Free The Humbug Man by Diana Palmer Page B

her dress and his suit slacks, white shirt and navy blazer.
    He turned off the top light, leaving the winking, blinking colorful lights of the tree to brighten the room. His arms slid around her waist as they looked at the paper angel Blake had made for the tip-top. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get you up there,” he mused. “You’d make a pretty angel.”
    “I’d rather be just a woman,” she said, turning. Her eyes ran over his face quietly although her heart was beating her to death. It had been forever since that morning when he’d made such sweet love to her in the kitchen. And she wanted that, and more, tonight. Her whole body ached for him.
    He touched her throat with the very tip of his forefinger, watching the pulse throb there, watching her lips part. She was his. She didn’t even have to tell him. He could see it in her eyes, in her face, in the body that leaned toward his in the semibright darkness.
    He took a step forward, so that he was against her, and his head bent to hers. His mouth brushed her open one, feeling with shock the sudden darting movement of her tongue against his upper lip.
    He caught his breath and her eyes opened lazily, looking at him.
    “It…it’s something I learned when I was in my teens,” she faltered.
    “It’s damned arousing, do you know that?” he asked quietly. “Having Blake in the house wouldn’t even slow me down, Maggie, so don’t look for miracles if you start something tonight.”
    He made it sound as if she was making him a proposition. Well, she was, but he didn’t have to make her feel cheap for it. She’d taken certain things about their relationship for granted, but perhaps she’d presumed too far. She’d wanted a memory of him, something warm and private, just for the two of them. A Christmas memory that she could take back to the desert with her to last all the long, lonely years that she was going to spend grieving for him.
    Her head bent. Her hands clenched around her coffee cup. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
    His breath caught. He hadn’t expected her reaction. He hadn’t meant to shame her, for heaven’s sake. He’d just been hesitant to let things get out of hand before he could get up his nerve to ask her if she might consider staying at the ranch—she and Blake. He started to speak when a thunderous knocking at the front door broke the spell.
    He jerked it open and a man was standing there, a very old one in a ragged hat. “Sorry to bother you, boss, but Katie Bess is due.” He grinned. “I knew you’d want to be there.”
    “Yes. I do. Thanks, Baldy.”
    He closed the door and turned. “Katie Bess is one of my Shetland sheepdogs,” he explained. “We use them to help us herd cattle. Katie Bess is our newest, and she and her pups are purebred.”
    “Christmas babies,” Maggie said with a smile, trying to live down her humiliation. “Can I come, too?”
    “Sure. But not in that,” he said with a faint grin.
    “I’ll hurry and change.”
    “What’s going on?” Blake called as they went past his door.
    “Never mind.” Maggie peeked in his door and told him, “Go back to sleep. Santa may come while we’re outside, but only if he thinks you’re snoring.”
    “I am, I am!” he promised, snoring loudly.
    Maggie laughed as she closed the door. She got into her red flannel shirt and a pair of jeans, thick socks and boots, grabbed her parka and rushed out into the hall. Tate was already ahead of her, his boots making loud thuds as he went toward the hall closet and jerked out his shepherd’s coat and hat.
    She followed him to the stable where the mother sheepdog, who resembled a small collie with her fluffy tan and white fur, was lying in a clean stall. There were already three tiny furry bodies nuzzling close as the puppies nursed. And even as they watched, a fourth and fifth were born. Tate and Baldy spoke encouragingly to the dog, of which they were both obviously fond, and commented glowingly on the pups. They were