Free Three Nights before Christmas by Kat Latham Page A

ear. Instead, she reached for a piece of the train’s flue, the movement stretching her out and emphasizing the fit of her jeans across her ass.
    He turned away. “I’m going to make coffee. Want some?”
    He didn’t even wait for a reply before leaving the annex, the bitter-cold bite of reality waking him up.
    Idiot. What’s wrong with you? She just got out of prison, for God’s sake, and you helped put her there.
    But for some reason that hadn’t stopped Lacey from running her gaze all over him as if he were naked except for a big red bow tied around his dick and a pair of dangly jingle bells.
    He climbed the three steps onto the old railway station’s porch and stomped the snow off his boots before heading into the mudroom attached to the kitchen. The floors were knobby, hundred-year-old oiled wood, so he didn’t bother toeing his boots off before heading to the kitchen. The station’s waiting room now served as a large living room with a vaulted ceiling and exposed wooden beams thicker than his legs. This cabin was intended to be a getaway for families, a budget way to comfortably explore the forest, so there was no TV or entertainment. There was, however, a stone fireplace and several old, mismatched sofas and armchairs covered with ancient quilts. Cozy, functional, and historic.
    The kitchen wasn’t much to look at, but neither were the meals he created, so he couldn’t complain. It was a mishmash of Formicas, having been converted in the seventies as a break room for the museum staff. Coffee was one thing he could make, so he measured some out and flipped the machine on. As he waited for it to brew, the answer he’d searched for earlier hit him.
    She just got out of prison.
    She had to be lonely. Why else would she agree to work on his train for the benefit of a kid she’d never met? She herself had pointed out that step-uncles didn’t normally go to such lengths, so why would she? It couldn’t be that she was looking for a place to get her festive spirit on. She lived on a fucking Christmas tree farm, for God’s sake.
    He hadn’t been part of the investigation into her role in the crime—she’d just happened to show up while he was staking out her boyfriend’s grow-op with the local sheriff’s department, since the pot farm had been half on and half off NFS land. So he didn’t know intimate details about her life, but he did know she’d left Marietta after high school and made a life for herself in Whitefish.
    Maybe she didn’t have many friends locally. He hadn’t noticed anyone at the stroll being friendly to her. If anything, the people who recognized her had acted awkwardly in the face of her calm-but-distant professionalism.
    Was she so hard-up for companionship that she’d agreed to volunteer all her free time on this project of his? Was she doing it because he was the only one who’d asked her to spend time with him?
    The thought made him weirdly melancholy. He’d never had to worry about feeling alone. Growing up in a family of four kids born within three years meant he’d pleaded for solitude.
    What would it be like to start life over with only one brother for support?
    The coffeemaker beeped, and he poured the fresh brew into a couple of mugs, only realizing then that he had no idea how she took hers. So he put some milk in a jug and rooted through the cupboards till he found sugar.
    When he got back to the annex, she’d organized the train’s parts into several groupings. Standing as he entered, she lifted her arms high overhead to stretch her back. He didn’t think she intended the move to be sensual, but he turned away to put the coffee on the workbench and turned the music down so they could talk a little.
    “I didn’t know how you take it, so I brought milk and sugar. No cream. Sorry.”
    She didn’t answer, but she did take a mug and add milk and sugar before lifting it to her nose and breathing deeply. “Mmm…I’ll never get sick of this smell.”
    “I guess you