Page 102 of Summer Weddings
The look in his eyes was as potent as good whiskey. “You make me laugh.”
She shook her head. “Don’t shut me out, Mitch. I can’t bear it when you shut me out of your life. There isn’t anything you can’t tell me.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Mitch eased her out of his arms and stared down at her, as if testing the truth of her words.
“Mitch,” she said gently, touching his face, “what is it?”
“Nothing.” He turned away. “It’s nothing.”
Bethany didn’t believe that. But she had no choice other than to end this discussion, which obviously distressed him. When he was ready he’d tell her.
“Didn’t you say something about decorating your Christmas tree?” he asked with feigned enthusiasm.
“I did indeed,” she said, following his lead.
“Good. We’ll get to that in a moment.” He took her by the hand.
“Where are we going?”
“You mean you don’t know?” He grinned boyishly. “I’m taking you to the celery, er, the substitute mistletoe.”
Soon she was in his arms, and all the doubts she’d entertained were obliterated the second he lowered his mouth to hers. She felt only the touch of his lips. Slow and confident. Intimate and familiar.
* * *
Christian had expected Mariah to move away from Hard Luck before December. He wasn’t a betting man, but he would’ve wagered a year’s income that his secretary would hightail it out of town right after the first snowfall. Not that he would’ve blamed her, living as she was in a one-room cabin. He cringed whenever he thought about her in those primitive conditions.
It wasn’t the first time Mariah had shown him up. Christian was positive she stayed on out of pure spite. She wanted to prove herself, all right, but at the expense of his pride.
He walked into the office to find Mariah already at her desk, typing away at the computer. Her fingers moved so fast they were a blur.
At the sound of the door closing, she looked up—and froze.
“Morning,” he said without emotion.
“Good morning,” she said shyly. She glanced away, almost as if she expected a reprimand. “The coffee’s ready.”
“So I see.” He wasn’t looking forward to this, but someone had to reason with her, and Sawyer had refused to take on the task.
Christian poured himself a cup of coffee, then walked slowly to his desk. “Mariah.”
She stared at him with large, frightened eyes. “Did I do something wrong again?”
“No, no,” he said quickly, wanting to reassure her. “What makes you think that?” He gave her what he hoped resembled an encouraging smile.
She eyed him, apparently not convinced she could trust him.“It seems the only time you talk to me is when I’ve done something wrong.”
“Not this time.” He sat down at his desk, which wasn’t all that far from her own. “It’s about you living in the cabin,” he said.
He watched her bristle. “I believe we’ve already discussed this,” she answered stiffly. “Several times.”
“I don’t want you there.”
“Then you should never have offered the cabins as accommodation.”
“I’d prefer it if you moved in with the other women—in Catherine Fletcher’s house,” he said, ignoring her comment. Actually, having Catherine’s house available to them had been a godsend. Two women—Sally and Angie—had moved in, and the arrangement was working out well.
The pilots Midnight Sons employed lived in a dorm-size room. It was stark, without much more than a big stove for heating and several bunk beds and lockers, but the men never complained. The house was far more to the women’s liking. As soon as they could, he and Sawyer were bringing in two mobile homes for the women, as well.
