Their Mistletoe Matchmakers. Keli Gwyn

“From what I can tell, nothing’s broken, so I’ll get you inside.”

      Before she realized his intentions, he had scooped her into his arms and started for the house. “You don’t need to do this. I’m perfectly capable of walking. Besides, I’m covered in mud. I’ll get it all over you.”

      “I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

      His kind words, spoken with sincerity and that rich rolled R of his, robbed her of speech. Henry meant nothing special by them, but aside from the servants who were paid to see to her needs, no one back home had cared about her in years—not since her mother had passed on.

      Her father certainly didn’t care. The drive to expand his hotel empire consumed him. Paul Crowne had used her unexpected trip to California to care for his orphaned grandchildren to his advantage. He’d assigned his latest protégé, Stuart Worthington, who had served as her traveling companion and protector, the task of assessing San Francisco as a suitable location for another of his hotels, the Golden Crowne.

      Not that she was surprised by her father’s callousness. He hadn’t spoken of Pauline or Jack in anything but derogatory terms since the happy couple had headed west. Lavinia’s request to pay them a visit after the birth of their son, Alex, had been flatly denied. She’d attempted to bring up the subject a second time when Jack and Pauline had welcomed their first daughter into the world, but her father had made it clear the subject was not open for discussion.

      Lavinia hadn’t brought it up again until Henry’s letter arrived with the tragic news. To her surprise, her father had granted her permission to make the journey, proving he wasn’t as unfeeling as people seemed to think he was. If only he would wholeheartedly embrace the faith that her beloved mother had instilled in her daughters. He attended church and even made contributions, but he rarely spoke about spiritual matters, leaving Lavinia to wonder if he really loved the Lord as she did.

      Eager to ease the awkward silence that had descended on them as Henry carried her toward the house, she asked the question that had occurred to her as she’d lain flat on her back with nothing shielding her from the pelting rain but bare branches and a massive clump of mistletoe high in the tree. “What would make a limb come down suddenly like that? It’s not as though the tree was struck by lightning, and the winds aren’t that strong, although they seem to be picking up.”

      “It happens with oaks, especially after the hot, dry summers we’ve had the past few years. If a tree can’t support all its branches, it will shed one to survive. A falling limb usually occurs during the heat, but it can happen any time of the year. I’m just glad you weren’t hurt when that one came down.” He inclined his head toward the fallen branch.

      “You and me both. I thanked the Lord posthaste.”

      Her face was so close to Henry’s as he cradled her in his strong arms that his profile filled her vision. He’d already been good-looking at twenty, but the ensuing decade had done remarkable things for him, transforming him into a strikingly handsome man. With his angular jaw, aristocratic nose and arresting blue eyes, he must have turned the head of many a lady over the years. And yet, from what Pauline had written, no woman had turned his.

      He reached the back porch, tromped up the steps and glanced at her. His eyebrows shot toward his hairline, and his well-formed lips lifted in a winsome smile.

      She averted her gaze. How could she have been so foolish as to let him catch her staring at him? He might be a feast for the eyes, but he wasn’t the type of man to capture her attention. Like their late siblings, she and Henry came from different worlds.

      And yet it appeared his situation had improved. His waterproof top hat, made of high-quality beaver, provided a sharp contrast to the shabby slouch hat he used to wear. Her head rested on his chest, the wool of his alpaca overcoat soft against her cheek. The coat, one every bit as fine as her father’s, had to have cost Henry a small fortune.

      “Since my hands are full—” he winked “—could you open the door?”

      Her many years spent schooling her emotions enabled her to hide her surprise. Barely. The gentlemen of her acquaintance would never have behaved in such a familiar manner, but in her experience, Henry only conformed to the social mores when it suited him. “You could put me down, you know.”

      “I will. When I’m ready. The door, please.” He inclined his head toward it.

      Obstinate man. “Are you always this insistent on doing things your way?”

      He grinned. “Only when I’m carrying a lovely lady in my arms.”

      Her manners failed her, leaving her mouth gaping. She snapped it closed and grappled for a suitable response, delivering it with playfulness on par with his. “Might I point out, kind sir, that I’m a muddy mess and don’t qualify for any special treatment?”

      “This isn’t special treatment. I make it a point to come to the aid of anyone who tangles with a broken branch or—” his pleasantly full lips twitched “—a wayward piece of cake.”

      He remembered? Of course he did. How could he forget that mortifying moment when she’d stumbled and sent her slice of Jack and Pauline’s wedding cake sliding down her front?

      Henry had hustled her off to the kitchen after the unfortunate incident and helped her remove the bits of white frosting clinging to the silk. She’d done her best to ignore him up to that point—not an easy task since he was the best man—but he’d repaid her with kindness. Aside from that rather pointed remark about begrudging Jack and Pauline their happiness, of course.

      “Very well. I’ll do your bidding.” Lavinia leaned over, twisted the knob and pushed open the door.

      He entered the kitchen, set her down in front of the cook stove and rested his hands on her shoulders. “You’re not dizzy, are you?”

      “No. Just a bit chilled.” She turned out of his grasp and held her hands toward the heat, reveling in the warmth.

      “Where are the children?”

      “Alex and Marcie are in school. I sent Gladys to meet them with umbrellas since the weather took a turn. Dot asked to go, too, so I let her.” She’d had such fun getting to know her nieces and nephew over the past week. The youngest girl loved her older siblings and missed them when they were gone. Since they were all Dot had left of her immediate family, it made sense.

      Henry leaned back against the dry sink, his arms folded. “Who’s Gladys?”

      “My maid, er, the housekeeper.”

      “You brought a servant all the way from Philadelphia? Why?”

      She preferred his playful side to his drawn eyebrows and pursed lips. She’d dealt with more than enough disapproval from her father over the years. She didn’t need it from Henry, too. “To care for the children, of course.”

      “You don’t have to care for them. I am.”

      “How can you? You still live up in Marysville, don’t you?” In his Miners’ Hotel, which he’d opened a few years back, if she had her facts straight. Pauline’s friend Norma said he’d made the trip down to Sutter Creek as soon as he’d received word of the steamship accident that had claimed Pauline and Jack’s lives, among many others. Although Henry’s concern for the children was laudable, he couldn’t leave his business for too long. Could he?

      “I did live there, but I’m here now.”

      Norma hadn’t elaborated on his plans. “For a visit?”

      “To stay. The children need me, so I’ve put my place up for sale. That’s why I had to go back up there and wasn’t here when you arrived.”

      He wasn’t making sense. “Are you saying you intend to take them in?”

      “Yes.”

      That one word, uttered so matter-of-factly, robbed her of her breath. He wasn’t going to raise the children. She was.