Kisses on Her Christmas List. SUSAN MEIER

“Thanks again for letting us stay.”

      With that he turned and all but raced toward the door, but he didn’t get three steps before Shannon stopped him. “Rory?”

      He turned.

      She pointed at the sleeping bag rolled up at by the door. “You might want to take that.”

      He sucked in a breath. The whole point of coming into the room had been to get his sleeping bag. Two minutes in her company and he’d forgotten that. “Yeah. Thanks.”

      He scooped the sleeping bag from the floor. He hadn’t been this foolish around a woman in years.

      He was glad he was leaving in the morning.

      Shannon was awakened by the feeling of soft breath puffing in her face. She batted at it only to have her hand meet something solid.

      Finley yelled, “Ouch!”

      Shannon bolted up on the couch as several things popped into her head at once. First, she was sleeping in her living room. Second, she had company. Third, Finley was not the nicest child in the world. But, the all-important fourth, she would be alone with a child until Rory woke up.

      “I’m hungry.” Finley’s tiny face scrunched. Her nose became a wrinkled button. Her mouth pulled down in an upside-down U.

      Shannon pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. Which heartened her. Because Finley was forceful and demanding, not a cute little cuddle bug, it was easier for Shannon to deal with being around her.

      She rolled out of her sleeping bag. Her friends had complained about being awakened by their children at ungodly hours. But a glance at the wall clock told her it was after eight. She couldn’t fault Finley for waking her. It might be Saturday, but she still had to be at the store by ten to open it.

      Fortunately, she had enough time to make something to eat. “Well, I enjoy cooking breakfast so it looks like we’re both lucky this morning.”

      That confused Finley so much that her frown wobbled.

      Laughing, Shannon ruffled her hair. “Which do you prefer pancakes or waffles?”

      “Do you have blueberries?”

      “Of course.”

      “Then I’d like pancakes.”

      Shannon headed for the kitchen. “You and I are going to get along very well.”

      As she pulled the ingredients for pancakes from the cupboards, Finley took a seat at the table. Before she started to make the batter, Shannon picked up the remote for her stereo and turned it on. A rousing rendition of “Here Comes Santa Claus” poured into the room.

      “Would you like a glass of milk?”

      “Yes, please.”

      Shannon dipped into her refrigerator as Finley slid off her seat. Watching Finley walk to the counter, she grabbed the gallon of milk and pulled it out of the fridge. But before she could reach the counter, Finley had picked up the remote and turned off the music.

      She blinked. “I was listening to that.”

      “It was stupid.”

      “It was a Christmas song.”

      “And Christmas is stupid.”

      Shannon gaped at her. Not just because she had the audacity to turn off the music without asking, but that was the second time she’d mentioned she didn’t like Christmas.

      The temptation was strong to ask why, as she poured Finley a glass of milk, but she wasn’t quite sure how to approach it. Did she say, Hey, kid, everybody likes Christmas. You get gifts. You get cookies. What’s the deal?

      As curious as she was, that seemed a lot like interfering and she was just getting accustomed to being around a child. She wasn’t ready for deep, personal interaction yet. Plus, saying she hated Christmas could just be a part of one of Finley the Diva’s tantrums. Or a way to manipulate people.

      So, she turned to the counter and began preparing pancakes. A happy hum started in her throat and worked its way out, surprising her. Breakfast was one of the few meals she was well versed in. She could make a pancake or a waffle with the best of them. But it was a happy surprise to be able to be in the same room with Finley without worrying that she’d fall apart or dwell on her inability to have kids herself.

      “So where do you go to school?”

      “Winchester Academy.”

      “Is that a private school?”

      Finley nodded.

      “Do you like school?”

      “Sometimes. Artie Regan brings frogs and scares me. And Jenny Logan beats me to the swing.”

      A motherly warmth flowed through her. When she wasn’t demanding her own way, Finley was normal. And here she was handling her. Talking to her. No flutters of panic. No feeling sorry for herself.

      The kitchen door opened and Rory walked into the room yawning. “Sorry about that.”

      “About what?” Shannon faced him with a smile, but the smile disappeared as her mouth went dry.

      His dark hair was sticking out in all directions. His eyes didn’t seem to want to open. A day-old growth of beard sexily shadowed his chin and cheeks. He wore a white undershirt and navy blue sweats that loosely clung to his lean hips.

      “About sleeping in. Normally, I’m up—” He paused. “Are you making pancakes?”

      “Blueberry.”

      “Wow. We should get stranded on an interstate more often.”

      She laughed. Laughed. She had a sexy man and a cute little girl in her kitchen and she wasn’t stuttering or shattering, she was laughing.

      But a little warning tweaked her brain. Not only was she enjoying this way too much, but it also would be over soon. They’d eat breakfast, pack up the few things they’d brought with them and head out.

      She had about twenty minutes over breakfast before she’d be alone again.

      Rory ambled to the counter, where the coffeemaker sputtered the last drops of fresh coffee into the pot. “Can I get you a cup?”

      “That’d be great, thanks. Mugs are in the cupboard by the sink.”

      But as he reached into the cupboard to get the mugs, his arm stopped. “Holy cats!”

      Shannon paused her spoon in the pancake batter. “What?”

      “There’s got to be two feet of snow out there.”

      “That was the eventual predication after we already had eighteen inches.”

      “Yeah, well, it doesn’t look like the snowplow went through.”

      She dropped the spoon, hustled to the window beside him. “Wow.”

      He turned and caught her gaze. “Even with that big SUV I saw in the driveway, I’ll bet you can’t get us out to a main road.”

      Her heart lodged in her throat. Could they actually be forced to stay another day? Could she handle another day?

      The answer came swiftly, without hesitation. She couldn’t just handle another day; she wanted another day.

      “With all that snow, I’m not sure the main roads are even clear.”

      “I’ll check the internet.”

      “If the roads are still closed, you know you’re welcome to stay, right?”

      “I think we may have to take you up on that.”

      Though her heart leaped with anticipation, she pasted a disappointed-for-them look on her face. “I’m sorry.”

      “I’m the