closed shop were a bed and breakfast and Ivey and Cal’s rental. Both of them were almost always booked. There were a few hunting cabins throughout the mountains which got rented, but I doubted those would meet his standards. And anyway, I wasn’t close to anyone who owned one, so there was no one to call. We liked our town like that, with some tourism here and there, hikers on a day trip from Boulder, a handful who stayed maybe a week to enjoy a calm mountain retreat, plus hunters who pretty much stuck to themselves when they were out here. Another reason why I hoped Mr. Jerkface would be looking to renovate rather than rebuild.

I tried Ivey first, since she was one of my good friends in town. We weren’t besties, but I liked her a lot. We’d bonded over books, of course, her owning the bookstore named Serendipity in town and me being an editor. I didn’t want to encroach on their family Christmas, but I was in a bind. At this point, I would interrupt the Queen of England during her Christmas dinner if it got this guy away from me. She answered on the third ring.

“Merry Christmas, Emmy! Everything okay?”

I could hear kitchen noises in the background, as well as a boy’s laughter and a man’s chuckle. Cal and Tommy.

“I’m sorry to bother you on Christmas Eve, Ivey, but is your rental open for tonight by any chance?”

“Our rental?” A short pause, then, “No, hon, it’s rented until the new year. Do you need a place to stay? Is something wrong with your house? You can come and stay with us.” She sounded concerned.

I hurried to assure her. “No, no. Nothing like that. Just an…acquaintance who needs a roof over his head. But don’t worry. I’ll figure it out. Thanks, Ivey.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. It’s no big deal. Enjoy your night. And Merry Christmas,” I ended the call before she could ask any more questions, and dialed the only number left which could save me from having to sacrifice my sanity.

Two minutes later, it was in danger of becoming non-existent in a short amount of time.

Shit again.

Jerkface McJerkerson stood with his hands on his hips, the scowl on his face now expectant yet knowing, since he’d heard my side of both conversations, which meant he also looked pissed off. I took a fortifying breath knowing what I had to do. And hating I didn’t have much of a choice. “My house has a guest room you can use if you’d like.”

His brows scrunched together and his mouth sneered in disgust. “I’ll call a cab.”

“I doubt they’ll come all the way from Boulder in this weather to collect you, but you’re welcome to try.”

“There’s no taxi service?”

I shook my head.

“Fuck,” he swore.

Yup. My thoughts exactly.

It was me who raised my brows in expectation this time. Though, I didn’t repeat my disgruntled yet gracious—at least I thought so—offer.

In answer, he rounded his car and grabbed a leather duffel bag from the back seat, then he threw his door closed and walked past me to the passenger side of my car, locking his with the remote as he went.

I tipped my head back to look at the snowy and now almost dark sky and told myself to let it roll off my shoulders. Not everyone had it in them to be nice. There were assholes out there. A lot of them. I just had to clench my teeth, and it’d be over soon. Close your eyes and think of England. Not that anything sexual would be happening, but I knew I was in for an aggravating evening I would no doubt not enjoy, so the idiom seemed fitting. It would be my good Christmas deed this year. On that thought, I picked up my feet and followed the ungrateful bastard, who was already sitting in the passenger seat of my car. I had a nice bottle of wine waiting for me at home that I promised myself I would open the minute I walked into my house. I also had a Christmas dinner for one to cook. Shit. Or maybe for two. If I could resist the urge to commit homicide in the next couple of hours.

We’d see how it went.

***

Half an hour later, we pulled into my driveway.

I didn’t live far out of town—a ten-minute drive on a normal day—but the roads had become slippery since I’d left earlier and it was snowing heavily now, impeding visibility. I wouldn’t be surprised if we got another good dump of snow overnight. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too much to drive come morning. Not wanting to let my thoughts go to what I’d do if that happened, I looked at my mountain cabin like I always did after I turned off my engine. My dream house. My home. The home I had worked my ass off for. I still was, just not as hard nowadays.

“This is yours?” There was surprise in his voice, which I took as him not expecting me to own beauty like this.

Yes, asshole, this is my house. I didn’t say this out loud but rather chose to clamp my mouth shut so I wouldn’t scream. Apart from his frequent grumblings in the first ten minutes about the state of my car and my less than stellar driving expertise—I’d ignored either until he’d finally shut up; maybe this was the way to go—the drive had been quiet. Almost a reprieve. Or a calm before the storm. I didn’t see good things happening in my near future besides curling up on the couch with a glass of wine after dinner, a Christmas classic playing on TV while snow was falling outside, blanketing everything with a white sparkly sheet. When I’d called my house a ‘mountain cabin,’ that’s exactly what I meant. A two-story log cabin with a green metal roof—which was hidden under two feet of snow right now. It had three spacious bedrooms—one of them, the master, was in a huge open loft with a cozy reading nook overlooking the mountains; the other two were on the ground floor off the opposite side of the living room. The perfect pine kitchen with high-end appliances was every cook’s dream and was open to the sunken living room space with, yes, a wood-burning oven-type fireplace facing a set of deep, comfy couches. I loved everything about my house, was proud of it, proud I was able to give this to myself.

The sight of the front porch, illuminated by the lights I always set on a timer during the winter, calmed me enough to say, “Yes, this is my house,” in a soft voice.

I felt his eyes on me and turned my head. I was shocked to see something there, something that was not derision, something I could almost say was tenderness. But before I could figure out what it was, it was gone, shifted to hard again. Then he turned away and got out of the car without another word, took his bag from the back seat, then stomped to my front porch.

If I weren’t so annoyed right now, I would laugh. He behaved like a five-year-old who hadn’t gotten his way.

I sighed for the five hundredth and eighty-ninth time that afternoon and followed him.

The first thing I did when I entered and left the door open behind me for him to follow, then took off my snow-drenched boots and dropped my purse, was not open the bottle of wine. No, I walked straight toward the six-foot tall Christmas tree in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the living room to turn on the twinkle lights. I stood and stared at it for a few moments, enjoying its simple beauty, before I turned and switched on the other various Christmas lights throughout the huge area. I never went overboard with Christmas decorations, didn’t like any sort of clutter or tacky knick-knacks, but I loved the lights—the warm white non-blinking ones. I ended my walkthrough in the kitchen—there was one last switch to light up the small countertop potted pine tree—where I shrugged off my coat and threw it over the back of one of the stools at the bar. Only then did I walk toward the counter opposite to retrieve the wine.

I didn’t quite make it there before I saw him standing not more than a few feet inside the front door. His eyes were roaming the room, taking everything in, his jaw hard, a muscle in his cheek twitching, his brows drawn together, a deep frown between them. He also had his arms crossed on his chest and it looked like his fists were clenched.

Wonderful.

“My room?” he grunted when his eyes stopped on me.

Rude. Again.

But whatever.

I didn’t stop in my mission to get liquored up to play hostess or give him a tour. “Down the hall, first room on the right. It’s got an en-suite, so you’ll have your privacy. Clean towels are in the cabinet under the sink.”

I picked up the bottle, found the corkscrew in the utensil drawer, uncorked the wine, then pulled down a glass from the cabinet and poured. Eager, I lifted the glass to my lips and took a sip. A big one. When I opened my eyes after savoring the fruity smoothness on my tongue and palate, I noticed he hadn’t moved. His eyes were glued to me, glittering with what looked like a whole lot of anger.

What the hell was his problem?

I said nothing, just held his stare as I took another sip. Challenging him maybe. To what I wasn’t sure. I just knew I wouldn’t take his crap for much longer. Especially not in my own home.

He broke the contact to sweep his eyes down my body to my waist, taking his time, his jaw no less hard, his eyes still glittering. On their way up, they rested on my chest for a few long seconds before he seemed to snap himself out of it, uncrossed his arms, bent to snatch up his duffel, then turned and marched up the stairs without another word.

“Geez, Louise, that guy is a dick,” I murmured to myself, somewhat unsettled by my body’s reaction to his short, yet intense, perusal. Though, it shouldn’t surprise me. It tended to pick assholes—Mark, my ex-boyfriend, being the latest proof.

Determined to not let my mind go there because that would cause my own anger to heat to epic proportions, I walked to the fridge to take out the supplies I needed to cook dinner. I would not let anyone ruin Christmas for me. Not dickhead Mark, not Mr. Jerkface, and not the fact that Dad couldn’t make it out here on time to celebrate with me.

I turned on some Christmas music and focused on food preparation, humming and sipping wine while I chopped, seasoned, stuffed, roasted, peeled, and boiled. With the turkey breast in the oven, the potatoes set to boil, and everything else prepared, I was refilling my wine when the phone rang.