Read Online Midnight Under the Mistletoe by Sara Orwig - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sara Orwig
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day
they checked the weather, Emma surprised that Zach ate lunch and dinner with
her, flirting, friendly and heightening desire with every encounter.
By Thursday, pictures were coming in from the west of all the
snow. “We’re ready for the storm, here at the ranch,” Zach told Emma. “We have
supplies of every sort and enough food for weeks. I think you’re stuck, Emma,
unless you want to take off work and head to Dallas this afternoon.” They both
listened as the TV weatherman showed a massive storm dumping twelve inches of
snow in the mountains in New Mexico and blanketing Interstate 40, closing it
down.
“Now they’re predicting it’ll come in here Friday,” Zach
repeated. “If you beat the storm home, you’ll be stuck there, which is fine if
you want to do that.”
“I can miss one weekend at home,” she said. “Actually, I can go
ahead and work and get more of the letters read and go through things.”
“If you’re sure. I’ve told Nigel and Rosie the same thing.
Rosie’s cooking up a storm herself, but if we get what they’re predicting,
neither of them will come in. I’ve told them to stay home.”
“I’ll stay here, Zach. I don’t want to get caught in bad
weather. From what they’re predicting, it will come and go and be clear for me
to go home for Thanksgiving next week.”
“If you decide to stay, I’ll pay you overtime.”
“That isn’t necessary. I’m happy to be out of the storm. Mom’s
already called worrying about me.”
“Call her so she can stop worrying.”
“Thanks, Zach.”
“I wish I could take you out dancing Saturday night, but that’s
out because of the storm and my foot. We can have a steak dinner—I’ll cook. We
can have our own party here.”
She laughed. “Sounds great, but you don’t have to do that.”
His blue eyes held a lusty darkness and his voice lowered. “I
want to. Even though it might not be the wisest thing for either one of us, a
cozy evening in front of a fire while it snows outside sounds fun. Now I can’t
wait for the first flakes to fall.”
Shaking her head, she smiled at him while her insides
fluttered. Saturday night with Zach would not be the same as working together in
a spacious office. “In the meantime, let’s go back to work,” she said, pulling
her chair close to the open box of letters.
She read more letters—some were by his great-grandfather, most
by his great-great-grandfather, all of them mixed together. She had trays she
would place them in according to generation. She had made trays labeled by
dates, water rights, and “boundary disputes.” She tried to sort them all the
ways that would be helpful. If she had time before the job ended, she would put
them in chronological order.
She had read five letters when she shoved her hand into the box
to get more and felt a hard lump beneath the letters. She moved them carefully,
placing them to one side in the box, and found two objects wrapped in cloth.
“Zach, there are some things in this box. They’re wrapped in rags.” She
carefully continued to remove letters as he crossed the room. He bent over to
plunge his hand in.
“Zach, be careful with the letters.”
“Ah, Emma, these letters are not priceless heirlooms.”
“They may be to some of your family.”
“I’ll be damned,” he said, grasping something wrapped in cloth
and pulling it out of the box. He tossed away the rags. “This is a Colt. It’s a
beauty.” He checked to see if it was loaded—it wasn’t. “This is fantastic. You
said there were two things.”
He placed the Colt on an empty chair and turned to reach into
the box to withdraw the other object wrapped in cloth.
“It’s a rifle,” he said, unwrapping strips of rags that had
yellowed with age. Zach tossed them into a trash basket and held the rifle in
his hands, checking to be certain it was not loaded. “It’s a Henry. I’ll say my
ancestors knew their weapons. A Colt revolver and a Henry rifle.” He raised it
to
they checked the weather, Emma surprised that Zach ate lunch and dinner with
her, flirting, friendly and heightening desire with every encounter.
By Thursday, pictures were coming in from the west of all the
snow. “We’re ready for the storm, here at the ranch,” Zach told Emma. “We have
supplies of every sort and enough food for weeks. I think you’re stuck, Emma,
unless you want to take off work and head to Dallas this afternoon.” They both
listened as the TV weatherman showed a massive storm dumping twelve inches of
snow in the mountains in New Mexico and blanketing Interstate 40, closing it
down.
“Now they’re predicting it’ll come in here Friday,” Zach
repeated. “If you beat the storm home, you’ll be stuck there, which is fine if
you want to do that.”
“I can miss one weekend at home,” she said. “Actually, I can go
ahead and work and get more of the letters read and go through things.”
“If you’re sure. I’ve told Nigel and Rosie the same thing.
Rosie’s cooking up a storm herself, but if we get what they’re predicting,
neither of them will come in. I’ve told them to stay home.”
“I’ll stay here, Zach. I don’t want to get caught in bad
weather. From what they’re predicting, it will come and go and be clear for me
to go home for Thanksgiving next week.”
“If you decide to stay, I’ll pay you overtime.”
“That isn’t necessary. I’m happy to be out of the storm. Mom’s
already called worrying about me.”
“Call her so she can stop worrying.”
“Thanks, Zach.”
“I wish I could take you out dancing Saturday night, but that’s
out because of the storm and my foot. We can have a steak dinner—I’ll cook. We
can have our own party here.”
She laughed. “Sounds great, but you don’t have to do that.”
His blue eyes held a lusty darkness and his voice lowered. “I
want to. Even though it might not be the wisest thing for either one of us, a
cozy evening in front of a fire while it snows outside sounds fun. Now I can’t
wait for the first flakes to fall.”
Shaking her head, she smiled at him while her insides
fluttered. Saturday night with Zach would not be the same as working together in
a spacious office. “In the meantime, let’s go back to work,” she said, pulling
her chair close to the open box of letters.
She read more letters—some were by his great-grandfather, most
by his great-great-grandfather, all of them mixed together. She had trays she
would place them in according to generation. She had made trays labeled by
dates, water rights, and “boundary disputes.” She tried to sort them all the
ways that would be helpful. If she had time before the job ended, she would put
them in chronological order.
She had read five letters when she shoved her hand into the box
to get more and felt a hard lump beneath the letters. She moved them carefully,
placing them to one side in the box, and found two objects wrapped in cloth.
“Zach, there are some things in this box. They’re wrapped in rags.” She
carefully continued to remove letters as he crossed the room. He bent over to
plunge his hand in.
“Zach, be careful with the letters.”
“Ah, Emma, these letters are not priceless heirlooms.”
“They may be to some of your family.”
“I’ll be damned,” he said, grasping something wrapped in cloth
and pulling it out of the box. He tossed away the rags. “This is a Colt. It’s a
beauty.” He checked to see if it was loaded—it wasn’t. “This is fantastic. You
said there were two things.”
He placed the Colt on an empty chair and turned to reach into
the box to withdraw the other object wrapped in cloth.
“It’s a rifle,” he said, unwrapping strips of rags that had
yellowed with age. Zach tossed them into a trash basket and held the rifle in
his hands, checking to be certain it was not loaded. “It’s a Henry. I’ll say my
ancestors knew their weapons. A Colt revolver and a Henry rifle.” He raised it
to
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