Read Online Millionaire's Christmas Miracle by Mary Anne Wilson - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Anne Wilson
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wasn’t his, and it wasn’t something he wanted. No matter how appealing the woman was, she had a hell of a lot of baggage that came right along with her.
He started to turn to give the child to her mother so he could get out of there, but when he tried to do that simple thing, it backfired. The minute he moved, the child let out a squeal, stiffened again, and there was a flash of movement, something struck him in the chin, then cold wetness was everywhere.
That’s when he saw the bottle again, but now it was almost empty, the top was gone, and what looked like orange juice was all over him. He could feel it trickling down his cheek and onto his chest through his shirt. Amy took the child, talking quickly. “Oh, heavens, Taylor, look what you did,” she was saying as she reached with a free hand for a towel in the laundry on the coffee table. She dabbed at her daughter who had the liquid in her hair, on her face, and staining her pink sleepers.
Perversely, Taylor was smiling now, enjoying the mayhem she’d loosed on him, and she was threatening to upend the rest of the bottle onto the floor. ButAmy was too fast for her. She grabbed the bottle, then set the little girl down on the floor by the couch. “No, no, no. No more mess,” she said sternly, took one last swipe at the little girl’s face with the towel, ruffled her hair, then straightened up and turned to Quint.
There was a flash of something that looked suspiciously like a smile in her eyes, then it died and she was doing for him what she’d done for the child, blotting his chest, the shirt and suit coat, then his face. She stopped short of ruffling his hair before she drew back. “I am so, so sorry,” she said. “I’ve had trouble with those bottles. The lids…” She shrugged. “She must have squeezed it too hard and…” She narrowed her eyes, as if studying him. “You’ve got orange juice in your hair, and on your shirt and your jacket and…” She reached toward his face, but stopped short of touching him before drawing back and vaguely wiped at her ear with her fingers. “And your ear, it’s got some on it, too.”
He took the towel from her, rubbing the rough terry cloth over his hair and face, then looked at her. “Gone?”
“Well, yes, but that bit on your ear?”
He dabbed at his ear. “Now?”
“Yes, it’s gone,” she said, then looked at his clothes. “Your jacket and shirt.” She grimaced. “Oh, boy, your tie’s a mess. Give them to me and I’ll sponge them off with cold water,” she said, literally reaching out and undoing the buttons on his jacket. “You can’t let it set up.”
He looked down at his one-of-a-kind suit jacket, but didn’t really see it. What he saw were her long,slender fingers, furiously tugging at the buttons and the material, slipping it off his shoulders. The next thing he knew, she had his jacket, holding it by the collar. She was staring at his shirt. “You…you take off your shirt and tie, okay? And I’ll get working on this.”
After a quick look at Taylor, who was busy taking the laundry off the table, one piece at a time, Amy hurried out of the room through a door to one side of the kitchen. She kept talking until she was a disembodied voice, just as she’d been at the center last night when she was backing out of the tree. “Just take those things off and bring them in here, the sooner the better.”
He did as he was told. He undid the tie, tugged it off, then unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off before following her. He found her in a tiny bathroom off a short hallway, furiously sponging at his jacket with a facecloth she dampened from the faucet in a small sink. “Don’t do that,” he said, seeing the water seeping into the fine material of his suit coat. “Please.”
Amy stopped swiping at the stain and turned, ready to tell Quint that she wouldn’t stop until she had his suit jacket back to good-as-new condition. But the words caught in her throat when she saw him
He started to turn to give the child to her mother so he could get out of there, but when he tried to do that simple thing, it backfired. The minute he moved, the child let out a squeal, stiffened again, and there was a flash of movement, something struck him in the chin, then cold wetness was everywhere.
That’s when he saw the bottle again, but now it was almost empty, the top was gone, and what looked like orange juice was all over him. He could feel it trickling down his cheek and onto his chest through his shirt. Amy took the child, talking quickly. “Oh, heavens, Taylor, look what you did,” she was saying as she reached with a free hand for a towel in the laundry on the coffee table. She dabbed at her daughter who had the liquid in her hair, on her face, and staining her pink sleepers.
Perversely, Taylor was smiling now, enjoying the mayhem she’d loosed on him, and she was threatening to upend the rest of the bottle onto the floor. ButAmy was too fast for her. She grabbed the bottle, then set the little girl down on the floor by the couch. “No, no, no. No more mess,” she said sternly, took one last swipe at the little girl’s face with the towel, ruffled her hair, then straightened up and turned to Quint.
There was a flash of something that looked suspiciously like a smile in her eyes, then it died and she was doing for him what she’d done for the child, blotting his chest, the shirt and suit coat, then his face. She stopped short of ruffling his hair before she drew back. “I am so, so sorry,” she said. “I’ve had trouble with those bottles. The lids…” She shrugged. “She must have squeezed it too hard and…” She narrowed her eyes, as if studying him. “You’ve got orange juice in your hair, and on your shirt and your jacket and…” She reached toward his face, but stopped short of touching him before drawing back and vaguely wiped at her ear with her fingers. “And your ear, it’s got some on it, too.”
He took the towel from her, rubbing the rough terry cloth over his hair and face, then looked at her. “Gone?”
“Well, yes, but that bit on your ear?”
He dabbed at his ear. “Now?”
“Yes, it’s gone,” she said, then looked at his clothes. “Your jacket and shirt.” She grimaced. “Oh, boy, your tie’s a mess. Give them to me and I’ll sponge them off with cold water,” she said, literally reaching out and undoing the buttons on his jacket. “You can’t let it set up.”
He looked down at his one-of-a-kind suit jacket, but didn’t really see it. What he saw were her long,slender fingers, furiously tugging at the buttons and the material, slipping it off his shoulders. The next thing he knew, she had his jacket, holding it by the collar. She was staring at his shirt. “You…you take off your shirt and tie, okay? And I’ll get working on this.”
After a quick look at Taylor, who was busy taking the laundry off the table, one piece at a time, Amy hurried out of the room through a door to one side of the kitchen. She kept talking until she was a disembodied voice, just as she’d been at the center last night when she was backing out of the tree. “Just take those things off and bring them in here, the sooner the better.”
He did as he was told. He undid the tie, tugged it off, then unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off before following her. He found her in a tiny bathroom off a short hallway, furiously sponging at his jacket with a facecloth she dampened from the faucet in a small sink. “Don’t do that,” he said, seeing the water seeping into the fine material of his suit coat. “Please.”
Amy stopped swiping at the stain and turned, ready to tell Quint that she wouldn’t stop until she had his suit jacket back to good-as-new condition. But the words caught in her throat when she saw him
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