Read Online Christmas At Copper Mountain (A Copper Mountain Christmas) by Jane Porter - Free Book Online Page A

and shot him a quick, shy smile. “What’s the old expression? When you burn the apple pie, get rid of the crust and make a crumble?”
    He lifted a brow. “I’ve never heard that before.”
    “That’s strange,” she said, lips twitching. “Maybe it’s not an expression you use in Montana.”
    “Or maybe it’s an expression that you just made up.”
    She laughed, once, and her green eyes gleamed as she suppressed the husky laugh. “Maybe I did,” she admitted, beginning to sprinkle the brown sugar mixture over the first of the ramekins. “It seemed fitting, though.”
    He leaned against the counter and watched her work. It was strangely relaxing, watching her bake. She moved with confidence around the kitchen. She obviously liked cooking and baking, and was certainly comfortable feeding a big group. His ranch hands claimed they’d never eaten better in their lives, and it wasn’t just the quantity, but the quality. Harley Diekerhoff’s food actually tasted good, too.
    She continued to heap topping on the ramekins and he stayed where he was, leaning against the counter, enjoying the smells of apple and cinnamon along with the roast in the oven, as well as the sight of an attractive woman moving around the kitchen.
    Knowing that she’d be gone day after tomorrow made him feel less guilty for lingering.
    He wasn’t attached to her. Wasn’t going to let his attraction interfere.
    And yet she did look appealing in his kitchen, in her yellow apron with cherries and lace trim. She looked fresh and wholesome and beautiful as only a country girl could.
    “You’re a farm girl,” he said, breaking the silence.
    She paused, glanced at him. “I grew up on a dairy, and then married a dairyman.”
    Surprised, he said nothing for a moment, too caught off guard to know what to say. He wasn’t good at conversation. It’d been too many years since he’d chatted for the hell of it. “You’re divorced,” he said flatly.
    She sprinkled the last of the topping over the ramekins, making sure each was generously covered with brown sugar and butter before rinsing her hands. “Widowed.”
    He felt another strange jolt.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, wishing now he’d never said anything.
    She dried her hands, looked at him, her features composed. “It’ll be three years in February.”
    He shouldn’t ask anything, shouldn’t say anything, shouldn’t continue this conversation a moment longer, not when he could see the shadows in her beautiful green eyes. But he knew loss, and what it was to lose your soul mate, and he was still moved by what she’d told him this morning, about how she’d never been able to have children, and how it’d hurt her. “How long were you married?”
    “ Almost twelve years.”
    He couldn’t hide his surprise. “You must have married in high school.”
    “No , but I was young. I’d just turned twenty. Still had one more year of college, but Davi had graduated and we married the same weekend of his graduation ceremonies.”
    “A June wedding?”
    “A huge, June wedding.” She tried to smile. It wasn’t very steady. “I think I had something like seven bridesmaids and my maid of honor.”
    “You met in college?”
    “Yes.” She turned away and began placing the ramekins on a cookie sheet. “We were both ag business majors, both from dairy families, and we grew up just eleven miles from each other.”
    “Your families must have been happy.” He was prying now, and he knew it.
    She shot him a quick glance, before sliding the cookie sheet into the hot second oven. “They weren’t that happy. He was Portuguese, not Dutch. They predicted problems. They were right.”
    Her voice was calm, her expression serene, and yet he sensed there was so much she wasn’t saying.
    And yet he stopped himself from asking more. He’d already prodded Harley the way he’d prodded Molly’s wound. It was time leave her alone.
    “Thank you for taking care of Molly today,” he said, gathering the