His Christmas Angel. Michelle Douglas

kitchen and she tugged her hand free, tried to slow the stupid scampering of her heart. Alec had changed out of his pyjamas, but he still had the kitten on his lap. Maybe she’d misjudged him? Maybe he’d like a kitten to love?

      She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m afraid I have to get going.’ She should’ve taken the ride Keith had offered. But Sol had smelt too good, looked too good, for her to surrender all hopes of sharing at least one cup of coffee with him this morning.

      Bad idea. Look where that temptation had landed her. Idiot. She was not risking everything she’d built up here in Schofield because some man smelt good and looked good.

      Sol surveyed her for a long moment. ‘I thought you had to help Alec out with something.’

      Alec glanced up. ‘You do?’

      ‘Sure I do. But it’ll have to wait till this afternoon.’

      ‘You just put the kettle on,’ Sol pointed out.

      ‘I…umm…habit. I don’t have time now.’ She headed for the front door and tried not to breathe too deeply as she walked past him.

      CHAPTER THREE

      ‘HELLO?’ Cassie called through the back door as kittens clambered over her feet. ‘Anyone home?’

      The day before yesterday she’d have waltzed straight in, calling for Alec, but not today. Not when Sol was living here. What if he were one of those people who walked around their house naked?

      After all, it was hot.

      Heat that had nothing to do with summer temperatures surged through her. She really didn’t want to walk in on a naked Sol. She fanned a hand in front of her face, trying to cool down. She really didn’t. Honest. Though half naked would be nice. She wouldn’t mind seeing him without his shirt, just to see how much he’d changed in ten years. Just to see if his shoulders promised—

      Arghh. Can that thought right now, Cassie Parker. You don’t fantasise about near-naked men.

      ‘Wrong. I quite obviously do,’ she muttered, wondering at the political correctness of such an admission.

      ‘Do what?’

      Sol loomed on the other side of the screen door, and for a moment all Cassie could do was stare. ‘Uh, make a sterling scratching post,’ she gulped. She bent down to detach a kitten from her leg. When she straightened, she prayed her face wasn’t red.

      Alec wheeled up behind Sol. ‘You’re early again,’ he grumbled.

      ‘Yes, I am.’ Alec still had the kitten on his lap. It curled up there as if it never meant to leave. ‘Well, aren’t you going to let me in?’ she demanded, as both men stared at her. Sol shook himself, then pushed the door open. ‘Have I got something on my face?’ She scrubbed a hand across her face as both men continued to stare. Sol sent her a lop-sided grin that had her stomach falling all over itself.

      He pointed. ‘On your head.’

      ‘My Santa hat?’ She twirled on the spot. ‘Do you like it? I wore it specially.’

      ‘Humph.’ Alec backed up and wheeled away.

      ‘It looks hot,’ Sol said.

      Her eyes narrowed. Man, did this place need some Christmas cheer or what? She followed him into the kitchen. ‘It certainly captures the spirit of the afternoon.’

      Both men swung around to stare at her suspiciously. She beamed back at them. ‘We’re putting up your Christmas tree.’ She held up one hand as they both opened their mouths to argue. ‘I have my heart set on decorating your Christmas tree, and don’t forget that I’m the town’s favourite widow and only blackguards without scruple would disappoint me.

      ‘Furthermore,’ she added when they both opened their mouths again, ‘if you don’t play along, you—’ she glared at Alec ‘—will get nothing but salad for tea tonight. And you—’ she glared at Sol ‘—won’t get invited to my place for dinner tomorrow night.’ Both men chewed her words over for a moment, then subsided into silence. ‘Fabulous.’ She dusted off her hands. ‘Okay—Alec, you organise the drinks and you, Sol, can drag the Christmas tree out of the hall closet.’

      She walked through to the living room and chose her spot—smack-bang in the middle of the front window, so everyone who drove by could see it. Not that many people drove out this way.

      The curtains fluttered in the breeze. She lifted her face to it. Sol’s doing, she’d bet. For the life of her she didn’t know why Alec kept everything so shut up.

      Yes, she did. Alec kept his house shut up the way he kept himself shut up. It was a simple as that.

      And as complicated.

      ‘Where do you want me to dump this?’

      Sol stood in the doorway, a large box in his arms, and a strange pulse fluttered to life in her throat. His arm muscles bulged as if he was used to manual labour. She gulped. Ten years ago—

      He shifted the box. ‘Have I got something on my face?’

      She blinked, then made herself grin. Pushing the coffee table to one side, she pointed. ‘I’d like you to place the box there.’ He chuckled at her stress on the word, and, oh, heavens, there it was again, that warm hot chocolate glow. He glanced at her strangely, so she shook herself and said, ‘Show me your hands.’

      He immediately held them out, palm upward, like a little boy proving he’d washed his hands before dinner. She took one of them between her own and traced the calluses with her fingers. His hands matched his arms. Big and masculine. The kind of hands a woman could imagine holding her. Tracing and caressing and—

      She dropped the hand and shoved hers behind her back. ‘I thought you were an architect.’ The words rapped out of her like bullets. ‘I mean, I thought you designed houses, not built them.’

      ‘I do.’

      His eyes settled on her, and awareness shot up her backbone.

      ‘But I like to get involved in all stages of my projects. I’ve even built my own house.’

      ‘From scratch?’

      ‘Yep.’

      ‘All on your own?’

      He shrugged. ‘I had plumbers in to do the plumbing and electricians in to wire the house.’

      ‘But the rest you did all on your own?’ Her mouth opened and closed. ‘But that’s amazing.’ She couldn’t imagine Brian—

      ‘Nah, it’s not.’

      But he looked pleased all the same, and as their eyes met that awareness arced between them again. Cassie found her palms suddenly damp. It was the heat, she told herself. Summer day heat. She wiped her palms down the front of her skirt. ‘Then this—’ she pointed to the box ‘—should be a cinch for you.’

      Alec wheeled into the room with both tray and kitten perched precariously on his knee. Cassie’s jaw dropped. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ She pointed to the tray. It held two cans of beer, a jug of homemade lemonade and three glasses. Wasn’t it only yesterday she’d bragged to Sol that Alec hadn’t had a drink in two years? And yet here—

      ‘Keep your hat on.’ He scowled. ‘The beers are for you and Sol. The boy can’t be expected to live on my lolly water, now, can he?’

      ‘I suppose not.’ Though Alec’s lemonade was delicious.

      ‘And I thought, seeing as you’re all set on this Christmas spirit thing, that you’d join the boy in a drink.’

      ‘A beer?’

      ‘Anything wrong with that?’ Sol asked.

      ‘No.’ She drew the word out slowly. It was just that nobody ever offered her beer. Ever. Wine and soft drinks,