Page 89 of Mistletoe and Christmas Kisses

“Kate, your hand!”

Kate glanced at the glossy bubble spurting from a gash on her finger. Come to think of it, she had felt a sharp prick about the time Tanner intruded. She flexed her hand, a line of blood coursing down her palm. For some reason, the situation struck her as funny, and she laughed.

Before she had time to think or speak, he appeared by her side. Lifting the knife from her grasp, he wrapped a handkerchief around her finger, his coattail slapping her waist, his breath stealing into her. “Hold this. Tight. Until the bleeding stops. Don’t release the pressure.” Kate brushed his hand aside. Her blood was staining the cloth and the monogram in the corner. TSB. She skimmed her thumb across the letters. Tanner Sloane Barkley. Funny, she had never seen one of his handkerchiefs before.

Certainly would have raised questions he could not afford to answer.

“Are you all right?” Charlie asked.

“I’m fine,” she said, a growing circle staining the cloth as she pressed harder. Her control nearly depleted, she grasped at the last, wishing Tanner did not stand so close that she could see the neat tucks in his trousers, the braid edging the legs.

“Kat.” A gentle whisper for her ears only.

She shook her head, focusing on the sliver of apple touching his boot. “Go. Please, leave me alone. Please.”

A sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, rumbled low in his throat. He rocked back on his heels, dropped his hand by his side, and curled his fingers into a fist.

Why did he have to smell so good?

So damned familiar.

Bulky, black boots appeared beside Tanner’s and squashed the apple sliver to bits. Charlie said, “Go on. I’ll take care of this. A dab of my famous, foul Indian ointment, as my dear husband calls it, and she’ll be good as new. Although she will stink. Go help Adam with the Christmas tree. Remember, moist sand in the bucket. And try not to break any branches.”

The first tear trickled down Kate’s face. Hurry, she silently begged.

“Go on, Tanner, scat. Adam’s probably tearing his hair out by now.”

“Fine.” He slapped the door wide, his footfalls echoing down the hallway. The door rocked with disintegrating creaks, finally expiring like a spent breath.

Kate swiped her hand beneath her eyes and whispered a silent prayer for the force of nature that was Charlie Chase.

“Men.” Charlie peeled the cloth from Kate’s finger and dabbed at a smudge of blood. “Not bad. Probably won’t even scar, if you’re worried. My miracle salve will fix this up just fine. No need for tears.”

Kate sniffed. “It’s not that.”

“I guessed as much. You don’t look the kind to snivel about a silly cut. I can see there’s more to the story. Adam’s always telling me it’s not my place to interfere. That said” —she tapped her ugly boot on the floor— “I would love to interfere if you’ll let me.”

A gasp, part laugh, part sob, took Kate by surprise. She dried her face with her sleeve. “Forgive me. I don’t have a handkerchief. Except the bloody one wrapped around my finger.”

Charlotte strode away, disappearing into a pantry. The sound of jars banging and boxes shifting drifted from the doorway. “Handkerchief? What in the world does having a handkerchief at a crucial moment ever do for anybody?” She stepped back into the kitchen, a small tin in her hand. “This stinks to high heaven but works like a charm. Sit. I’ll doctor while you have a much needed glass of Syllabub.”

A beveled glass filled with liquid the color of spring roses hit the table before Kate could protest. She sipped as Charlie dabbed. She hoped the medicinal qualities were not overstated because the stuff smelled worse than high heaven.

“I’m guessing you were acquainted with Tanner before coming to Edgemont,” Charlie said, her curiosity clear. As if she realized this, she set to wrapping cloth around Kate’s finger with marked diligence.

“Yes, in Richmond. It was almost two years ago. Six months later, we became” —she took a slow sip from her glass— “unacquainted.”

Charlie’s hand stilled, her words obviously taking more concentration than her nursing. “A year and a half? That long.”

“Yes, that long.” Kate watched afternoon sunlight roll over the edge of the table and puddle on the floor.

Charlie patted Kate’s hand and slid into the chair beside her. “And after two years, you still spark off each other like a match against flint.”

Kate shook her head. “You have the situation all wrong.”

“Do I?”

“Yes, of course.”