A Very Crimson Christmas (Crimson, Colorado 4) by Michelle Major

them than the present.
    “Liam can help me with breakfast,” she offered. “There’s a quart of strawberries to be washed and cut in the refrigerator.”
    “Great.” His relief was palpable and Ruth seemed satisfied, once again occupied with stacking Austin’s leftover Lego bricks.
    “She usually becomes more lucid as the day goes on,” Natalie told him quietly as he stepped close to open the refrigerator. He smelled like cold air and shampoo, the ends of his hair still damp. For a moment he paused, hand on the door and looked down at her, swayed closer for a moment. His gray eyes captured hers, and the memory of his hands on her body washed over her like the heat from a banked fire.
    “Did you have a good week?” he asked softly.
    “Busy,” she whispered. She’d been avoiding him since last weekend, since she’d practically attacked him on his patio. He’d told her he wanted a second chance and her reaction had been to maul him, like some crazy undersexed spinster desperate for any physical contact. Which she might be, but still...she liked to believe she had some pride left.
    One eyebrow lifted in silent question. It took her a moment to track back to the conversation at hand. Nope, not crazy at all.
    “I took on an extra shift at the senior center and I’m trying to get a bunch of jewelry made before Winterfest.”
    “I’ve seen posters around town. That’s the carnival next weekend?”
    She nodded. “They have a craft fair on Saturday afternoon. I wasn’t going to participate, but my friend Olivia insisted.” She placed her fingers around the refrigerator handle, careful not to touch his hand and opened the door.
    He stepped back and she took out a carton of eggs and handed him the strawberries. “How was your week?”
    A ghost of a smile played across his lips. “The good people of Crimson are certainly rolling out the red carpet to entice me to bring LifeMap to town.”
    She cracked an egg into a bowl and added a half cup of buttermilk, whipping the mixture together. Her first instinct was a sarcastic comment about how much more at home he’d feel in the flashier Aspen. She stopped herself, remembering her conversation with Jase, thinking of what she owed her old friend.
    “Crimson is a vibrant community,” she answered instead. “A lot of younger people and families are moving into town. It’s changing the dynamic. The area has a lot to offer.”
    “Does the town council have you on retainer?”
    He gave a small laugh as she handed him a cutting board and pointed to the block of knives across the counter. “I’ve been here my whole life. Who better to promote Crimson’s finer points?”
    “I remember when you were determined to leave this place.”
    “It was more my determination to stay with you,” she said before she thought about her answer. That was what lack of sleep would do, produce unnecessary honesty. She adjusted the burner on the stove and dropped a pat of butter onto the pan warming there. “What about you? Are you really thinking of returning to Crimson for the long haul or is this just some game you’re playing?”
    His hand stilled as he dumped the sliced strawberries into the bowl but he didn’t look at her. “Game?”
    “I know how angry you were when you left here. You felt like people in town blamed you for—”
    “I was an outsider. Of course they blamed me.” He took a mug from the cabinet and poured a cup of coffee. “I certainly blamed myself.”
    “You weren’t driving.”
    “I was—”
    “Mom, can we have chocolate chips in the pancakes?”
    She glanced to the kitchen table. “Sure thing, buddy.” Ruth’s eyes were knowing. Sometimes the woman was lost in the past and other times as perceptive as ever.
    “Liam, we’re decorating and hanging ornaments tonight,” Ruth called. “You should come over to help.”
    “Do you still have the singing Santa Claus?” he asked, placing his coffee mug on the counter and pulling out a chair next to