Unexpected Angel: Unexpected Angel / Undercover Elf

“Nothing to do?” Meg asked. “We’ve got six new commercial installations with mechanized reindeers and sleighs to maintain and you know how temperamental those singing reindeer are. And that tree we did for Farley’s courtyard on Park Avenue is going to take a lot of maintenance. If we get a stiff wind, all the decorations will end up in the East River. Plus we’ve got a list of corporate Christmas gifts we still need to shop for.”

“We can’t afford to turn this job down,” Holly murmured. “I’ve already spent my inheritance keeping this business afloat and my parents aren’t even dead yet!”

“So how are we supposed to know who we’re meeting?” Meg asked.

“The check was from the TD One Foundation. And the letter says he’ll be wearing a sprig of holly in his lapel.”

That very moment, Holly saw a tall gentleman approaching with the requisite holly. She jabbed Meg in the side and they both smiled graciously. “No more cracks about the mob,” she muttered.

“Miss Bennett? Miss O’Malley?”

“He knows our names!” Meg whispered. “He probably knows where we live. If we make a run for it now, we might be able to get to the train before he sets his goons on us.”

He held out his hand and Holly took it, noticing the fine cashmere coat he wore and the expensive gloves. Her gaze rose to his face and she felt her breath drain from her body. If this man was a mobster, then he was the handsomest mobster she’d ever seen. His dark hair ruffled in the wind and his patrician profile looked like carved marble in the dim light from the street lamps.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “And thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Mr.—I’m sorry,” Meg said, holding out her own hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

His cool expression didn’t change as he brushed off her indirect question. “My name isn’t important or necessary.”

“How did you know it was us?” Meg asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I just have a few minutes to talk, so why don’t we get down to business.” He reached for a manila envelope tucked beneath his arm. “All the information is here,” he said. “The contract is for $25,000. Fifteen for your time, ten for expenses. Personally, I think $25,000 is entirely too much, but then, it’s not my decision. Of course, you’ll be required to stay here in Schuyler Falls until the day after Christmas. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

Startled by the odd demand, Holly wasn’t sure how to respond. Whose decision was it and what decision was he talking about? “Usually we suggest a budget after we’ve done a design, and once that’s approved, we work out a timetable for installation. I—I don’t know what you want or where you want it and we’re up against a tight deadline.”

“Your brochure says ‘We make Christmas perfect.’ That’s all he wants, a perfect Christmas.”

“Who?” Holly asked.

“The boy. Ah, I believe his name is Eric Marrin. It’s all in the file, Miss Bennett. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must go. I have a car waiting for you just over there. If you have any problems with the contract, you can call the number listed on the front of the folder and I’ll hire someone else to do the job. Miss Bennett, Miss O’Malley, have a merry Christmas.”

With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd of shoppers strolling through the square, leaving both Holly and Meg with their mouths agape. “Gorgeous,” Meg murmured.

“He’s a client,” Holly said, still stinging from his abrupt manner. “And rude! Besides, you know I’m engaged.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “You broke up with Stephan nearly a year ago and you haven’t seen him since. He hasn’t even called you. He’s not much of a fiancé if you ask me.”

“We didn’t break up,” Holly replied, starting off toward the car parked on the other side of the square. “He told me to take all the time I needed to decide on his proposal. And he has contacted me. I had a message on my machine a few weeks ago. He said he’d call me after the holidays and that he had something very important to tell me.”

Meg grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop. “You don’t love him, Holly. He’s snooty and self-absorbed and he has absolutely no passion.”

“I could love him,” Holly said, a defensive edge to her voice. “And now that my business will be in the black, I’ll have some independence. I won’t be marrying him for his money, for a secure future. We’ll be equals.”

Meg paused for a long moment, then groaned. “Oh, I didn’t want to tell you this,” she muttered, “especially right before the holidays. But I read something in the papers last month and—”

“If this is another story about underworld crime, I—”

“Stephan’s engaged,” Meg blurted out. “That’s probably what he wants to tell you. He’s marrying the daughter of some really rich guy. They’re getting married in June in the Hamptons.” Meg slipped her arm around Holly’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t have told you like this, but you have to put Stephan out of your life. It’s over, Holly.”

“But—but we were engaged,” Holly murmured, stunned at the news. “I finally made my decision and—and—”

“And it wasn’t right. Holly, why do you think it took you a whole year to decide? It’s because you didn’t love him. Someday you’ll meet a man who’ll sweep you off your feet, but that man wasn’t supposed to be Stephan.” She patted her back sympathetically. “So, let’s just focus on work, all right? We’ve got a new job that pays $15,000. Open that envelope and let’s hear what we have to do.”

Numbly Holly tore open the envelope. In her heart, she knew Meghan was right. She didn’t love Stephan, she never had. She’d only decided to accept his proposal because no one else had bothered asking. But the news still stung. Being rejected by a man—even a man you didn’t love—was still humiliating.

She drew a shaky breath. So she’d pass this Christmas as a free woman—no family, no fiancé, nothing but work to occupy her time. Holly pulled out a sheaf of papers from the envelope. Clipped on top was a letter, written on wide-lined paper, in a childish scrawl with smeared lead pencil. She skimmed through it, then moaned softly, her troubles with Stephan suddenly pushed aside. “Oh, my. Look at this.”

Meg snatched the letter from Holly’s fingers and read it aloud. “Dear Santa, my name is Eric Marrin and I am almost eight and I have only one Christmas wish.” She glanced at Holly and grinned. “W-U-S-H. I would like you to bring me a Christmas like me and my dad used—Y-O-U-S-T—to have when my mom lived at our house. She made Christmas…” Meg frowned at the spelling. “Seashell?”

Holly sighed. “Special.” She flipped through the rest of the papers, long lists of items suggested for Christmas gifts and decorations and special dinners and activities, all to be paid for by an unnamed benefactor.

Meg waved the letter under Holly’s nose, her apprehension suddenly gone. “You have to take this job, Holly. You can’t let this little boy down. This is what Christmas is all about.” She glanced around the square, then fixed her gaze on the department store. “Dalton’s,” she murmured. “You know, I’ve read about Dalton’s, last year in some upstate newspaper. The article said their Santa grants special wishes to children, but no one knows where the money comes from. Do you think that guy was—”

Holly shoved the papers back into the envelope. “I don’t care where the money comes from. We have a job to do and I’m going to do it.”

“What about our clients in the city?”

“You’ll take the train back to the city tonight and take care of them, while I do the job here.”

Meg smiled. “This will be good for you, Holly. No time to be lonely for your family, no time to think about that jerk, Stephan. An almost unlimited budget to make a perfect Christmas. It’s like you’ve won the lottery or died and gone to Christmas heaven.”

Maybe this was exactly what she needed to rediscover the spirit of the season! All the way up from the city, she’d stared out the train window and watched the picturesque Hudson Valley scenery pass by. And when they’d stepped off the train, she’d been transported to another world, where the commercialism of Christmas hadn’t quite taken hold.

Here, people smiled as they passed on the street and children laughed. From every shop doorway, the sound of Christmas music drifted out on the chill night air, mixing with the jingle bells from a horse-drawn carriage that circled the square. “It is perfect,” she murmured, the lyrics from “Silver Bells” drifting through her head. And spending Christmas in Schuyler Falls was a far sight better than passing the holiday buried in year-end tax reports for her accountant.

She drew a deep breath and smiled. “Maybe I’ll have a merry Christmas after all.”

THE ANCIENT ROLLS ROYCE turned off the main road into the winding driveway of Stony Creek Farm just as Holly finished rereading her contract. The ride from downtown Schuyler Falls was even more picturesque than the train ride upstate, if that was possible. The old downtown gave way to lovely neighborhoods with stately brick and clapboard homes, built as summer homes for wealthy New Yorkers in the early part of the century, those who enjoyed the waters of nearby Saratoga Springs. Then, the streetlights disappeared and the houses became fewer, set back from the winding road and nearly hidden by thickets of leafless trees.

Somewhere in the darkness, the Hudson River streamed by, the same river she saw from her high-rise apartment on the west side of Manhattan. But here it was different, more pristine, adding to the magical atmosphere. The chauffeur, George, kept up a steady stream of informative chatter, giving her the history of the town and its people, yet steadfastly refusing to reveal who had hired him. She did learn that Stony Creek Farm was one of the few active horse breeding farms left in the area, owned by the Marrin family, longtime residents of Schuyler Falls.

As they slowly approached the main house, Holly peered through the frosty car window. On either side of the driveway were long white barns flanked by well-maintained plank fences. The house wasn’t nearly as grand as some she’d seen, but it was large and inviting with its white clapboard siding, deep porches and green shutters.

“Here you are, miss,” George said as he pulled to a stop. “Stony Creek Farm. I’ll wait out here to take you back to town if you’d like.”

She nodded. They’d dropped Meg at the train station to catch the late train back and Holly had picked up her overnight bag from a locker there. But as the hour was late, she’d decided to find a hotel after she’d introduced herself to Eric Marrin.

In truth, now that she was here, Holly wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject of her assignment. Her contract expressly forbid any mention of who’d hired her or who was paying the bill, not that she knew herself. But for all the Marrins knew, she was a complete stranger intruding on their lives. “Why don’t you wait at the end of the driveway,” she said. With no visible transportation back to town, Eric Marrin and his father would be compelled to invite her inside.

George hopped out of the car and ran around to open her door. As she stepped out, she didn’t see any sign of Christmas, no wreath on the door, no lighted tree shining through a front window. Holly slowly climbed the front steps, then reached out for the brass door knocker. She snatched her hand back. What was she supposed to say?

“Hi, I’m here to grant your Christmas wish.” She swallowed hard. “My name is Holly Bennett and I’ve been sent by Santa Claus.” She was allowed to say she worked for the fat guy in the red suit, that much her contract did state.

“This is crazy,” she muttered, turning around. A cold wind whipped around her feet and she tugged the lapels of her coat up around her face. “They’re not going to let a perfect stranger in the house.”

But the prospect of finally turning a profit was too much to resist. Perhaps she could even give Meg a well-deserved bonus this year. Gathering her resolve, Holly reached out and pushed the doorbell instead. A dog barked inside, and a few seconds later, the door swung open. The light from the foyer framed a small figure, a pale-haired boy with wide brown eyes and a curious expression. His large black dog stood next to him, eyeing Holly suspiciously. This had to be Eric Marrin.

“Hi,” he said, his hand resting on the dog’s head.

“Hi,” Holly replied nervously.

“My dad’s still in the barn. He’ll be in soon.”

“I’m not here to see your dad. Are you Eric?”

The boy nodded.

Holly held out her hand and smiled. “I—I’m…I’m your Christmas angel. Santa sent me to make all your Christmas dreams come true.” She was sure the words would sound ridiculous once they left her mouth, but from the look on Eric’s face, she couldn’t fault her choice. An expression of pure joy suffused his features and the dog wagged his tail and barked.

“Wait here,” he cried. The boy raced off into the house and returned a few moments later. He shrugged into his jacket, tugged on his mittens and grabbed her hand. “I knew you’d come,” he said, his voice breathless with excitement.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he dragged her down the front steps, the dog trailing after them.

“To see my dad. You have to tell him we can’t go to Colorado for Christmas. He’ll listen to you. You’re an angel.”

They followed a snow-covered path toward the nearest barn, the cold and damp seeping through Holly’s designer pumps. A real angel wouldn’t mind the wet shoes, but they were her favorite pair and she’d spent a week’s salary on them. She made a note to herself to use part of her budget for some cold weather essentials, like waterproof boots and socks, a necessity while working for a client who didn’t bother shoveling the snow.

“Did you talk to Santa?” Eric asked. “He must have read my letter right away. I only gave it to him a few days ago.”

Holly hesitated for a moment, then decided to maintain the illusion. “Yes, I did speak to Santa. And he told me personally to give you a perfect Christmas.”

When they reached the barn, Eric grabbed the latch on the double door, heaved the doors open and showed her inside. A wide aisle ran the length of the barn, covered in a thin layer of straw and lit from above. “Dad!” Eric yelled. “Dad, she’s here. My Christmas angel is here.”

He hurried along the stalls, peering inside, and Holly followed him, steeling herself for his father’s reaction. What she wasn’t prepared for was her own reaction. A tall, slender man suddenly stepped out of a stall in front of her and she jumped back, pressing her palm to her chest to stop a scream. She’d expected someone older, maybe even middle-aged. But this man wasn’t even thirty!

Holly looked up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in her life, bright and intense, the kind of blue that could make a girl melt, or cut her to the quick. He was tall, well over six feet, his shoulders broad and his arms finely muscled from physical labor. He wore scuffed work boots, jeans that hugged his long legs and a faded corduroy shirt with the sleeves turned up. Her eyes fixed on a piece of straw, caught in his sun-streaked hair.

He took a long look at her, then glanced over his shoulder at his son who continued to search each stall. “Eric?”

The little boy turned and ran back to them both. “She’s here, Dad. Santa sent me an angel.” He pointed to his father. “Angel, this is my dad, Alex Marrin. Dad, this is my Christmas angel.”

She fought the urge to reach out and rake her hands through his hair, brushing away the straw and restoring perfection to an already perfect picture of masculine beauty. Holly coughed softly, realizing that she’d forgotten to breathe. She struggled to speak beneath his piercing gaze. “I—I’ve been sent by Santa,” she said in an overly bright tone. “I’m here to make all your dreams come true.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “I—I mean, all Eric’s dreams. All Eric’s Christmas dreams.”

She watched as his gaze raked along her body, boldly, suspiciously. A shiver skittered down her spine and she wanted to turn and run. For all Eric’s excitement at her arrival, she saw nothing but mistrust in this man’s expression. But she held her ground, unwilling to let him intimidate her.

Suddenly Alex Marrin’s expression softened and he laughed out loud, a sound she found unexpectedly alluring. “This is some kind of joke, right? What are you going to do? Start up the music and peel off your clothes?” He reached out and flicked his finger at the front of her coat. “What do you have on under there?”

Holly gasped. “I beg your pardon!”

“Who sent you? The boys down at the feed store?” He turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Pa, get out here! Did you order me an angel?”

A man’s head popped out of a nearby stall, his weathered face covered with a rough gray beard. He moved to stand in the middle of the aisle, leaning on a pitchfork and shaking his head.

“She’s my angel,” Eric insisted. “Not some lady from the feed store.”

The old man chuckled to himself. “Naw, I didn’t send you anything. But if I were you, I wouldn’t be refusing that delivery.” He winked at Eric. “We could use an angel ’round this place.”

“That’s my gramps,” Eric explained.

“Who sent you?” Alex Marrin demanded.

“Santa sent her,” Eric replied. “I went to see him down at Dalton’s and I—”

Alex’s attention jumped to his son. “You went to see Santa? When was this?”

Eric kicked at a clump of straw, his expression glum. “The other day. After school. I just had to go, Dad. I had to give him my letter.” He took Holly’s hand. “She’s here to give us a Christmas like we used to have. You know, when Mom was…”

Alex Marrin’s jaw tightened and his expression grew hard. “Go back to the house, Eric. And take Thurston with you. I’ll be in to talk to you in a few minutes.”

“Don’t send her away, Dad,” Eric pleaded. His father gave him a warning glare and the little boy ran out of the barn, the exchange observed by his glowering grandfather. The old man cursed softly and stepped back into the stall. When the door slammed behind Eric, Alex Marrin turned his attention back to Holly.

“All right,” he said. “Who are you? And who sent you?”

“My name is Holly Bennett,” she replied, reaching into her purse for a business card. “See? All The Trimmings. We do professional decorating and event planning for the Christmas holidays. I was hired to give your son his Christmas wish. I’m to work for you through Christmas day.”

“Hired by whom?”

“I—I’m afraid I can’t say. My contract forbids it.”

“What is this? Charity? Or maybe some busybody’s idea of generosity?”

“No!” Holly said. “Not at all.” She reached in her coat pocket and took out Eric’s letter, then carefully unfolded it. “Maybe you should read this.”

Marrin quickly scanned the letter, then raked his hands through his hair and leaned back against a stall door. All his anger seemed to dissolve, his energy sapped and his shoulders slumped. “You must think I’m a terrible father,” he said, his voice cold.

“I—I don’t know you,” Holly replied, reaching out to touch his arm. The instant she grazed his skin, a frisson of electricity shot through her fingers. She snatched them away and shoved her hand into her pocket. “I’ve already been paid. If you send me away without completing my duties, I’ll have to return the money.”

He cursed softly, then grabbed her hand and pulled her along toward the door. Holly wasn’t sure whether to resist or go along with him. Was he going to toss her out on her ear? Or did she still have time to argue her case?

“Pa, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he muttered. “I’ve got some business to take care of with this angel.”

2

“I WANT HER TO STAY!”

Alex ground his teeth as he stared at his son standing on the other side of his bed. Eric, dressed in his cowboy pajamas, had folded his arms over his chest, set his chin intractably and refused to meet Alex’s eyes. He used to see Renee in his son, in the dark eyes and wide smile. But more and more, he was starting to see himself, especially in Eric’s stubborn nature. “I know I’ve made some mistakes since your mother left and, I promise, I’ll try to make things better. We don’t need this lady to give us a nice Christmas.”

“She’s not a lady,” Eric said with a pout. “She’s an angel. My angel.”

Alex sat down on the edge of the bed and drew back the covers. “Her name is Holly Bennett. She gave me her business card. When was the last time you heard of an angel who had a business card?”

“It could happen,” Eric said defensively. “Besides, her name doesn’t make a difference. It’s what she can do that counts.”

“What can she do that I can’t?” Alex asked. “I can put up a Christmas tree and tack up some garland.” He patted the mattress and Eric reluctantly crawled beneath the covers.

“But you can’t bake cookies and make ornaments and—and—the last time Gramps made turkey it tasted like old shoes!” He slouched down and pulled the covers up to his chin. “If you haven’t noticed, Dad, she’s really, really pretty. Like supermodel pretty. And she smells good, too. She’s mine and I want to keep her!”

Alex didn’t need to be reminded of the obvious. If she hadn’t introduced herself as a mortal being, he might have believed Holly Bennett truly was heaven sent. She had the face of an angel, a wide, sensual mouth and bright green eyes ringed with thick lashes. Her wavy blond hair had shimmered in the soft light of the barn, creating a luminous halo around her head and accentuating her high cheekbones and perfectly straight nose.

No, that fact didn’t get past him. Nor did his reaction to her beauty—sudden and stirring, almost overwhelming his senses. Over the past two years he’d managed to ignore almost every woman he’d come in contact with, not that there had been many. Running a horse breeding operation didn’t put him in the path of the opposite sex very often.

He’d ignored social invitations and community events, secluding himself on the farm day and night and losing himself in his work. The last woman he’d touched was Eric’s teacher, Miss Green, and that was a benign handshake at the parent-teacher conferences. Never mind that Miss Green was fifty-seven years old and smelled of chalk dust and rose water.

But Holly Bennett wasn’t a spinster schoolteacher and she was hard to ignore. His fingers tingled as he remembered touching her, wrapping her delicate hand in his as he dragged her out of the barn. She was waiting downstairs at this very moment, waiting for him to decide her fate, and his mind was already starting to conjure excuses to touch her again.

“She could stay in the guest room,” Eric suggested.

Alex leveled a perturbed look at his son. “I’m not allowing a perfect stranger to—”

“Angel,” Eric corrected.

“All right, a perfect angel, to stay in our house.”

“Then she can stay in the tack house. No one’s stayed there since Gramps moved back into the house. He thinks she’s pretty and nice.”

“How do you know?” Alex said, raising an eyebrow.

“I can just tell.” His son set his mouth in a stubborn straight line.

Alex covered his eyes with his hands and moaned. If he sent Holly Bennett packing, Eric would never forgive him. And he wouldn’t hear the end of it from his father. Aw, hell, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea having her around. He hated stringing lights on the tree. The smell of evergreen made him sneeze. And he was more comfortable with curry combs than cookie cutters.

Besides, Christmas had always reminded him of Renee. Every ornament, every decoration brought back memories of their time together, time when they’d been a happy family with a bright future. The week after she’d left, he’d thrown out every reminder of Christmas she’d brought into the house, vowing to discard anything that brought thoughts of her betrayal.

But here was a chance to begin anew, to create Christmas traditions only he and Eric shared. Sure, Holly the Angel would be around, but she was nothing more than an employee, a helping hand during a busy season. And he was curious to learn who was paying her salary, a secret he might learn given time. “All right,” Alex said. “She has three days to prove herself and if everything’s going all right, she can stay.”