Page 37 of Under the Mistletoe
She drew all her strength, leaned back, and lifted her face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have?—”
“You’re cut.” The distant look was back in Rand’s golden eyes as he tilted up her chin, exposing her neck. “His blade must have scratched you.”
Rand tore off a strip from the edge of his shirt and folded it over twice. Then, sliding one hand to support the back of her neck, he placed the cloth over her wound. His other arm came around her shoulders to support her, his attention fixed on the cloth.
Astryn closed her eyes. Rand had gone back to detached rescuer, but she wasn’t the same. Every inch of her had become aware of him. His warmth, his strength, his smile. She was being pulled toward him in every way. She had fallen for the brother she couldn’t have.
* * *
He hadn’t meant to use Devin’s idea of Rand rescuing Astryn, but when he’d sat down to write, the scene had just come out…at least ninety percent of it. Now he just needed an ending. Two o’clock on Friday afternoon. Logan stretched his neck and scanned the kitchen.
At this rate, he’d be spending his Friday night staring at his screen. Wasn’t he the life of the party.
He was the author of some of the best-selling books of the decade. He could handle finishing this one ridiculous scene. Logan stood and walked around the kitchen and back. He’d tried writing in almost every room of the house, he’d run on his mom’s treadmill, he’d even made cookies, and he wasn’t into baking. He just couldn’t find the right words.
Logan reread what he had for chapter ten and then again. It needed more, but what? Logan poised his hands over the keys but…nothing. This was supposed to be a key moment between them. But even now…Blank. Nothing. Maybe because this scene hadn’t been his plan.
It was moving the story in the wrong direction. He needed to be showing how Astryn and Orin were the right match, not Rand and Astryn. Rand would never settle. Rand may be theman of adventure,as Devin called him. But someone needed to stay home and be responsible for the kingdom, not traipse off to Switzerland giving people rides on their dangerous gliders. And there was value to the dark-haired, steady hero. Not every hero had to be blond and charming.
Okay, so maybe there was a deeper reason Logan hated it. Because this scene just seemed to be proving that Devin wanted—no, needed—someone like Liam or Greyson in her life, not him. How had she described Orin?Focused and intentional. That summed up Logan pretty well and was clearly not attractive to Devin.
Well, guess what? Rand was plotted to die. Bet that was a twist Devin didn’t see coming. Orin was the better fit for her, and she needed real-life tragedy to see it. But if he published this scene, he wasn’t sure he could kill off Rand without his fans hating him.
Logan pushed to a stand again. He needed to clear his head.
He hurried up to his room and grabbed his shoes. The boxes of charms he had yet to give Devin were piled on his dresser. Maybe he could deliver one tonight. He hadn’t given her any since the ice skate five days ago. He had ended up buying a total of eight charms, all Christmas-themed, so he still had seven more to give her, and if he wasn’t careful, he wouldn’t get them all delivered by Christmas.
He grabbed the box with the snowflake charm in it and hurried down the stairs only to find Cal waiting by the door. He’d been out recently, so no doubt the dog was hoping for a ride. Logan knelt down and buried his hands in Cal’s fur. “Not this time. I won’t be too long.”
He snagged his coat from by the door, then hurried out to his Bronco. He made his way to the heart of Heritage and parked along the curb between Luke’s and Libby’s houses. He grabbed the box and scanned the area before climbing out and hurrying toward Devin’s porch. He’d leave the box on her mat. That was easy enough.
The falling snow must have sent people inside. Not one person walked in the square or on any of the sidewalks he could see. It was after two, and he needed to get the charm dropped off before the school buses arrived and the place was swarming with kids, including his nephews. He climbed her steps, taking care not to make a sound, and set the box on the mat. He turned to leave when movement in the window caught his eye. Devin was sitting on the couch by the front window with her head in her hands. Was she crying?
Should he knock on the door? What was he supposed to say?I was peeking through your window and saw you crying? Stalker much? But he couldn’t just leave either. Not without making sure she was okay.
As if on cue, a small dog barely bigger than his foot, with cream-colored fur and a spicy attitude, came running up the stairs and circled him with rapid barks. Well, that would get her attention.
Devin’s head jerked up. Her red-rimmed eyes landed on him. So she had been crying. She wiped at the tears, then hurried to the door. He bent down to pick up the dog, but that was a lost cause. The thing wouldn’t stand still.
“Logan?” The door cracked open. Her hair was down, hiding part of her face. “Oh, Pearl, how did you get out? Thank you for bringing her back.”
That’s not exactly how it went down, but he’d go with it. Devin opened the door, and the dog ran past her. But if she hadn’t realized the dog was gone, that probably wasn’t why she was upset. “Before you came to the door, I saw you in the window…is everything okay?”
She wiped away another tear, then brushed her hair over her shoulders. She hesitated for a moment. “Come on in.”
Logan stepped in and scanned the small space. Stairs rose in front of him, and a dining room sat to his left. Devin walked to the right, where there was a small sitting room with a couch, a couple of chairs, and a TV. In the middle of the coffee table sat a large cardboard box.
“I’m fine.” The red face and way she seemed to look anywhere but at him seemed to say otherwise, but she offered a dismissive wave toward the box. “The order is wrong.”
“The order is wrong?” Why would she cry over a bad order? There had to be more going on.
“I meant to order stockings with names on them but the ones they sent are blank. Fifty-six blank stockings.”
He started to respond but she started pacing.
“Fifty-six kids. I mean, that’s great. MaryLynn will love that number. But I advertised personalized stockings, and these are not them.”
It was like she had been uncorked and now couldn’t stop talking.
