Читать книгу Rich Rancher For Christmas - Sarah M. Anderson - Страница 12

Four

Natalie sat on the couch, trying to make sense of what had happened.

It didn’t look like that was a thing that could be done because the longer she stared into the fire, the less she knew about what was going on.

That wasn’t entirely true. Once she had thawed out in the shower, her brain worked just fine. She just didn’t quite grasp how, in the last two hours, she had gone from being Natalie Baker, host of A Good Morning with Natalie Baker, to being a human popsicle, to being...

To being CJ Wesley’s unofficial guest.

She felt naked. That feeling had nothing to do with the three separate layers of clothing she was wearing. It had everything to do with the way that man looked at her, his face no longer hidden in the shadows—with the way he asked her why she didn’t have anyone waiting for her.

Because she didn’t. She could try to lie and say that her producer, Steve, would notice her absence but...it was almost Christmas. They’d been filming segments ahead of schedule and planning to strategically reuse old clips so the crew could have some time off.

She didn’t have a single person who would miss her over the next five days. It wasn’t like that was a shocking revelation. She’d known damn good and well that it would be yet another Christmas spent alone. She didn’t celebrate the holiday. Why would she? The day was nothing but the worst of bad memories.

But somehow, telling CJ that had been... Well, it’d been painful. It had been acknowledging that she was completely alone.

She was more or less completely at CJ’s mercy. And he didn’t even like her.

But he wasn’t taking advantage of the situation. Anyone else would’ve looked at her half-frozen and seen an opportunity—but not him. Instead, he had clothed her and now he was feeding her. He had gone out of his way to make sure she was comfortable.

He was being entirely too decent. She hadn’t realized that people like him existed.

Oh, sure—she knew there were still good humans in the world, the ones who ran soup kitchens and read books during story time at the library. But they didn’t come into her world. No, everyone she dealt with wanted something. She didn’t know how to talk to someone if it wasn’t a negotiation.

And CJ Wesley had made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want to negotiate. She didn’t have anything he wanted and he wasn’t interested in giving up anything to her.

They had reached an impasse. In less than two hours.

Awareness prickled over her skin the moment he entered the room, even though he was padding around silently in thick sheepskin-lined moccasins. There was something about the way the air changed around him. For all of his decency and grudging niceness, CJ Wesley was a powerful force to be reckoned with.

“Good,” he said as he crossed in front of her and sat back down on the couch, then handed her a plate overflowing with what looked like the best apple pie she’d ever seen.

She wasn’t sure what he was calling good—the pie or the fact that she hadn’t wandered off to unearth his family secrets.

“Thank you,” she said. “You don’t have to serve me.”

There—the muscle in his jaw twitched just as he said, “It’s no problem. I’m happy to do it.”

She twisted her lips to one side, trying not to smile at him. “You’re lying. But I appreciate it anyway.”

He paused, a forkful of pie halfway to his mouth. “I’m not lying.” The twitch was harder to see this time, because he was sliding his fork into his mouth.

But she saw it anyway.

“You have a tell. Did you know that?”

He avoided answering her for several long minutes, so she dug in to the pie. Sweet merciful heavens, it was even better than it smelled. Homemade and warm, the apples perfectly spiced and the crust flaky. The roast had been excellent—but this?

Maybe she had died in the snow. She’d frozen to death and this was actually heaven. Curled up on the couch with a sexy, grouchy cowboy and the best apple pie in the world.

“This is fabulous,” she all but moaned around her third forkful.

“Thanks, my—” He bit off the word. “Thanks,” he said again.

She surreptitiously glanced at his hand—no ring, no tan line, either. Aside from the clothes she was wearing—which were baggy and not exactly in the height of fashion—there were no other signs of women in this house. At least not since she’d taken her shower. She was pretty sure there had been pictures on the wall and now there weren’t. But she had been too cold to study them when she’d originally walked through the house.

No, CJ didn’t have a wife. Which meant that this pie had probably been made by his mom. The very woman that Natalie had been stalking through court records for months.

It was equally obvious that he was absolutely not going to acknowledge his mother’s existence.

Natalie Baker, morning television host, would have pressed for details. But the pie was too good and the fire was too warm and she just didn’t want to. If CJ were right, she would have several days to work on him. But not right now. Her stomach was full and she was feeling warm and drowsy—well, parts of her were. Other parts of her were way too attuned to the man sitting three feet away from her.