Christmas At Copper Mountain (A Copper Mountain Christmas) (13 page)

She was at the stove, monitoring the milk in the saucepan when footsteps sounded on the back porch and Brock entered the kitchen.

“I’m making the kids hot chocolate,” she
said, skin prickling as Brock approached the stove, glanced down into the pan. “Would you like some?”

“Hot chocolate?” he repeated.

“Yes, with marshmallows and whipped cream and chocolate shavings.” She smiled at him, feeling nervous and shy. She’d shared an awful lot this morning and now she wished she hadn’t. Only thing to do now was keep it professional. “Or I can keep it simple. Just cocoa if you prefer.”

“I’ll take some whipped cream,” he said, adding a log to the fire before dropping onto one of the stools at the counter.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”

She felt her cheeks warm.
“It’s not too much trouble.” She checked the milk to make sure it hadn’t started to boil and then retrieved another mug. After burning the pies yesterday she didn’t want to scald the milk today. But it would be a lot easier to concentrate if Brock were somewhere else.

“Want to call the kids?” she asked, staring down at the simmering milk, gauging the tiny bubbles.

“No.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder.
He practically filled the island, his big arms resting on the counter, his shoulders squared. “The cocoa is going to be ready soon.”

“But it’s not ready yet,” he said mildly.

“It will be
soon
.”

“Soon, but not yet.”

She glared at him. “You’re being difficult.”

“According to my kids I’m always difficult.
And mean. And determined to make them unhappy for the rest of their lives.”

She hadn’t meant to laugh.
She hadn’t even known she was going to laugh but the gurgle of laughter slipped from her and she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

“It’s not funny,” he said, and yet his eyes were smiling at her.

“No, it’s not.” Her lips twitched as she took in his big strong body, his black gleaming hair and his dark eyes in that ruggedly handsome face. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t sound sorry at all.”

Her lips twitched again. “I’m trying to sound sympathetic.”

“You’re not trying very hard.”

“I’m also trying not to tell you I told-you-so.”

“Again, not trying very hard.”

She bit down into her lip to check her smile, and yet he was smiling a little, a small sexy smile that made her heart turn over and her insides melt.

He was too good-looking when he smiled.
Much, much too good-looking.

“Don’t do that,” she said, trying to sound severe.

“Do what?”

“Be all friendly and sexy—”

“Sexy?” he pounced on the word, black eyebrows rising.

“Because from now on we are keeping things professional.”

“Professional,” he repeated.

Her tummy flipped and her pulse quickened.
“Platonic.”

He said nothing just looked at her from beneath his dark lashes, his expression lazy, sultry, knowing.

He remembered how she’d kissed him last night. He remembered how she responded.

Harley flushed.
“I’m here to do a job and that’s the only reason I’m here—”

“Harley—”

“I’m serious. I’m the housekeeper and cook—”

He was up off the stool and at her side, yanking the
sauce pan with the boiling milk from the hot burner even as the milk bubbled up and over the edge of the pan all over the stove.

“Damn,” Harley cried.
She could tell from the scorched smell that she hadn’t just wasted the milk, she’d burned the pan. She looked up at Brock and jabbed a finger in his chest as he was standing far too close. “This is your fault. None of this would have happened if you’d just gotten the kids like I told you.”

Brock stared down into Harley’s bright green eyes, seeing the sparkle of anger that made her eyes light up and her cheeks flush. He liked this side of her, feisty and fierce, her finger pressed to his chest as she took him to task.

He’d always admired intelligent women, and Amy had been one of the smartest girls at Marietta High School, testing off the charts, and earning several full-ride scholarships to prestigious universities.
But Amy hadn’t wanted to leave Montana. She loved Montana and Brock too much to leave either, so Brock and Amy both attended school in Bozeman, earning degrees together, graduating together and settling down on their new ranch, with Brock to work the ranch and Amy to work in Marietta in the commercial banking division for Copper Mountain Savings & Loan. She’d been on her way to work when her car was broadsided.

One of the
neighbors, a fellow rancher, was first on the scene and the neighbor called Brock. Brock made it to Amy before the paramedics, and he was with her at the scene when she died. There hadn’t been time to transport her anywhere, and so Brock was always grateful he’d reached her quickly, grateful he’d been able to kiss her and promise to always take care of the babies, and raise them properly.

He didn’t know if she’d heard him.
He didn’t know if she’d understood what he was saying, but in the eleven years since she’d died, he’d kept his promise to her. He’d always put the kids first, which meant he didn’t date or go out with friends, or screw around with his brothers.

No, he’d stayed here, on the ranch, focusing on work and the kids.

At times it’d been damn lonely. But Amy was the love of his life and impossible to replace. He hadn’t wanted to replace her, either.

But being alone for so long had made him a harder man.
He knew he was tougher, colder, less affectionate than he’d been when Amy was alive. Amy had been good for him. She’d been his laughter, his best friend, his sunshine.

Staring down now into Harley’s face Brock keenly felt the loss of laughter and sunshine.

It’d been eleven years since he’d had a partner. He could use a best friend again.

Brock reached out and captured Harley’s finger, gently bending the finger, shaping her hand into a fist, covering her fist with his own.

Her hand was warm and small, her skin soft.

He liked touching her.
Hell, he’d like to touch all of her. Celibacy had lost its appeal a long time ago. “We need to talk about last night, what happened upstairs,” he said.

He saw a flicker in her eyes before she dropped her gaze.
“No, we don’t,” she whispered.

“We do,” he answered, wanting to kiss her again, needing to kiss her again, but not comfortable bedding her as long as she worked for him.
But at the same time, once she left here tomorrow he didn’t know where she was going to go or what she planned on doing. “Tomorrow your replacement comes.”

“Yes.”

“Are you flying back to California, or staying in Marietta?”

“I haven’t thought that far.”

“Do you even know where you’re going tomorrow?”

“No.”

The twins suddenly raced into the kitchen, pushing each other as they rounded the corner. They skidded to a halt as they spotted him holding Harley’s hand.

Harley saw the kids’ expression as they saw their dad holding her hand and she broke free, moving quickly to the sink. “Just a little burn,” she said briskly, turning the faucet on and running her hand beneath the water. “It’ll be fine.”

Brock lounged against the counter.
“You’re sure you don’t want ice?”

She shot him a swift glance.
“It’s fine,” she said flatly. “But I do need to get a new pan and start fresh milk if we want that hot chocolate anytime soon.”

“Or maybe we just forget the hot chocolate,” Brock said casually, “and go into town for dinner and a movie.”

The twins looked at him, wide eyed. “But you
hate
movies,” Molly said.

“And eating in town,” Mack added.

Brock frowned. “I don’t
hate
movies or dinner out. We just don’t ever have a lot of time so we don’t go into Marietta much, but I thought it’d be fun to go tonight—”

“Fun?”
Molly screwed her face up in horror. “Did you just say fun? Who are you? And where did my dad go?”

“Never mind,” Brock said, shrugging.
“We can just stay here. Have a quiet night at home—”

“No!”
Mack said.

Molly ran to Brock and flung her arms around his waist, squeezing him tight.
“Just teasing, Dad. Come on, laugh. Take a joke. We want to go. We do!”

Brock’s lips curved in a crooked smile as he glanced from his daughter to his son and back.
“I have a very good sense of humor. I have to, with you two for children.” Then he stroked Molly’s hair, smoothing the reddish-brown strands. “And of course I love you. I’ve loved you from the moment your mom and I found out we had a baby on the way. Now get your coats and I’ll see what’s playing at The Palace tonight.”

The kids went to get their coats, leaving Brock and Harley alone in the kitchen. “I’m glad you’re taking them out,” Harley said, happy with Brock for making an effort to do something the kids would enjoy. She was also proud of him for putting his feelings into words. Kids needed to hear that they were loved. Actions were important, but words were essential, too. “You will have fun.”

“So will you,” he answered, looking up from his cell phone, as he’d immediately gone online to check for movie times.
“Do you care what movie we see? Or are you up for anything?”

Harley’s mouth opened, closed.
A lump filled her throat. “I can’t go,” she said quietly, going to the stove to retrieve the burnt pan. “This is a Dad and kids thing.”

“But the kids like you and I know they’d enjoy having you along—”

“No.” Harley’s voice was firm. “They might like me, but they
need
you. They need time alone with you, being your primary focus, getting your undivided attention.”