Christmas Confidential Read Online Free PDF Page B

of the sturdy stairs. Even the handrail was wrapped with clear white bulbs casting pale shadows on the creamy peach siding.
    Miri started up the steps behind Dean, remembering the bite of the wind as she, Sophy and their mother had wrapped multicolored lights around the porch railings of their house. Brightly colored twinklers that could make you dizzy with delight had been Mom’s favorite, and a big fresh-cut pine, and small paper bags half filled with sand that anchored a flickering candle lining the steps.
    To shut out the memory, she forced her focus to the present. “How is GranMare?”
    “Hasn’t changed a bit. If she catches sight of you, just be prepared, we’re not getting away without a mug of her mulled cider and a plate of Christmas candy.”
    The idea sounded too appealing for a woman who was guarding herself from emotional entanglements. Miri stared grimly at each step, placing her feet lightly, trying to be no more than a shadow in the night.
    By the time she reached the top, Dean had unlocked the door and gone on in. She stepped inside, closed the door behind her and waited. For a guy who lived alone, he had pretty good taste. The sofa was plain brown leather, taking no attention from the beautiful Persian rug on the floor, its weaving as bare in places as Boo’s fur. The smaller pieces—dining table, chairs, curio tables, bookcases—had been passed down from various relatives, and he remembered which came from whom.
    His furniture had a better pedigree than she did.
    She’d noted the holiday decorations and the fragrance of cinnamon drifting from a nearby unlit candle, and her gaze was skimming over photographs on the fireplace mantel when it stopped suddenly on a simple wood frame holding a picture of her. Slowly she tiptoed across the room to the rug, but she didn’t go any closer.
    It was her, taken sixteen months earlier when they’d gone to some sort of street fair. She wore a sleeveless dress in a watercolor pattern, and the high-heeled sandals that hadn’t seemed such a good idea after two hours of walking dangled from her fingers. And she was smiling, really brightly happily smiling. She didn’t remember the exact moment, but she did know what she’d been thinking.
    This might be the guy. The one who won’t break my heart.
    So much for hope or, in her case, more likely wishful thinking.
    Dean’s steps sounded on the wood planks of the hall floor, giving her a second to hurry back to the door. One arm wrapped around Boo’s neck, she shoved her free hand into her pocket and tried to look as if she wasn’t wondering why he’d not only kept the photo but displayed it among pictures of friends and family. Was it his gold medal for solving the embezzling case?
    “You sure you don’t want to spend the night here, then start out in the morning?” Dean asked even as he began shutting off lights.
    She glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even seven-thirty yet. They could cover about two hundred miles by eleven...or she could sit here in the living room, pretending the photo wasn’t there, biting her tongue to keep from asking him why it was there. “The roads are lit, and that piece-of-junk car of yours has this neat thing called headlights that allow you to drive as well in the dark as in daytime.”
    “Piece of junk?” he echoed. “That car is a classic. Do you know how many hours I spent restoring it? How much money I put into it? How many offers I’ve gotten from guys wanting to buy it?”
    “Yeah, yeah.” She opened the door as he checked the living room and kitchen, then came up behind her. “You say classic, I say piece of junk.”
    “It takes nerve for a woman who’s holding on to a butt-ugly teddy bear like it’s gold to criticize my car.”
    Again, she was quiet on the stairs, making the thuds of his boots behind her sound like mini-explosions. They made it to the sidewalk and then to the car without notice. Maybe GranMare’s hearing wasn’t what it used to be.
    As they