A Cinderella Story. Maureen Child

snorted.

      Joy smiled, but didn’t let him see it. “So I finally went back in to sit with my friend, and even though I knew how it would end, I still kept my hands over my eyes through the rest of the movie.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “But,” she said, moving over to the next stack of books, “that doesn’t mean I’m just a romantic comedy kind of girl. I like adventure movies, too. Where lots of things blow up.”

      “Is that right?”

      Just a murmur, but he wasn’t ignoring her.

      “And the Avengers movies? Love those. But maybe it’s just Robert Downey Jr. I like.” She paused. “What about you? Do you like those movies?”

      “Haven’t seen them.”

      “Seriously?” She picked up a mystery she’d never read but instead of leaving with the book, she sat down in the chair beside his. “I think you’re the first person I’ve ever met who hasn’t seen those movies.”

      He spared her one long look. “I don’t get out much.”

      “And isn’t that a shame?”

      “If I thought so,” he told her, “I’d go out more.”

      Joy laughed at the logic. “Okay, you’re right. Still. Heard of DVDs? Netflix?”

      “You’re just going to keep talking, aren’t you?”

      “Probably.” She settled into her chair as if getting comfy for a long visit.

      He shook his head and shifted his gaze back to the fire as if that little discouragement would send her on her way.

      “But back to movies,” she said, leaning toward him over the arm of her chair. “This time of year I like all the Christmas ones. The gushier the better.”

      “Gushy.”

      It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway. “You know, the happy cry ones. Heck, I even tear up when the Grinch’s heart grows at the end of that little cartoon.” She sighed. “But to be fair, I’ve been known to get teary at a heart-tugging commercial at Christmastime.”

      “Yeah, I don’t do Christmas.”

      “I noticed,” she said, tipping her head to one side to study him. If anything, his features had tightened, his eyes had grown darker. Just the mention of the holiday had been enough to close him up tight. And still, she couldn’t resist trying to reach him.

      “When we’re at home,” she said, “Holly and I put up the Christmas decorations the day after Thanksgiving. You have to have a little restraint, don’t you think? I mean this year, I actually saw Christmas wreaths for sale in September. That’s going a little far for me and I love Christmas.”

      He swiveled a look at her. “If you don’t mind, I don’t really feel like talking.”

      “Oh, you don’t have to. I like talking.”

      “No kidding.”

      She smiled and thought she saw a flicker of a response in his eyes, but if she had, it wasn’t much of one because it faded away fast. “You can’t get to know people unless you talk to them.”

      He scraped one hand across his face. “Yeah, maybe I don’t want to get to know people.”

      “I think you do, you just don’t want to want it.”

      “What?”

      “I saw you today with Holly.”

      He shifted in his chair and frowned into the fire. “A one-time thing.”

      “So you said,” Joy agreed, getting more comfortable in the chair, letting him know she wasn’t going anywhere. “But I have to tell you how excited Holly was. She couldn’t stop talking about the fairy house she built with you.” A smile curved Joy’s mouth. “She fell asleep in the middle of telling me about the fairy family that will move into it.”

      Surprisingly, the frown on his face deepened, as if hearing that he’d given a child happiness made him angry.

      “It was a small thing, but it meant a lot to her. And to me. I wanted you to know that.”

      “Fine. You told me.”

      Outside, the wind kicked up, sliding beneath the eaves of the house with a sighing moan that sounded otherworldly. She glanced toward the front window at the night beyond, then turned back to the man with darkness in his eyes. She wondered what he was thinking, what he was seeing as he stared into the flames. Leaning toward him, she locked her hands around her up-drawn knees and said, “That wide front window is a perfect place for a Christmas tree, you know. The glass would reflect all the lights...”

      His gaze shot to hers. “I already told you, I don’t do Christmas.”

      “Sure, I get it,” she said, though she really didn’t. “But if you don’t want to, Holly and I will take care of decorating and—”

      He stood up, grabbed a fireplace poker and determinedly stabbed at the logs, causing sparks to fly and sizzle on their wild flight up the chimney. When he was finished, he turned a cold look on her and said, “No tree. No decorations. No Christmas.”

      “Wow. Speak of the Grinch.”

      He blew out a breath and glared at her, but it just didn’t work. It was too late for him to try to convince her that he was an ogre or something. Joy had seen him with Holly. His patience. His kindness. Even though he hadn’t wanted to be around the girl, he’d given her the gift of his time. Joy’d had a glimpse of the man behind the mask now and wouldn’t be fooled again. Crabby? Yes. Mean? No.

      “You’re not here to celebrate the holidays,” he reminded her in a voice just short of a growl. “You’re here to take care of the house.”

      “I know. But, if you change your mind, I’m an excellent multitasker.” She got to her feet and held on to the book she’d chosen from the stack. Staring up into his eyes, she said, “I’ll do my job, but just so you know? You don’t scare me, Sam, so you might as well quit trying so hard.”

      * * *

      Every night, she came to the great room. Every night, Sam told himself not to be there. And every night, he was sitting by the fire, waiting for her.

      Not like he was talking to her. But apparently nothing stopped her from talking. Not even his seeming disinterest in her presence. He’d heard about her business, about the house fire that had brought her to his place and about every moment of Holly’s life up until this point. Her voice in the dark was both frustrating and seductive. Firelight created a cocoon of shadows and light, making it seem as if the two of them were alone in the world. Sam’s days stretched out interminably, but the nights with Joy flew past, ending long before he wanted them to.

      And that was an irritation, as well. Sam had been here for five years and in that time he hadn’t wanted company. Hadn’t wanted anyone around. Hell, he put up with Kaye because the woman kept his house running and meals on the table—but she also kept her distance. Usually. Now, here he was, sitting in the dark, waiting, hoping Joy would show up in the great room and shatter the solitude he’d fought so hard for.

      But the days were different. During the day, Joy stayed out of his way and made sure her daughter did the same. They were like ghosts in the house. Once in a while, he would catch a little girl’s laughter, quickly silenced. Everything was clean, sheets on his bed changed, meals appeared in the dining room, but Joy herself was not to be seen. How she managed it, he wasn’t sure.

      Why it bothered him was even more of a mystery.

      Hell, he hadn’t wanted them to stay in the first place. Yet now that he wasn’t being bothered, wasn’t seeing either of them, he found himself always on guard. Expecting one or both of them to jump out from behind a door every time he walked through