Page 20 of Blame it on the Mistletoe
“Or three, you miss the party Thursday and stay up all night preparing while we laugh and eat all the chocolate.”
“Now you’re just being mean.” Faith thought of her helpless bears in the oven and their misshaped hats and—
Why was she arguing? She needed help. Ester was counting on her and, in the end, her word was more important than her pride.
“Fine, but are you really going to make me say it?”
“Nope. That you thought it is enough,” Shelby said, and Faith could all but hear her friend high-fiving herself. “One generator is headed your way.”
“Fine, but you have to let me pay you back somehow.” Faith didn’t like owing people.
“How about after the holidays you take JT so Cody and I can catch up on some of that quiet time?”
“Deal.”
Fifteen minutes, a hoodie, and a pair of pajamas she blindly pulled from the dryer later, Faith saw headlights through her front window. She secured her hair back with a hair band right as a firm knock sounded at the front door.
Not wanting Cody to stand in the rain longer than necessary, Faith padded through the front room and swung open the door. “You are my hero. Seriously, I so owe you and—”
Faith froze, because standing on her stoop, wearing a tool belt, a dark gray Henley, and looking for all the world like a sexy husband-for-hire, was Noah Tucker. And no amount of breathing was going to save her now.
His eyes ran the length of her, and he grinned. “So I’m your hero, huh?”
Faith slammed the door shut.
Chapter Six
As a Ranger, Noah had become accustomed to doors slamming in his face. It came with the territory. What he wasn’t used to was this strange tightening in his chest every time he heard Faith’s name or saw her around town—or thought he saw her around town.
Or saw her standing in her doorway in nothing but her bare feet and pajamas, her hair twisted into some kind of messy knot on the top of her head, and a light dusting of flour across her left cheek and forehead.
Faith Loren was the pissiest, messiest, and sexiest domestic goddess he’d ever laid eyes on. And she’d slammed the door in his face. Talk about a turn-on.
He’d been looking forward to a moment like this all week. And she didn’t disappoint.
Deciding to give her a moment to figure out a strategy for how to deal with him, Noah took in the potted plants, the two bicycles leaning against the porch rail—not the smartest idea in this neighborhood—and a wreath hanging on the door. He couldn’t remember the last time domesticity got him smiling. Then again, he’d never seen a wreath fashioned from those stick-on bows sold in the wrapping paper aisle, all blue, with spiky teeth in the middle and two big cartoon eyes over the top.
“Nice wreath,” he called through the door.
“It’s supposed to scare you away.”
He could hear her pressing her face to the door, likely to look through the peephole. It made him wonder if she had to go up on her toes to reach it. And that made him smile.
“I don’t scare all that easy. In fact, maybe you can teach me how to make one so I can impress JT.” Silence. “No rush. Whenever you have some spare time. I can stand here all night. When I first joined the force, I pulled an eighteen-hour stakeout, didn’t leave the car once. True story,” he said. “I also navigated a run-in, yesterday in fact, with some locals. I went to Mable’s Corner Market to pick up a few things for Shelby. It wasn’t a long list, but incredibly generic, not a detail to be found. Eggs not a big deal, but apples? Do you know how many kinds of apples there are? So there I am trying to figure out what kind of toilet paper to buy, because women seem to be particular about that kind of thing.”
He heard a snort.
“I wasn’t about to lose to some brand with packaging that says, ‘Enjoy the Go.’ So I turn to the lady next to me, who had enough food to feed a family of nine. I figure, she must be a pretty good judge of TP. I didn’t even get to ask my question because she says, ‘Excuse me, you’re a Texas Ranger, aren’t you?’ I figured she was a woman who appreciated a good pistol, but she wasn’t interested in that in the slightest. Neither were the six of her friends she called from the store. She insisted that I wait for them to arrive before I began my detailed explanation of all the qualifications a Junior Ranger must possess.”
A string of words that would have had Ms. Luella reaching for the bar of soap came from behind the door. He listened as the dead bolt was unlocked, grinned when the chain was disengaged, and was flat-out smiling when she opened the door.
“What did you say?” she asked.
Lord have mercy,those eyes could slay a man. They were bedroom eyes, he decided. Big and smoky brown and highlighted by her rich blond hair. Then there was her hoodie, which he hadn’t had a chance to fully appreciate before she slammed the door. It was the softest shade of pink and clung to her breasts in a way that said she wasn’t wearing a bra.
He continued his scan, lifting a brow when he got to her flannel bottoms and red tipped toes. “Pokémon?”
She looked down and cursed again. And she wasn’t using the G-rated words this time either. Seemed Angel’s day had been bad enough to warrant the adult kind. Which got him wondering what other kind of adult things she might be in the mood for.
