Читать книгу: «Unexpected Angel: Unexpected Angel / Undercover Elf», страница 2
Meg snatched the letter from Holly’s fingers and read it aloud. “Dear Santa, my name is Eric Marrin and I am almost eight and I have only one Christmas wish.” She glanced at Holly and grinned. “W-U-S-H. I would like you to bring me a Christmas like me and my dad used—Y-O-U-S-T—to have when my mom lived at our house. She made Christmas…” Meg frowned at the spelling. “Seashell?”
Holly sighed. “Special.” She flipped through the rest of the papers, long lists of items suggested for Christmas gifts and decorations and special dinners and activities, all to be paid for by an unnamed benefactor.
Meg waved the letter under Holly’s nose, her apprehension suddenly gone. “You have to take this job, Holly. You can’t let this little boy down. This is what Christmas is all about.” She glanced around the square, then fixed her gaze on the department store. “Dalton’s,” she murmured. “You know, I’ve read about Dalton’s, last year in some upstate newspaper. The article said their Santa grants special wishes to children, but no one knows where the money comes from. Do you think that guy was—”
Holly shoved the papers back into the envelope. “I don’t care where the money comes from. We have a job to do and I’m going to do it.”
“What about our clients in the city?”
“You’ll take the train back to the city tonight and take care of them, while I do the job here.”
Meg smiled. “This will be good for you, Holly. No time to be lonely for your family, no time to think about that jerk, Stephan. An almost unlimited budget to make a perfect Christmas. It’s like you’ve won the lottery or died and gone to Christmas heaven.”
Maybe this was exactly what she needed to rediscover the spirit of the season! All the way up from the city, she’d stared out the train window and watched the picturesque Hudson Valley scenery pass by. And when they’d stepped off the train, she’d been transported to another world, where the commercialism of Christmas hadn’t quite taken hold.
Here, people smiled as they passed on the street and children laughed. From every shop doorway, the sound of Christmas music drifted out on the chill night air, mixing with the jingle bells from a horse-drawn carriage that circled the square. “It is perfect,” she murmured, the lyrics from “Silver Bells” drifting through her head. And spending Christmas in Schuyler Falls was a far sight better than passing the holiday buried in year-end tax reports for her accountant.
She drew a deep breath and smiled. “Maybe I’ll have a merry Christmas after all.”
THE ANCIENT ROLLS ROYCE turned off the main road into the winding driveway of Stony Creek Farm just as Holly finished rereading her contract. The ride from downtown Schuyler Falls was even more picturesque than the train ride upstate, if that was possible. The old downtown gave way to lovely neighborhoods with stately brick and clapboard homes, built as summer homes for wealthy New Yorkers in the early part of the century, those who enjoyed the waters of nearby Saratoga Springs. Then, the streetlights disappeared and the houses became fewer, set back from the winding road and nearly hidden by thickets of leafless trees.
Somewhere in the darkness, the Hudson River streamed by, the same river she saw from her high-rise apartment on the west side of Manhattan. But here it was different, more pristine, adding to the magical atmosphere. The chauffeur, George, kept up a steady stream of informative chatter, giving her the history of the town and its people, yet steadfastly refusing to reveal who had hired him. She did learn that Stony Creek Farm was one of the few active horse breeding farms left in the area, owned by the Marrin family, longtime residents of Schuyler Falls.
As they slowly approached the main house, Holly peered through the frosty car window. On either side of the driveway were long white barns flanked by well-maintained plank fences. The house wasn’t nearly as grand as some she’d seen, but it was large and inviting with its white clapboard siding, deep porches and green shutters.
“Here you are, miss,” George said as he pulled to a stop. “Stony Creek Farm. I’ll wait out here to take you back to town if you’d like.”
She nodded. They’d dropped Meg at the train station to catch the late train back and Holly had picked up her overnight bag from a locker there. But as the hour was late, she’d decided to find a hotel after she’d introduced herself to Eric Marrin.
In truth, now that she was here, Holly wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject of her assignment. Her contract expressly forbid any mention of who’d hired her or who was paying the bill, not that she knew herself. But for all the Marrins knew, she was a complete stranger intruding on their lives. “Why don’t you wait at the end of the driveway,” she said. With no visible transportation back to town, Eric Marrin and his father would be compelled to invite her inside.
George hopped out of the car and ran around to open her door. As she stepped out, she didn’t see any sign of Christmas, no wreath on the door, no lighted tree shining through a front window. Holly slowly climbed the front steps, then reached out for the brass door knocker. She snatched her hand back. What was she supposed to say?
“Hi, I’m here to grant your Christmas wish.” She swallowed hard. “My name is Holly Bennett and I’ve been sent by Santa Claus.” She was allowed to say she worked for the fat guy in the red suit, that much her contract did state.
“This is crazy,” she muttered, turning around. A cold wind whipped around her feet and she tugged the lapels of her coat up around her face. “They’re not going to let a perfect stranger in the house.”
But the prospect of finally turning a profit was too much to resist. Perhaps she could even give Meg a well-deserved bonus this year. Gathering her resolve, Holly reached out and pushed the doorbell instead. A dog barked inside, and a few seconds later, the door swung open. The light from the foyer framed a small figure, a pale-haired boy with wide brown eyes and a curious expression. His large black dog stood next to him, eyeing Holly suspiciously. This had to be Eric Marrin.
“Hi,” he said, his hand resting on the dog’s head.
“Hi,” Holly replied nervously.
“My dad’s still in the barn. He’ll be in soon.”
“I’m not here to see your dad. Are you Eric?”
The boy nodded.
Holly held out her hand and smiled. “I—I’m…I’m your Christmas angel. Santa sent me to make all your Christmas dreams come true.” She was sure the words would sound ridiculous once they left her mouth, but from the look on Eric’s face, she couldn’t fault her choice. An expression of pure joy suffused his features and the dog wagged his tail and barked.
“Wait here,” he cried. The boy raced off into the house and returned a few moments later. He shrugged into his jacket, tugged on his mittens and grabbed her hand. “I knew you’d come,” he said, his voice breathless with excitement.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he dragged her down the front steps, the dog trailing after them.
“To see my dad. You have to tell him we can’t go to Colorado for Christmas. He’ll listen to you. You’re an angel.”
They followed a snow-covered path toward the nearest barn, the cold and damp seeping through Holly’s designer pumps. A real angel wouldn’t mind the wet shoes, but they were her favorite pair and she’d spent a week’s salary on them. She made a note to herself to use part of her budget for some cold weather essentials, like waterproof boots and socks, a necessity while working for a client who didn’t bother shoveling the snow.
“Did you talk to Santa?” Eric asked. “He must have read my letter right away. I only gave it to him a few days ago.”
Holly hesitated for a moment, then decided to maintain the illusion. “Yes, I did speak to Santa. And he told me personally to give you a perfect Christmas.”
When they reached the barn, Eric grabbed the latch on the double door, heaved the doors open and showed her inside. A wide aisle ran the length of the barn, covered in a thin layer of straw and lit from above. “Dad!” Eric yelled. “Dad, she’s here. My Christmas angel is here.”
He hurried along the stalls, peering inside, and Holly followed him, steeling herself for his father’s reaction. What she wasn’t prepared for was her own reaction. A tall, slender man suddenly stepped out of a stall in front of her and she jumped back, pressing her palm to her chest to stop a scream. She’d expected someone older, maybe even middle-aged. But this man wasn’t even thirty!
Holly looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, bright and intense, the kind of blue that could make a girl melt, or cut her to the quick. He was tall, well over six feet, his shoulders broad and his arms finely muscled from physical labor. He wore scuffed work boots, jeans that hugged his long legs and a faded corduroy shirt with the sleeves turned up. Her eyes fixed on a piece of straw, caught in his sun-streaked hair.
He took a long look at her, then glanced over his shoulder at his son who continued to search each stall. “Eric?”
The little boy turned and ran back to them both. “She’s here, Dad. Santa sent me an angel.” He pointed to his father. “Angel, this is my dad, Alex Marrin. Dad, this is my Christmas angel.”
She fought the urge to reach out and rake her hands through his hair, brushing away the straw and restoring perfection to an already perfect picture of masculine beauty. Holly coughed softly, realizing that she’d forgotten to breathe. She struggled to speak beneath his piercing gaze. “I—I’ve been sent by Santa,” she said in an overly bright tone. “I’m here to make all your dreams come true.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I—I mean, all Eric’s dreams. All Eric’s Christmas dreams.”
She watched as his gaze raked along her body, boldly, suspiciously. A shiver skittered down her spine and she wanted to turn and run. For all Eric’s excitement at her arrival, she saw nothing but mistrust in this man’s expression. But she held her ground, unwilling to let him intimidate her.
Suddenly Alex Marrin’s expression softened and he laughed out loud, a sound she found unexpectedly alluring. “This is some kind of joke, right? What are you going to do? Start up the music and peel off your clothes?” He reached out and flicked his finger at the front of her coat. “What do you have on under there?”
Holly gasped. “I beg your pardon!”
“Who sent you? The boys down at the feed store?” He turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Pa, get out here! Did you order me an angel?”
A man’s head popped out of a nearby stall, his weathered face covered with a rough gray beard. He moved to stand in the middle of the aisle, leaning on a pitchfork and shaking his head.
“She’s my angel,” Eric insisted. “Not some lady from the feed store.”
The old man chuckled to himself. “Naw, I didn’t send you anything. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be refusing that delivery.” He winked at Eric. “We could use an angel ’round this place.”
“That’s my gramps,” Eric explained.
“Who sent you?” Alex Marrin demanded.
“Santa sent her,” Eric replied. “I went to see him down at Dalton’s and I—”
Alex’s attention jumped to his son. “You went to see Santa? When was this?”
Eric kicked at a clump of straw, his expression glum. “The other day. After school. I just had to go, Dad. I had to give him my letter.” He took Holly’s hand. “She’s here to give us a Christmas like we used to have. You know, when Mom was…”
Alex Marrin’s jaw tightened and his expression grew hard. “Go back to the house, Eric. And take Thurston with you. I’ll be in to talk to you in a few minutes.”
“Don’t send her away, Dad,” Eric pleaded. His father gave him a warning glare and the little boy ran out of the barn, the exchange observed by his glowering grandfather. The old man cursed softly and stepped back into the stall. When the door slammed behind Eric, Alex Marrin turned his attention back to Holly.
“All right,” he said. “Who are you? And who sent you?”
“My name is Holly Bennett,” she replied, reaching into her purse for a business card. “See? All The Trimmings. We do professional decorating and event planning for the Christmas holidays. I was hired to give your son his Christmas wish. I’m to work for you through Christmas day.”
“Hired by whom?”
“I—I’m afraid I can’t say. My contract forbids it.”
“What is this? Charity? Or maybe some busybody’s idea of generosity?”
“No!” Holly said. “Not at all.” She reached in her coat pocket and took out Eric’s letter, then carefully unfolded it. “Maybe you should read this.”
Marrin quickly scanned the letter, then raked his hands through his hair and leaned back against a stall door. All his anger seemed to dissolve, his energy sapped and his shoulders slumped. “You must think I’m a terrible father,” he said, his voice cold.
“I—I don’t know you,” Holly replied, reaching out to touch his arm. The instant she grazed his skin, a frisson of electricity shot through her fingers. She snatched them away and shoved her hand into her pocket. “I’ve already been paid. If you send me away without completing my duties, I’ll have to return the money.”
He cursed softly, then grabbed her hand and pulled her along toward the door. Holly wasn’t sure whether to resist or go along with him. Was he going to toss her out on her ear? Or did she still have time to argue her case?
“Pa, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he muttered. “I’ve got some business to take care of with this angel.”
2
“I WANT HER TO STAY!”
Alex ground his teeth as he stared at his son standing on the other side of his bed. Eric, dressed in his cowboy pajamas, had folded his arms over his chest, set his chin intractably and refused to meet Alex’s eyes. He used to see Renee in his son, in the dark eyes and wide smile. But more and more, he was starting to see himself, especially in Eric’s stubborn nature. “I know I’ve made some mistakes since your mother left and, I promise, I’ll try to make things better. We don’t need this lady to give us a nice Christmas.”
“She’s not a lady,” Eric said with a pout. “She’s an angel. My angel.”
Alex sat down on the edge of the bed and drew back the covers. “Her name is Holly Bennett. She gave me her business card. When was the last time you heard of an angel who had a business card?”
“It could happen,” Eric said defensively. “Besides, her name doesn’t make a difference. It’s what she can do that counts.”
“What can she do that I can’t?” Alex asked. “I can put up a Christmas tree and tack up some garland.” He patted the mattress and Eric reluctantly crawled beneath the covers.
“But you can’t bake cookies and make ornaments and—and—the last time Gramps made turkey it tasted like old shoes!” He slouched down and pulled the covers up to his chin. “If you haven’t noticed, Dad, she’s really, really pretty. Like supermodel pretty. And she smells good, too. She’s mine and I want to keep her!”
Alex didn’t need to be reminded of the obvious. If she hadn’t introduced herself as a mortal being, he might have believed Holly Bennett truly was heaven sent. She had the face of an angel, a wide, sensual mouth and bright green eyes ringed with thick lashes. Her wavy blond hair had shimmered in the soft light of the barn, creating a luminous halo around her head and accentuating her high cheekbones and perfectly straight nose.
No, that fact didn’t get past him. Nor did his reaction to her beauty—sudden and stirring, almost overwhelming his senses. Over the past two years he’d managed to ignore almost every woman he’d come in contact with, not that there had been many. Running a horse breeding operation didn’t put him in the path of the opposite sex very often.
He’d ignored social invitations and community events, secluding himself on the farm day and night and losing himself in his work. The last woman he’d touched was Eric’s teacher, Miss Green, and that was a benign handshake at the parent-teacher conferences. Never mind that Miss Green was fifty-seven years old and smelled of chalk dust and rose water.
But Holly Bennett wasn’t a spinster schoolteacher and she was hard to ignore. His fingers tingled as he remembered touching her, wrapping her delicate hand in his as he dragged her out of the barn. She was waiting downstairs at this very moment, waiting for him to decide her fate, and his mind was already starting to conjure excuses to touch her again.
“She could stay in the guest room,” Eric suggested.
Alex leveled a perturbed look at his son. “I’m not allowing a perfect stranger to—”
“Angel,” Eric corrected.
“All right, a perfect angel, to stay in our house.”
“Then she can stay in the tack house. No one’s stayed there since Gramps moved back into the house. He thinks she’s pretty and nice.”
“How do you know?” Alex said, raising an eyebrow.
“I can just tell.” His son set his mouth in a stubborn straight line.
Alex covered his eyes with his hands and moaned. If he sent Holly Bennett packing, Eric would never forgive him. And he wouldn’t hear the end of it from his father. Aw, hell, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea having her around. He hated stringing lights on the tree. The smell of evergreen made him sneeze. And he was more comfortable with curry combs than cookie cutters.
Besides, Christmas had always reminded him of Renee. Every ornament, every decoration brought back memories of their time together, time when they’d been a happy family with a bright future. The week after she’d left, he’d thrown out every reminder of Christmas she’d brought into the house, vowing to discard anything that brought thoughts of her betrayal.
But here was a chance to begin anew, to create Christmas traditions only he and Eric shared. Sure, Holly the Angel would be around, but she was nothing more than an employee, a helping hand during a busy season. And he was curious to learn who was paying her salary, a secret he might learn given time. “All right,” Alex said. “She has three days to prove herself and if everything’s going all right, she can stay.”
“Then we’re not going skiing in Colorado?”
He sent his son a grudging smile. “No, we’re not going to Colorado. But you’re going to have to deal with her. I’m not going take care of her the same way I have to take care of Thurston and the horses. She’s your angel.”
Eric hit him full force against the chest, throwing himself at Alex and wrapping his arms around his father’s neck. The boy gave him an excruciating hug and beamed up at him. “Thanks, Dad. Can I go tell her?”
Alex ruffled Eric’s pale hair, a flood of parental love warming his blood, then kissed his son on the cheek. It took so little to make Eric happy. How could he think of refusing him even a bit of joy? “Crawl back under the covers and I’ll tuck you in. Then I’ll go down and tell your angel.”
Eric gave him another quick hug, then scrambled back between the sheets. As he did every night, Alex tucked the blankets around his son, then tickled his stomach. “Who loves you the most?”
“You do!” Eric cried.
Alex brushed the hair out of Eric’s eyes, then stood. But as he walked to the door, his son’s voice stopped him. “Dad? Do you ever miss Mom?”
His hand froze on the doorknob and Alex turned around. He wasn’t sure what to say. Did he miss the fighting, the constant anger that bubbled between them? Did he miss the sick feeling he got every time she went into the city, knowing she was meeting another man? No, he didn’t. But he did miss the contentment he saw in his son’s eyes whenever Renee was near. “Your mom is very talented. She had to leave so that she could be the very best actress she could. But that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t love you just as much as I do.”
Though his question hadn’t been answered, Eric smiled, then sank back against the pillows. “Night, Dad.”
Alex released a tightly held breath as he slowly descended the stairs, wondering at how he’d managed to dodge yet another bullet. Sooner or later, Eric would demand explanations and Alex wasn’t sure what to tell him. So far, he’d always managed to evade the truth. But could he tell an outright lie to his son?
He turned into the library and stopped short. Holly sat primly on a leather wing chair staring at the dying embers of a fire in the fireplace across the room. She was like a vision from paradise and Alex found himself tongue-tied. She’d removed her coat and tossed it over the back of the chair, revealing a pretty red jacket, cinched in at her tiny waist and a slim black skirt that revealed impossibly long legs. He’d never met a woman quite as cool and sophisticated as her. But though she appeared to be all business, there was an underlying allure that was hard to ignore. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” he muttered. “If you’ll just tell me where your things are, I’ll get you settled.”
She straightened at the sound of his voice then neatly crossed her legs. Alex stood beside his desk and let his gaze drift along the sweet curve of her calf. When she cleared her throat, he snapped back to reality and silently scolded himself. If Holly Bennett would be hanging around this holiday season, he’d have to prevent all future fantasizing!
“Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice, “for allowing me to stay.”
“I suppose I should be thanking you,” Alex replied. “Eric requested you be offered a guest room, but—”
“Oh, no!” Holly cried. “I have a budget. I can afford to stay at a hotel. And I’ll rent a car to get back and forth.”
“If you’ll let me finish,” Alex said. “I agreed that you can stay for the next three days. I can’t imagine you’ll need any more time than that. And you can stay in the tack house. It’s quite nice. There’re a couple of guest rooms with private baths and small kitchenettes. And you can use the pickup to get around. I can use my dad’s old truck.”
“But I’ve been hired to stay through Christmas day,” she replied. She stared down at her lap, then glanced back up at him. “I know this is a little strange, me barging into your lives. Believe me, this is not the typical job for me. But I do intend to do it right and that will take more than three days.”
“How long can it take to put up a Christmas tree and a few strings of lights?” he demanded.
She looked at him disdainfully, as if he’d just asked her to build the Queen Mary III overnight. “Actually, Mr. Marrin, the job will take quite a bit of time and attention. You have no decorations up and, from what your father tells me, you don’t have any in storage. Between the exteriors and the interiors, there are at least three days of planning to be done. And with the budget, I can do some very special things. And I’ve got baking to do and menus to plan and if you’d like to throw a party or two I’m perfectly capable of—”
He held out his hand to stop her. “Slow down, Betty Crocker.”
“Martha Stewart,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Betty Crocker is a face on a cake box. I’m really much more like Martha Stewart.” She sighed impatiently and stared at her hands.
“All right. Why don’t we just see if everything goes all right, then we’ll talk about extending your…earthly incarnation. But first, maybe you’d like to tell me who’s financing your visit.”
She shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I told you, I don’t know.”
“Don’t know, or can’t say?”
“Both,” Holly murmured.
A long silence spun out between them as Alex watched her intently. She shifted in her chair, and for a moment, he thought she might bolt. “She left two years ago,” he said, meeting her shocked gaze coolly. “Four days before Christmas. That’s what you’ve wanted to ask, isn’t it?”
“It—it’s none of my business,” Holly replied as if questioning her curiosity was nothing more than an insult. “I don’t think it’s necessary for me to become personally involved in your lives to do my job. I’m here to give your son, and you, a perfect Christmas. I’m very good at my job, Mr. Marrin, and I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.”
“This is for my son,” Alex replied. “Not me. Eric misses his mother around the holidays. Things have been difficult for him. He doesn’t see much of her.”
The meaning of his words couldn’t have been clearer. He wasn’t looking for another wife and he didn’t want Holly Bennett to pretend to be Eric’s mother. He watched as she rose to her feet, her demeanor growing more distant with each passing moment. “If that’s all, then I’ll be saying good night. I’ve got a busy day in front of me tomorrow. If you’ll just point me in the direction of the tract house—”
Alex chuckled. “Tack house. It’s where we keep the saddles and bridles. We call that tack.”
“I’m going to be sleeping in a storage shed?” she asked.
“I assure you, Miss Bennett, it’s quite nice. Now, where are your things?” Alex asked.
“My things?”
“Your halo and harp? You know, all your angel accoutrements?”
“My luggage is in the car. The driver is parked at the end of the driveway.”
Alex nodded. “I’ll go get your bags and then I’ll show you to your room.”
“Mr. Marrin, I—”
“Alex,” he said, pulling the library door open for her. He placed his hand on her back as she passed, then helped her into her coat. His palms lingered on her shoulders for a few seconds, her silken hair brushing his skin. Reason told him he’d have to draw his hands away, but it had been so long since he’d touched a woman, smelled the fresh scent of a woman’s hair, fought the overwhelming longing to make love to—
Alex opened the front door and showed her out, drawing a deep breath of the crisp night air. The cold revived him, clearing his mind. Granted, she was beautiful—and thoughtful—and unquestionably single-minded. But the last thing he needed in his life was a woman and all the trouble that came along with a romantic relationship.
No, he’d keep his distance from this angel. And if he knew what was good for him, he’d put any devilish fantasies right out of his head.
“SHE’S AN ANGEL. I SWEAR!”
For a moment, Holly wasn’t sure where she was. Were the voices part of a dream? Slowly everything came back to her. She’d spent the night in Alex Marrin’s tack house. Though she’d anticipated a storage shed, her room looked more like a quaint B & B than a barn. A beautiful field-stone fireplace dominated one wall of her bedroom, while the others were paneled with warm knotty pine. Across from the iron bed was a tiny galley kitchen and a whitewashed table and just outside the door was a pretty sitting area, decorated with old harnesses and riding prints and yellowed photos of very large horses.
“She doesn’t have wings,” said an unfamiliar voice.
Holly slowly opened her eyes. When her vision focused, she found two little faces staring at her from close range. One she recognized as Eric Marrin. The other, a gap-toothed, freckle-faced boy, observed her as if she were an interesting lab specimen, pickled in formaldehyde and floating in a jar.
“Can she fly?” he said, lisping slightly through his missing front teeth.
“Jeez, Kenny, she’s not that kind of angel!” Eric said. “She’s a Christmas angel. They’re different.”
“What’s wrong with her hair?” Kenny asked.
Holding back a smile, Holly sleepily pushed up on one elbow. She looked at Eric then Kenny. “Good morning.” Kenny jumped back from the bed, a blush staining his cheeks, but Eric happily plopped down on the patchwork coverlet.
“This is my friend, Kenny. He lives down the road. We go to school together.”
Holly ran her fingers through her tangled hair and yawned. Judging by the feeble light coming through the window, it was still well before eight. The boys were dressed in jackets, both carrying backpacks. She groaned softly. Though her bed had been wonderfully cozy, her night had been plagued with strange and disjointed dreams. Unbidden images of Alex Marrin had been punctuated with a recurring nightmare that had her endlessly untangling tinsel and searching for the single bad bulb in a mile-long string of lights.
Why did Alex Marrin fascinate her so? Until yesterday evening, she’d been ready to spend her life with Stephan! Yes, Alex was incredibly handsome. Perhaps it was the rugged, salt-of-the-earth image. Or maybe it was the wounded look she saw, deep in his eyes, the wariness that seemed to pervade his lean body whenever he looked at her. He seemed to exude excitement and a little bit of danger.
“Does she have a magic wand?” Kenny asked, regarding her from beneath a scruffy wool cap.
Eric rolled his eyes. “Angels don’t have magic wands. Fairy godmothers do. And wizards.”
Holly should have explained to the boys that “Christmas angel” had been a metaphorical reference, a way to explain her place in this whole scheme as granter of wishes. She could have just as easily called herself a Christmas genie. “Why don’t you just call me Holly,” she suggested, too sleepy to make sense of her new job.
“We brought you breakfast, Holly,” Eric said, retrieving a battered cookie sheet from a nearby table and setting it on the bed. “Dad says I’m in charge of feeding you. Cap’n Crunch, Tang and toast with grape jelly. After you’re finished we’ll show you around the farm. I’ve got my own pony and a pinball machine in my bedroom.”
“Here you are!”
Holly glanced up to find Alex Marrin looming in the doorway of her room. He was dressed much as he had been the previous night, in rugged work clothes and a faded canvas jacket. But his hair was still damp from a shower and he was freshly shaven. She scrambled to pull the covers up over the gaping neck of her camisole, then felt a flush of embarrassment warm her cheeks.
“You’re late for school,” Alex said to the boys. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
“But Holly needs a tour,” Eric said. “We always give company a tour.”
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