A Little Bit of Holiday Magic Read Online Free PDF Page A

little thing about him. Reacting, too.
    Touching Bill’s hand had felt good, his skin warm and rough against hers. His touching her had felt even better, his hand on her shoulder, calming and sure, as if it belonged there.
    But when he’d touched her neck...intimate, almost sexual, albeit unintentional...
    She missed...that. A man’s touch.
    Don’t think about him.
    At least not that way .
    Annoyed with herself, she shrugged on the pajama shirt. The soft flannel brushed her like a caress. The friction of fabric over dry skin warmed her, even though the pajamas were too big.
    The sleeves hung over her hands. She rolled them to her wrists, then fastened the front buttons with trembling fingers. Her hands didn’t shake from the cold, but from the situation.
    Nerves.
    She stepped into the pants. The hems pooled at her feet. She cuffed them.
    The waistband slid down her hips. She rolled the top, determined to make this work.
    Nerves weren’t her only issue. A touch of guilt, too.
    Something’s got you wigged out.
    Yeah, him.
    Of all the houses on Mount Hood, she would pick the one belonging to a firefighter and mountain rescuer. The hottest guy she’d been alone with since, well, Damon had deployed.
    Grace grimaced at her starstruck reflection. Had she looked this goofy while talking to Bill? She hoped not. Either way, she was being silly, acting like a teenager with a crush, not an adult, not a mom.
    So what if Bill Paulson was a nice piece of eye candy? So what if he had a killer smile? So what if the concern in his bright, baby-blue eyes for her and Liam had sent an unexpected burst of heat rushing through her veins?
    Tomorrow he would be one more person who had passed through her life. Nothing more.
    All she had to do was survive tonight.
    How hard could that be?
    Grace shuffled from the bathroom and down the hallway, the carpet runner soft beneath her feet.
    In the living room, a sense of warmth and homey goodness surrounded her. She’d been so frantic earlier she hadn’t noticed the house. Now she took in the hardwood floors, beamed ceiling, river rock fireplace, wood mantel covered with photographs, and beautifully lit Christmas tree.
    She wiggled her toes.
    More cabin than house.
    Inviting and comfortable.
    The kind of place she’d dreamed of living someday. The kind of place where a kid could grow up happy. The kind of place a family could call home.
    The scent of the Christmas tree hung in the air along with a touch of smoke from the burning fire. The beer bottle on the wooden end table and the gigantic leather recliner seemed typical for a bachelor pad, but the couch with color-contrasting pillows and coordinating throw blanket seemed out of place for a guy living alone. A far cry from her cheap apartment in Columbus.
    Was there a girlfriend or wife in the picture? Maybe an ex who had lived here and decorated?
    Male laughter, rich and deep and smooth, washed over her like water from a hot shower, heating her from the outside in. Forget feeling warm; she was downright feverish.
    She’d forgotten the appeal of a man’s laugh, the happiness and humor contagious. A higher pitched squeal joined in. That laugh, one she knew better than her own, brought a smile to her lips.
    Liam.
    Her chest tightened.
    He could be such a serious boy. She was pleased he was having so much fun.
    Grace entered the charming kitchen, with its dining area separated by a breakfast bar.
    Bill sat at the table with her son, who was wrapped in a blanket, his little hands around a mug. Peanut sat on the table with his own mug in front of him.
    What kind of guy would fix a cup of hot chocolate for a stuffed animal?
    The sheriff had told her Bill Paulson was a cross between an Eagle Scout and an X Games champ. Yeah, that seemed to sum him up.
    Grace moved behind Liam. She placed her hands on his narrow shoulders. “It looks like you boys did fine on your own.”
    Bill stood, his manners excellent. “Your cocoa is on the counter.”
    She