Midnight Under the Mistletoe. Sara Orwig

doesn’t make up for some things.”

      “We could argue that one all night,” he said, leaning back and placing his hands behind his head. The T-shirt stretched tautly across his broad shoulders and his muscles flexed. As he stretched out, she could not keep from taking one swift glance down the length of him. Feathers were holding a dance inside her. Everything quivered and lustful thoughts flashed in her mind. She realized silence was growing again and he watched her with a look of interest. Her mind raced for something, trying to think where the conversation had ended.

      “Your great-great-grandfather—I wonder if any of you resemble him.”

      “You can see for yourself. In the last years of his life, someone painted his portrait. It hangs in the library.” He put down his arms and leaned forward. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

      “You don’t need to walk there now. I assume you’re supposed to be staying off your foot.”

      “I can walk around,” he said, getting the crutch. “I go to the doc next week and hope to get off this crutch. I’ll still be in some kind of crazy medical shoe, but at least I may lose the crutch. C’mon. We’ll go look at my old ancestor. I suspect he was a tough old bird. My dad was in his own way. I’m amazed he kept the letters. He didn’t have a sentimental bone in his body until the last couple of years of his life. Or maybe since Caroline’s birth. That little granddaughter changed him.”

      “That’s family—little children wrap around your heart.”

      He gave her another big smile. “You’re sentimental, Emma.”

      “I certainly am,” she replied cheerfully.

      He led the way into the library that held shelves of books from floor to ceiling. A huge portrait in a gilt frame hung above the fireplace and she looked at a stern-faced man with prominent cheekbones, straight gray hair, mustache and beard.

      “I can’t see that you look like him in any manner at all.”

      “No, I don’t think so either.” He gestured across the room. “Over there are portraits of my paternal grandfather and my dad.”

      She crossed the room. “You don’t look like them either.”

      “If I have a resemblance to any forebears, it’s my maternal grandfather. People say I look like him. I don’t see it much myself except for the hair. No pictures of him here.”

      She returned to the fireplace to study the picture, thinking about the letter she had just read. “I’d think you’d want to read every letter in that box.”

      “I’m leaving that to you.”

      She turned to find him looking at her intently, a look that was hot and filled with desire, giving her heart palpitations. In spite of his injured foot, he looked strong and fit. Muscled arms, broad shoulders, flat belly. She stepped toward the door.

      “We better go back and let me start reading them,” she said, heading out of the room, aware that he fell into step beside her. “You said you have brothers. Do they have ranches around here or do all of you gather here?”

      “Both. I’m not a rancher, so I’ve probably spent the least time here, but we were here plenty growing up. Plenty to suit me. I’m not a cowboy and not a rancher and my brothers can ride the horses. No, thanks. Will’s ranch adjoins this one. Caroline loves it there, so they go quite often. Ryan’s ranch is farther away. He’s a cowboy through and through. Maybe it’s because he spent too much time out here with Granddad.”

      “So will your brothers come here this week for Thanksgiving?” she asked, lost in thoughts about her own family’s plans. She was taking a corn casserole and a dessert for everyone.

      “No. Ryan’s with a friend and Will and family are going to his home in Colorado.”

      “I can’t imagine not being with family, but if you’re with close friends or a close friend and family, that works,” she said, glancing at him to see a grin. “You’re staying out here alone, aren’t you?” she blurted, aghast to think his brothers were going their own way and Zach had no plans. She started to invite him to her house, but she remembered that her predecessors had not lasted more than a few days at best on this job. If she invited him and then he dismissed her, it would be awkward.

      “You’re staring, Emma, and you have pity written all over your face,” he said. “A new experience in my adult life. I can’t remember anyone feeling sorry for me for any reason before.”

      Heat flushed her cheeks, and she forced a faint smile, hoping the pitying expression would vanish. They had stopped walking and were gazing at each other. He placed a hand on her shoulder lightly. The feathery touch with anyone else would have been impersonal, but with Zach, it was startling.

      “It’s my choice,” he said. “Stop worrying.”

      “Zach, you can come to our house,” she said, changing her mind about inviting him because it was sad to think of him being alone. “My family would be happy to have you. We’ve always invited friends who would have been alone on Thanksgiving, so I know my family will welcome you.”

      His grin widened. “Thank you for the very nice invitation, but I rarely notice holidays and don’t celebrate them.”

      “Is this a religious thing?” she asked.

      “No. It’s a ‘my thing.’ As I mentioned, my brothers and I grew up in boarding schools, and sometimes we were left there on holidays because our folks were in Europe or heaven knows where,” he explained. While he talked, she was acutely conscious of his hand still lightly on her shoulder. His gaze lowered to her lips and she could barely get her breath. It took an effort to pay attention to what he was saying. “None of us care much about holidays. Will is changing because of Caroline and his wife, Ava. I’m usually not in the country on Thanksgiving, but this year spending it alone here on the ranch is what I choose to do. Thank you anyway for your invitation,” he said, turning to walk again.

      Still physically too aware of him at her side, she strolled beside him. The hot attraction that obviously affected both of them tainted this job. If she got to stay, could she keep their relationship impersonal? She didn’t think it would be much of a problem.

      This loner, besides being her boss, was not the man to be attracted to. How could he possibly want to spend Thanksgiving alone? Even though he came from enormous wealth, he must have had a cold, lonely childhood. He seemed a solitary person who stayed out of the limelight and worked in distant places where he was unknown. She had seen pictures of his brother in the newspapers and in Texas magazines, but never Zach. He clearly kept a low profile.

      As they entered the office, she parted with him and went to her desk to try to concentrate on work.

      Over an hour later Zach received a phone call. She continued with her work, but by the time half an hour had passed and he had had three calls, she realized there must be a problem somewhere. He sat with his back to her, his feet propped up on a nearby computer table. The room was large enough that she couldn’t hear exactly what he said. When she caught snatches of a few words, she guessed the language was German.

      She worked until five to get everything done he had given her. He was still engrossed in phone calls when she shut off her computers and left the room. In her room, she spent over an hour reading and replying to emails from family and close friends before going to the kitchen for dinner.

      Thinking of the loner in the office the entire time.

      Lowering his feet Zach had swiveled in his chair and watched Emma leave the room, but his many phone calls had demanded his focus. Now, he glanced down at a letter on his desk she had typed. “I’ll make the call at 8:00 in the morning your time and see if we can’t get this worked out quickly,” he said into the phone. “Right, Todd. I’ll let you know. It’s too late there to call anyone now.” He replaced the receiver, glanced at his watch and sighed.

      His cell phone indicated