Page 109 of Not Your Average Vixen
“Are you warming up, buddy?” he asked.
Cole nuzzled into Bridget’s lap, pulled the blanket over his head, and let out a heart-wrenching sob.
Bridget uncovered the child’s face. “What is it, honey? Does something hurt?”
The boy shook his head as tears streamed down his cheeks. “My glasses! I lost my glasses, looking for the Christmas fairy. I was running and running because I thought this would be the perfect place to see a fairy. It’s far away from anyone, and it’s got a fairy name,” the boy whimpered.
He patted Cole’s leg. “Lucky for you, Uncle Scooter and Aunt Birdie found them,” he said, pulling the frames from his pocket and handing them over.
“It’s not Aunt Birdie. It’s just Birdie, Uncle Scooter,” Cole corrected, slipping on the red frames.
“Right, just Birdie.” He glanced at Bridget, who looked at him with such tenderness that the breath caught in his throat. “Sorry, you know what I meant,” he finished, sounding nothing like a sharp-witted corporate raider and everything like a tongue-tied enamored teenager.
They stared at each other. The flickering glow of the fire sent shadows across her face. She was so hauntingly beautiful it was almost too much. He’d seen plenty of attractive women. Models and socialites dolled themselves up for a chance to spend the evening on his arm. But those women couldn’t hold a candle to Bridget Dasher. Completely disheveled, with wild dark tendrils framing her face, he’d never seen anything quite as exquisite as this radiant woman. And again, like each time before, he couldn’t ignore the pull between them.
“You’re staring,” she said softly with the trace of a sweet smile.
He pretended to check the fire. “I wanted to make sure you were all right, that’s all.”
“Do you want to kiss Birdie, Uncle Scooter?” Cole asked, perking up.
His mouth opened and closed like a confused goldfish. “No, why would you even think that?”
“Because you’re looking at her real, real hard. Like she’s a cookie, and you want to eat her. But you can’t eat a person. So, I thought you really, really, really wanted to taste Birdie, and the only way to do that is to kiss her.”
Holy hell! This kid was way more observant than any kindergartner should be.
“Well,” he began when a sharp ping cut through the crackle of the fire.
“Is that your phone?” he asked, directing the question to the pink-cheeked Bridget.
“No, it’s Cole,” she replied, peeling back the blanket.
“It’s my tracker,” the boy answered with a nonchalant wave of his little hand.
“Your what?” he asked.
“My tracker for skiing. Mommy put it on my coat and one on Carly’s coat, too. We have them so she can find us if we got separated on the mountain,” Cole answered, showing them the circular fob attached to the zipper of his jacket.
“Delores must have gotten word to everyone,” Bridget said when a grinding, mechanical rumble thundered over the crackle of the fire.
“What could that be?” he asked as the fob continued to beep.
“It sounds like a snowcat,” Bridget answered, coming to her feet.
The grind of an engine ceased, and within seconds, Cole’s tracker stopped beeping, and voices cried out.
“Cole! Scooter!”
He caught Bridget’s eye. “It’s Denise.”
“Your moms are here, Cole,” Bridget said, smoothing the boy’s hair across his forehead.
Nancy was the first inside the cabin. “Honey, what happened?” she asked, falling to her knees and gathering the boy into her arms.
At the sight of his mother, tears trailed down his cheeks. “I wanted to see a Christmas fairy. I wanted to make a Christmas wish. Am I in trouble?”
“Oh, Cole,” she replied, her voice a cascade of nerves and relief.
