Single Dad's Christmas Miracle. Susan Meier

Dog. If she had a birth certificate that’s what would be on it.”

      She laughed.

      She came up so fast that she stopped inches away from his nose. This close, she could see his whiskey-brown eyes that perfectly matched his light brown hair.

      “You named your dog Crazy Dog?”

      He stepped back, putting some space between them. “After the way she knocked you down, I would think you wouldn’t be surprised.”

      She laughed again. Cold air filled her lungs. She slapped her hands together to remove the snow.

      “Let me get your back.”

      The words were barely out of his mouth before he turned her around and brushed the snow off her back and then did a quick sweep over her bottom.

      “If this stuff melts on your clothes you’ll be wet all afternoon.”

      Her nerve endings tingled. Her breath stuttered in and out. The intimacy of it should have made her indignant. Instead, it felt surprisingly...normal. This was a man who saw a problem and fixed it. For him, his brushing her butt was nothing more serious than that. For her...well, she hadn’t had a man touch her in years. So even that simple brush zinged through her and sent the wrong kind of warmth careening through her bloodstream.

      She pivoted to face him. “I’m fine. You don’t have to brush anymore.”

      “That big, stupid dog should know her place.” His eyes narrowed as he looked at her hoodie and jeans. “I’m hoping you have a coat in the car.”

      “I’m from Southern California.” Funny how easy that came out of her mouth when really she was “from” right down the road. Newland, Maryland, was only fifty or so miles away from the green hills of Pennsylvania, where Clark Beaumont lived.

      “California?” He stepped back. “Are you Althea Johnson?”

      “In the snow-covered flesh.” She extended her hand to shake his. “I take it you’re Clark Beaumont.”

      He caught her hand, gave one quick pump and pulled back. “I thought you weren’t coming until Friday?”

      “Once I told Emily,” she said, referring to the mutual friend who had told her about the job and referred her to Clark, “that I would interview with you, I drove straight through.”

      “You haven’t slept?”

      “Or really eaten for that matter.”

      “Wow. This is not your lucky day. Things sort of went to hell in a handbasket around here this morning when the snow started to fall.”

      She glanced around at the winter wonderland, understanding why he chose to live in this peaceful, beautiful slice of heaven. Even if living this far out of town probably came with complications.

      “Don’t sweat it. I haven’t really had a lucky year.” Or a lucky life for that matter, but a few months ago she’d decided not to wallow in self-pity anymore and it had worked. She laughed more. She forgot all about designer labels and getting married. She took one day at a time, did the task in front of her and didn’t worry about tomorrow. And her life, even though it came with trouble, had become happier.

      “Which is why you were driving back to your hometown?”

      “No. I’m driving back to my hometown to see my sister. I’m interviewing for the temp job with you because of the bad year. My teaching position was cut. Rather than wait until I ran out of money and lost my apartment, I decided to go home. My sister owns a company and can give me a job the second I get to Newland, but I don’t want to work in a bakery. I want to find a teaching job. And the few thousand dollars I’ll make tutoring your son will give me a couple more weeks before I’ll have to become a baker out of desperation.” Especially since room and board came with the job.

      He sniffed a confirming laugh that said he knew all about bad years, temp employment and desperation. But looking at his house, with multiple angles and levels of roofs, green shutters that accented the creamy yellow siding and gingerbread trim along the wraparound porch, she had to wonder if the guy really knew trouble. The house only needed gumdrops and candy canes to be ready for a storybook. People who lived in storybook houses didn’t know trouble.

      In her head, she snorted in derision. That’s what everyone had believed about her family. But behind the walls of their perfect Cape Cod home, their father had ruled with an iron fist. Literally.

      She shivered.

      Clark’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. You’re freezing. Let’s go inside.” He glanced back at her car. “Do you want me to grab your luggage?”

      She smiled politely. “Let’s see how the interview goes first.”

      He winced. “Right. Sorry.” He pointed to the house and motioned for her to go before him. “Emily was so sure you’d be a good choice as Jack’s homeschool facilitator that I took the liberty of checking the references on the résumé you emailed me. So we really are just down to the interview.”

      “That’s good.” She walked to the white porch steps and began climbing. The town she’d driven through at the bottom of the mountain had been decked out for Christmas. But this beautiful Victorian house, perfect for a dreamy holiday, didn’t have as much as a string of lights along the porch roof.

      “With my housekeeper sick for the past week, everything’s been a little off-kilter. If I hadn’t gone to the grocery store, I wouldn’t even be able to offer you coffee.” He stopped. “Shoot. I forgot the groceries. You go ahead inside. I’ll get them.”

      She turned around with him. “I’ll help.”

      “You’re cold.”

      “And carrying groceries will warm me up.”

      She followed Clark to his SUV. He pulled out two plastic bags with handles and she took them from him.

      “Just go in the front door and follow it back down the hall to the kitchen.”

      She nodded, but by the time she got to the door in her slippery tennis shoes, Clark was right behind her.

      “If you decide to take this job, you’ll have to get yourself a pair of boots.”

      “I guess.”

      “And a coat. Winters can be brutal here.”

      The little girl who had been hanging on Clark’s coat when she arrived stood in the front foyer. Wearing a pink hooded jacket and little white mittens, she looked both adorable and warm.

      “This is Teagan.”

      The little girl’s gaze dipped to the marble floor, so Althea stooped in front of her. “Hey, Teagan.”

      “Teagan, this is Ms. Johnson. She’s the lady interviewing to be Jack’s teacher.”

      Teagan continued to look at the floor.

      “It was nice to meet you, Teagan.” She rose. Sometimes it was best to give a child her space. Eventually, she’d warm up to her. Kids always did. With a quick smile at Teagan, she continued on to the kitchen.

      Clark plopped his bags of groceries on the center island. Dark wood cabinets should have given the room a gloomy feel, but the cheerful white marble countertops and warm oak hardwood floors took care of that. So did the huge windows by the wooden table that provided a spectacular view of the mountains behind the house.

      “Wow.”

      “Thank my wife for that view. She found this land, created the design for this house.”

      “She’s got a real eye for things.” She turned from the windows just as a boy of about twelve walked into the kitchen, the big black dog on his heels.

      “Dad, did you get that ham I asked for?” When he saw Althea, he stopped dead in his tracks.

      “Yes,