Free A Christmas Spirit by Cindy Miles

wrapped about his shoulder, hips, and waist and connected by a brooch, and those worn boots that reached his knees—they all seemed as much a part of him as her jeans were of her. His arms and chest were bare and muscular, and his dark hair hung loose and wild below his shoulders. A fine dusting of like-colored dark hair dusted his forearms, and ropelike veins twisted up and around his hands and wrists, all the way up to his biceps and across each shoulder to his chest.
    Gabriel Munro was absolutely the most magnificent man she’d ever laid eyes on.
    And he was all hers. . . .
    She could hardly believe it.
    “Och, how I’d trade me tricks o’ conjurin’ for one o’ mind readin’,” Gabriel said, breaking into her thoughts. “I have a feelin’ I’d fancy what I found.”
    Paige gave a nervous laugh and stepped over a snow-l aden branch. “I’m very glad you can’t. I’d be way too embarrassed.”
    “Is that so?” he said, chuckling. “ ’Tis too intriguing to let go. Tell me. What were you thinking?”
    Paige looked first at her surroundings, and how the grayness of the winter’s day had seeped into the late afternoon. Everything was gray and white, with a splash of dark green from the Scots pines and brown from a pine cone or exposed branch.
    “You’re stalling.”
    Paige gave a light laugh. “You’re absolutely right, and I’ll keep my embarrassing thoughts to myself, thank you very much.”
    “Hmm,” he said as they entered a small clearing. “A lass with a verra strong will. ’Tis a fine quality I admire.” He leaned in close and brushed his mouth close to her ear. “ ’Tis a quality that stirs me.”
    Paige knew then she turned the absolute brightest red she’d ever turned.
    Gabriel confirmed it with a booming laugh that echoed through the snow-covered pine boughs.
    At the clearing, Gabriel pointed out a large rock for Paige to sit on. She did, and he leaned in close to her.
    “See you there,” he said, pointing toward a narrow stream. “Be verra quiet, so you dunna scare it off.”
    Paige stared through the gray mist and her eyes landed on a Highland stag. Magnificent, shaggy, and red, it stood with its head erect and ears forward, staring into the bramble, awaiting the least small sound. With its black cloven foot, it pawed at the ground then lowered its head to search for a buried blade of grass in the snow.
    “Beautiful,” Paige said as she breathed a sigh, intrigued by a wild buck nestled in the loveliest of winter settings.
    “Indeed,” Gabriel whispered, very close.
    Paige looked up into Gabriel’s eyes and smiled.

Chapter Eleven
    After he’d insisted Paige make herself some supper, the wee girl had finally eaten a meal of soup from the pantry and a sandwich made of cheese and bread that she’d fried in butter on the stovetop. Gabriel had shown her Craigmire’s secret hiding place where the old man hid his chocolate-topped digestives from his wife, and Paige had eaten a handful of those, too.
    With the teapot full and plenty o’ sugar and cream, they were finally ready to settle down with a movie. Gabriel watched Paige now as she searched the bottom shelf o’ Craigmire’s massive selection on hands and knees, with her delectable little rump in the air.
    Gabriel felt as though he’d choke.
    “Oh! I’ve never watched this one before,” she said, and sat back on her heels and looked at him. “Have you?”
    Gabriel walked over and knelt down. He peered at the selection and grinned. “Och, aye.” He cocked his head. “You’ve never watched It’s a Wonderful Life before? ’Tis a tradition—so says Craigmire’s wife.”
    Paige rose, clutching the DVD case to her chest. “Yes, I know it is. But I’ve never had anyone to have a tradition with.” She smiled. “Can we watch it?”
    Her pleading blue eyes softened him more than he’d ever admit to another soul. Damn, how his kin would roar, had they been around to see how such a wee lass could turn him to