Read Online Christmas In Snowflake Canyon by RaeAnne Thayne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: RaeAnne Thayne
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I know it. I was just going to suggest that you might endure your hundred hours of service a little easier if you can get over being chickenshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know. The whole disgusted, freaking-out thing if one of the guys looks at you or, heaven forbid, dares to touch you only to keep you from falling on your ass.”
Her face heated all over again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.
She certainly couldn’t tell him she had freaked out because of her own inconvenient attraction.
“Goodbye. I’ll see you Thursday,” she said, then slammed her door shut, turned the key in the engine and sped out of the parking lot without looking back.
CHAPTER FOUR
T hree mornIngs later, Genevieve was still annoyed with Dylan, with Natalie, with her parents—with the world in general—as she dressed carefully for her first day at A Warrior’s Hope. She really had no idea what to expect or what she might be asked to do, which made it difficult to determine appropriate attire.
She finally selected black slacks and a delicious peach cashmere turtleneck she’d picked up at a favorite little boutique in Le Marais. Probably overkill, but she knew the color flattered her hair and eyes.
Or at least it usually did. Unfortunately, it clashed terribly with the overabundance of Pepto-Bismol-pink in Grandma Pearl’s hideous bathroom.
This was her least favorite room in the house. How was she supposed to apply makeup when this washed her out so terribly? If she could afford it, she would renovate the entire room, but she doubted her budget would stretch to cover new bathroom fixtures.
She was just finishing her second coat of mascara with one eye on her watch when chimes rang out the refrain of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus.” Grandma Pearl’s ghastly doorbell. She shoved the wand back into the tube and hurried through the house, curious and a little alarmed at who might be calling on her this early in the morning.
“Good. You are home.” Her mother beamed at her as soon as Genevieve opened the door.
“Mother! What are you doing here?”
“Oh, that awful doorbell! Why haven’t you changed it yet?”
“I’m still trying to figure out how. Seriously, why are you here?”
“I’m on my way to the salon. When you were at the house the other day, I couldn’t help noticing your nails. Horrible shape, darling. I thought I would treat you to a mani. I’ve already made the appointment with Clarissa. She had a tight schedule but managed to find room first thing this morning. Won’t that be fun?”
Her mother gave her a hopeful look and Genevieve scrambled for a response. Since the end of her engagement—and the subsequent death of all Laura Beaumont’s thinly veiled ambitions to push them both into the higher echelons of Denver society—Genevieve’s interactions with her mother had been laced with heavy sighs, wistful looks, not-so-subtle comments about this gathering, that event.
Being married to one of the most financially and politically powerful men in small Hope’s Crossing wasn’t enough for Laura. She had always wanted more. When she was engaged to Sawyer and she and Laura worked together to create the wedding of the century, Genevieve had finally felt close to her mother.
She had missed that closeness far more than she missed Sawyer.
“I can’t,” she said regretfully. “I’m starting my community service today.”
Laura gave a dismissive wave of pink-tipped fingers that looked perfectly fine to Genevieve. “Oh, that.
Well, you can just start tomorrow, can’t you? I’m sure they won’t mind. I’ll have your father give them a call.” This was her family in a nutshell. Her mother didn’t understand anything that interfered with her own plans, and when she encountered an obstacle, she expected
William Beaumont to step in and fix everything. When Gen’s younger brother, Charlie, had been arrested for driving under the influence in an
“Excuse me?”
“You know. The whole disgusted, freaking-out thing if one of the guys looks at you or, heaven forbid, dares to touch you only to keep you from falling on your ass.”
Her face heated all over again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly.
She certainly couldn’t tell him she had freaked out because of her own inconvenient attraction.
“Goodbye. I’ll see you Thursday,” she said, then slammed her door shut, turned the key in the engine and sped out of the parking lot without looking back.
CHAPTER FOUR
T hree mornIngs later, Genevieve was still annoyed with Dylan, with Natalie, with her parents—with the world in general—as she dressed carefully for her first day at A Warrior’s Hope. She really had no idea what to expect or what she might be asked to do, which made it difficult to determine appropriate attire.
She finally selected black slacks and a delicious peach cashmere turtleneck she’d picked up at a favorite little boutique in Le Marais. Probably overkill, but she knew the color flattered her hair and eyes.
Or at least it usually did. Unfortunately, it clashed terribly with the overabundance of Pepto-Bismol-pink in Grandma Pearl’s hideous bathroom.
This was her least favorite room in the house. How was she supposed to apply makeup when this washed her out so terribly? If she could afford it, she would renovate the entire room, but she doubted her budget would stretch to cover new bathroom fixtures.
She was just finishing her second coat of mascara with one eye on her watch when chimes rang out the refrain of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus.” Grandma Pearl’s ghastly doorbell. She shoved the wand back into the tube and hurried through the house, curious and a little alarmed at who might be calling on her this early in the morning.
“Good. You are home.” Her mother beamed at her as soon as Genevieve opened the door.
“Mother! What are you doing here?”
“Oh, that awful doorbell! Why haven’t you changed it yet?”
“I’m still trying to figure out how. Seriously, why are you here?”
“I’m on my way to the salon. When you were at the house the other day, I couldn’t help noticing your nails. Horrible shape, darling. I thought I would treat you to a mani. I’ve already made the appointment with Clarissa. She had a tight schedule but managed to find room first thing this morning. Won’t that be fun?”
Her mother gave her a hopeful look and Genevieve scrambled for a response. Since the end of her engagement—and the subsequent death of all Laura Beaumont’s thinly veiled ambitions to push them both into the higher echelons of Denver society—Genevieve’s interactions with her mother had been laced with heavy sighs, wistful looks, not-so-subtle comments about this gathering, that event.
Being married to one of the most financially and politically powerful men in small Hope’s Crossing wasn’t enough for Laura. She had always wanted more. When she was engaged to Sawyer and she and Laura worked together to create the wedding of the century, Genevieve had finally felt close to her mother.
She had missed that closeness far more than she missed Sawyer.
“I can’t,” she said regretfully. “I’m starting my community service today.”
Laura gave a dismissive wave of pink-tipped fingers that looked perfectly fine to Genevieve. “Oh, that.
Well, you can just start tomorrow, can’t you? I’m sure they won’t mind. I’ll have your father give them a call.” This was her family in a nutshell. Her mother didn’t understand anything that interfered with her own plans, and when she encountered an obstacle, she expected
William Beaumont to step in and fix everything. When Gen’s younger brother, Charlie, had been arrested for driving under the influence in an
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