The Best Gift. Irene Hannon

“You’ve found him.”

      She swallowed and extended her hand. “I’m A. J. Williams.”

      Short of ignoring her courteous gesture, Blake had no choice but to narrow the gap between them so he could take her hand.

      At closer range, he realized that A.J. was tall. She was probably a couple of inches shorter than him, but whatever shoes she had on put them almost eye-to-eye. If she’d been wearing any makeup prior to her dash through the storm, the rain had efficiently dispensed with it, giving her a fresh, natural look that actually had a certain appeal. There was a light dusting of freckles across her small, slightly turned-up nose, and thick lashes fringed deep green eyes highlighted with gold flecks. His gaze dropped to her lips, and lingered there a moment too long before he reached for her extended hand.

      Given her height, he was surprised to discover that her hand felt small and delicate in his. But her grip was firm. At least it was until he felt a tremor run through it—and then throughout her body. He frowned.

      “Are you okay?”

      “A little ch-chilled. I’ll be okay once I ch-change out of these wet clothes.” She withdrew her hand from his self-consciously.

      “Don’t you have an umbrella?”

      “Of course. Somewhere in the U-Haul. Along with my coat. It was sunny and warm when I left Chicago. It generally gets nicer when you head south. But obviously not today. Then I had to park down the block because all the spots in front of the shop were taken. Which is why I’m sporting the drowned-rat look.”

      Blake pointedly glanced at his watch. “It was quite a bit warmer here earlier. When you were supposed to arrive.”

      A.J. flushed. “I’m sorry about that. But I didn’t plan on running into major road construction. Or having a flat tire. I’m a little out of practice, so it took me a while to change it.”

      And she’d paid a price for doing so. Even before the blowout her hip had already begun to throb from her long hours confined behind the wheel. Dealing with the tire had only intensified her discomfort. She shifted from one foot to the other, trying in vain to alleviate the ache that she knew only a hot bath would soothe.

      “You could have called,” Blake responded.

      “Not without a phone.”

      He looked surprised. “You don’t have a cell phone?”

      “No.” Her budget barely allowed for a regular phone.

      “It might be a good idea to get one…for emergencies.”

      She felt her temper begin to simmer at his condescending attitude, but she wasn’t in a fighting mood tonight. Better to save her strength for the battles that she was beginning to suspect would surely follow in the days and weeks ahead. So, with an effort, she moderated her comments. “I’ll consider that. But I’d hardly classify today as an emergency. And I already apologized for being late.” Another shiver suddenly ran through her, and this time she made no attempt to hide it. “Look, can we continue this discussion on Monday? I came directly here and I’m cold and wet and hungry.”

      Blake had to admit that she did look pretty miserable. The puddle at her feet had widened, and there was definitely a chill in the shop. The heating system in the older building hadn’t quite caught up with the sudden, late-afternoon plunge in temperature. So if he noticed the coolness in the air, she must be freezing.

      “Monday is fine. Shall we say nine a.m.? That gives us an hour before the store opens.”

      “Fine.”

      He stuck out his hand. “Until Monday, then.”

      She seemed surprised by his gesture, but responded automatically. And his assessment was confirmed. Her fingers were like ice. He frowned, good manners warring with aggravation at her tardiness.

      “Look, can I offer you a cup of tea first? We keep some on hand for the patrons.”

      Again, surprise flickered in her eyes—followed quickly by wariness. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t exactly been welcoming—or hospitable—up till now.

      “Thanks. But I think a hot bath is the only thing that will chase the chill away.”

      His gaze scanned her slender form, and she suddenly realized her once loose-fitting outfit had become plastered to her skin. Her face flushed a deep red, and with her free hand she tried to pry the fabric away. When that attempt was unsuccessful, she tugged her other hand from Blake’s and took a step back. “I’ll see you Monday at nine.” Her voice sounded a bit breathless.

      “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

      “Yes. And a real estate agent lined up tomorrow to look at apartments.”

      He nodded. “Can I loan you an umbrella? It’s still pouring.”

      She backed toward the door. “There’s not much point now, is there?”

      He glanced at the puddle on the floor in the spot she had just vacated. “True.”

      The crimson of her face went a shade deeper and her step faltered. “Oh…I’m sorry about that. I can clean it up, if you have a mop or…”

      “Ms. Williams,” Blake cut her off, but his tone was cordial. “I’ll take care of this. Why don’t you follow your own advice? Take a hot bath and have a hot meal. We’ll make a fresh start on Monday. Okay?”

      A.J. studied him for a moment. Did she detect a softening in his manner, a slight warmth in his tone? Or was it resignation? Or perhaps pity, because she was cold and wet and hungry and had a trying trip to St. Louis? Or was it pity for himself, because he’d been saddled with a partner who would need to be guided every step of the way?

      If he thought the latter, he was in for a big surprise come Monday. But for now, she was cold, wet and hungry—and definitely not at her best. So she needed to exit. As gracefully as possible.

      With a curt nod, she turned toward the door. And tried not to run.

      Chapter Two

      At precisely nine o’clock Monday morning, A.J. knocked on the door at Turning Leaves. It was a gloriously sunny Indian summer day in mid-November, and as she waited for Blake to let her in, she surveyed the scene with a smile. Though Maplewood was a close-in suburb of St. Louis, this section had a small-town feel. The tree-lined streets and mom-and-pop shops hearkened back to another era, and morning walkers were already putting in their paces.

      The door rattled, then swung inward as she turned back toward the shop. Blake stood on the other side, his clothes similar to what he’d worn on Friday except that he’d exchanged his blue oxford shirt for a yellow one, and his sleeves weren’t yet rolled up. His hair was damp, as if he’d showered very recently.

      “Good morning.” She glanced at her watch. “You said nine o’clock, right?”

      Blake ignored her question. If she expected him to compliment her punctuality, she would be sorely disappointed. It was the least he expected. Besides, he was still trying to reconcile the woman standing across from him now with the bedraggled waif who had dripped water all over his floor Friday night. Her hair was lighter in color than he remembered, and her topknot of natural curls was firmly in place. A few rebellious tendrils had fought their way out of the confining band to softly frame her face, which still seemed to be mostly makeup free. A touch of lipstick, perhaps some mascara, maybe a hint of blush—though the color in her cheeks could well be natural, he concluded. The sparkle in her eyes certainly was, enhanced by her open, friendly smile. It suddenly struck him that A. J. Williams was an extremely attractive woman. Not that he cared, of course.

      When he didn’t respond to her greeting, she turned again and made a sweeping gesture. “Isn’t it a glorious day?”

      Blake glanced around the familiar landscape. He’d jogged his usual eight miles before coming to work, but in all honesty