Jillian Hart by Sara's Gift (A Christmas Novella)

she were waiting for him to argue. As if she wanted him to. She reached for her coat.
    "The wind is stronger than when I came home." He grabbed the butter from the pantry. "Look, I bet you can't even see Connie's lights from here."
    "I can't stay here, Gabe. It wouldn't be right."
    "Because of your reputation?" He spooned a heaping chunk of butter into a small pan.
    Because I don't belong here. Where seeing Mary had once been her dream and spending a day with her an unimagined privilege—now it was torture. Sara knew she didn't belong here and never would. And with the way she was falling in love with Gabe—why, what good could come of that?
    Oh, she thought she was so smart, but in truth, she couldn't hold back her heart. This man was from her dreams, strong and gentle, handsome and brave, infinitely kind.
    The love she felt was for Gabe Chapman, the man, and not because he was Mary's father. The gleam of affection nestled in her heart—so bright and vibrant—was for him, all for him. For the man with the lopsided smile and easy humor who made her feel as if she'd never been truly kissed, never honestly loved before.

Chapter Eight

    "Mary loved having you here to help tuck her into bed again." Gabe ambled down the hall and stepped into the light of the parlor. He liked seeing Sara sitting on the sofa, making snowflakes for their tree, her skirts fanning around her slim frame. "I think she would have rather stayed up much later and learned how to do that."
    "This? Oh, it's just tatting." She held out the little wonder that Mary had marveled over less than an hour ago, made of string and Sara's ingenuity. "I think that looks about right, don't you?"
    "Just like a snowflake." He wanted to reach out, wanted to pull her against his chest and cradle her in his arms, just to hold her. Well, in truth he wanted to do more than that, but holding her would be a nice place to start. A very nice place indeed.
    She somehow knotted the end of string and added another snowflake to the pile. "I think Mary will be excited to wake up tomorrow morning and see how these turned out."
    "You make her very happy, Sara. And me too." He lifted the kettle off the stove. The single lamp in the room illuminated the polished table, the leftover bowl of popcorn, and Sara's soft, honest beauty.
    Light sheened on her dark hair, like starlight chasing midnight shadows, and shone in her luminous eyes, round with want and worry. That light caressed her as he could not, brushing the gentle curve of her cheek and jaw, touching the tempting shape of her Cupid's mouth, playing at the curves of her breasts and hips.
    Now he could see the advantage in a Montana blizzard. Sara was trapped here, unable to even cross the street without great risk of becoming disoriented, even lost in the storm. Gabe felt particularly grateful because, as the evening progressed, he knew now for certain, she was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
    "You wouldn't happen to have any starch?" Sara asked, her head bowed over her work, already spinning the little silver object she held around the white length of string. She twisted it and turned it and made magic, made snowflakes, delicate and intricate and all for Mary's tree.
    "You never know what's in my cabinets. I'll check in the lean-to for you." He hated leaving her sight, but her smile warmed him for the few frigid minutes it took to rummage around in the cold lean-to and find the container of starch. The kitchen smelled like steeping tea and the lingering scent of popcorn.
    "It feels right, you standing in my kitchen." He set the jug on the counter, unable to take his gaze from her, instincts warning him to go slow. His touches and spoken feelings had scared her off before, and so he held back what burned in his heart, sweet aching affection that seemed to grow every time he looked at her.
    "I know you're searching for a mother for Mary, but just because I'm here doesn't mean I'm the right candidate." She tried