Wild Christmas (Wild Heart Mountain: Wild Rider’s MC #17)

7. Freya

7

FREYA

N ate chooses Die Hard proclaiming it to be a Christmas movie. By the time it finishes, we’re spread out on opposite ends of the sofa.

He makes himself another decaf and hands me another chamomile tea. I’m not ready to go to bed yet, and I guess he isn’t either.

“Tell me about France. It must have been nice to travel.”

The tea is too hot, and I place it on the coffee table. “It was nice to see different places and the family was great…”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “But…?”

“But I missed the mountains.”

“You missed home.”

I shake my head, because that isn’t quite it. “I’m not sure where home is. My father is in the navy, and we traveled around a lot when I was young.”

He nods slowly, taking in what I’m saying .

“My mom…” I trail off, not wanting to speak ill of my mother. I don’t like to discuss her mental health problems, but Nate feels like someone I can open up to. “My mom found it hard to cope on her own.”

A frown crosses Nate’s face. “It’s hard, being a military wife.” There’s a bitterness to his tone that makes me glance up at him, but he’s staring straight ahead into the fire. “Not everyone is suited to it.”

I sit back on the cushions and run my finger over the edge of one, playing with the tassel. “Mom was put in a facility for a while. To recover, is what I’ve been told. I was sent to live with my Aunt Maxine.”

“Your aunt who lives in Hope?”

“Yeah. She’s great.” My mood lifts, thinking of Aunt Maxine. “I’ve got three cousins, all grown up now, and when you’ve been an only child, it’s great coming into that environment. I loved it. I didn’t understand at the time what was going on with Mom, and I was used to Dad not being around and moving about, so it just seemed like one more stop on the road.”

I pull at the cushion, remembering the two years spent at Maxine’s place in the town of Hope on the side of the mountain. The summers were spent swimming in the lakes, hiking the trails, playing hide and seek in the backyard, and other invented games with my cousins.

The way Aunt Maxine would dance around the living room with all of us trailing behind her. She taught me how to laugh in the face of whatever life threw at you, and I’ve been dancing ever since.

“It’s the only place that ever really felt like home. ”

Nate nods thoughtfully and takes a sip of his drink. “So you’re going to stay here now? No going back to France?”

There’s an edge to his voice and I frown, wondering why he cares so much. His sister’s coming to take over the nanny position, so I won’t have a job in a few weeks.

I think about the email I got this morning from Martine, my old employer in France. The new au pair hasn’t worked out as she hoped, and she’s begging me to come back after Christmas. She offered a generous pay increase if I accepted. “Maybe.”

Nate stiffens. “You’re leaving Wild Heart Mountain?”

He seems concerned, and my heart gives a little flutter, which is stupid. He’s probably just thinking about what happens if it doesn’t work out with his sister. “I’m not sure. I might go back to France.”

“You got a boyfriend there?” His voice is harsh, and I glance at him. He’s staring at me intently, and for a crazy moment I wonder if he’s jealous. But that can’t be right. Nate is at least ten years older than me; he hates chaos and messiness, and that’s what I am.

“No.” He relaxes into the pillows. “No boyfriend.”

“Good,” he mutters, and my pulse quickens. I’m inexperienced with men, but I’m sure there’s a vibe here.

Which is bad. I can’t be crushing on my boss.

As we’ve been talking we’ve gravitated toward the center of the couch, and my thigh bumps into his. His hand is resting on his knee, and his pinky creeps out and caresses my thigh. A shimmer of heat courses up my body and makes me tingle between the legs .

Oh, this isn’t good. Nanny rule 101: Don’t get involved with the dad. But as I look into his intense eyes, I wonder if it’s too late. He’s leaning into me and I catch his scent of coffee and pine cleaning spray, which is oddly attractive on him.

My heart rate kicks up a notch, and this is really bad. I can’t kiss the hot single dad.

I lean forward, breaking the physical contact, and snatch up a photo of the girls that’s on the coffee table.

That was too close, and I can’t get distracted again. If I get involved with my employer, I’ll never get another job.

It’s something Aunt Maxine warned me about, and her words ring in my ears. “When you’re living under a man’s roof he will see you as his property, particularly a young pretty girl like you. Don’t get involved. No matter what they promise you. Remember, you’re also living with their wife. And the wife must always be respected.”

My French family was never like that. Frank, the dad, treated me like a daughter. But this situation is different. Nate makes my stomach flutter every time he’s near in a way I’ve never felt before. And Nate doesn’t have a wife.

I study the photo more carefully than I need to, trying to clear the thoughts from my head.

Dora has Nate’s dark hair and intense eyes and the same frown as her father. “She looks a lot like you.”

I dare a look at Nate and he’s sitting back on the couch sipping his coffee, as unruffled as if the thigh caress never happened. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe his finger bumped me accidentally rather than caressed me .

I stare intently at the photo again. It looks recent judging by the look of the girls. While Dora has her dad’s features, Maisie has light hair, brown eyes, a round face, and an easy smile.

“Maisie doesn’t look like you at all. Does she take after her mother?” I glance back at Nate, and he’s sitting stiff on the couch with a scowl on his face.

“She takes after her mother, looks wise.” He stands up abruptly and takes his mug to the kitchen. “Turn the lights off on your way out.”

I gape after his retreating figure as he heads down the hall and to his office.

I thought we’d made progress spending an evening together, but Nate has closed himself off. I regret bringing up the girls’ mother. I heard she died in a car accident when Maisie was only a few weeks old. He must still be torn up with grief over her.