Midnight Under the Mistletoe Read Online Free PDF

with
papers.
    “Want to tackle some of the old letters and memorabilia?”
    “Sure,” she replied, watching him pull another chair near his.
“That’s a lot of letters.”
    “Many were written by my great-great-grandfather to his sister,
his brother, later his wife. They were all saved and somehow ended up back with
our family. Probably some relative didn’t want them and another one took
them.”
    “Zach, that’s wonderful. I’d think you’d want to read each of
these yourself.”
    “Hardly. They are letters from an old codger who settled out
here and struggled to carve out a life on the plains. He was probably a tough
old bird and about as lovable as a prickly porcupine. I think you are
romanticizing him. Sit here beside me so whenever you have a question you can
ask me. Want anything to drink before we start?”
    “No, thank you, I’m fine.” As she crossed the room, his gaze
raked briefly over her, making every inch tingle. She became aware of the navy
sweater and matching slacks she had pulled on this morning, her hair in a
ponytail.
    Catching a whiff of his enticing aftershave, she sat beside
him.
    “The big basket is for letters and papers that go to the
shredder,” he instructed. Sitting only inches from him, she was lost in his blue
eyes and could barely focus on what he told her. She was even closer than she
had been that first morning and it was distracting beyond measure.
    “As far as I’m concerned, I think it would do the family a
favor to shred all papers that don’t contain pertinent information that would
affect our lives today,” he said. His voice deepened a notch and he slowed his
speech. Was their proximity having an effect on him, too?
    Lost in depths of blue, she was mesmerized. Her breath caught
and held. He leaned a fraction closer. Her heart raced. With an effort she
looked away, trying to get back to their normal relationship. Leaning away from
him, she touched the yellowed envelopes in the large box as she tried to get
back to his instructions.
    “If there is anything about money, boundary rights, water
rights, that sort of thing, then place the paper in the box marked Consider and
I will read it. If you find maps, drawings, etc., then place them in
Miscellaneous.”
    As what he had told her to do sank in, she frowned. She picked
up a tattered, yellow envelope with flowing writing across the front. “This was
in the 1800s. Look at the address on it. It’s just a name and the county. You
want to shred it?”
    “If it doesn’t have anything pertinent to the matters I
listed—rights, boundaries, money. Something significant.”
    “The letter is significant if it has nothing like that in it.
Isn’t it written by one of your ancestors?”
    “Probably my great-great-grandfather. Maybe further back than
that by one generation.”
    “You can’t shred it. It’s wonderful to have all these letters
from your ancestors and know what they were like,” she said, staring at him and
wondering how he could care so little about his own family history. “How can you
feel that way about them?”
    With a smile he shook his head. “It’s past and over.”
    “You have an architectural firm, so you must like old
buildings.”
    “Old buildings are more reliable than people. People change
constantly and you can’t always count on them. An old building—if it’s built
right—might last through centuries and you can definitely rely on it.”
    She stared at him, wondering who had let him down so badly that
he would view people as unreliable. Had it started when his mother had walked
out on the family? Three young boys. Emma shivered, unable to imagine a mother
leaving her young sons. Maybe that was why Zach kept his feelings bottled up.
“This is your tie to your past. And your ancestors were reliable or you wouldn’t
even be here now.”
    “Okay, so read through the letters. If they’re not significant
in the manner I’ve told you, toss them in this basket. Give me two or three