The Bachelor’s Christmas Bride by Victoria Pade Page A

and enjoying themselves—despite a few spills on the ice here and there—and there were kids galore.
    And if Shannon hadn’t just found out over dinner that Dag had played professional hockey, she would have discovered it then because many of those kids—as well as a few of the adults—seemed awestruck to be seeing Dag on the ice. They mentioned games and plays in which he’d apparently dazzled them.
    But in spite of the friendliness and the adulation, Dag was all hers. He answered whatever greeting or question or comment was aimed at him, he introduced her whenever the opportunity arose, but nothing and no one ever took him from her side or kept his primary focus from her.
    They skated for about an hour before the cold seeped through Shannon’s wool coat and earmuffs, through the crewneck sweater she was wearing, through the turtleneck that was underneath the sweater, even through her jeans.
    Dag didn’t appear as affected as she was, but before she had found the words to tell him that she was freezing, he said, “Home?” as if he’d read her mind. And Shannon jumped at the suggestion.
    Shannon was grateful when they finally reached it that Dag’s truck was already running again—thanks to his remote starter—so he could instantly push the heat to full blast. Then he left her there to warm up while he ran into the Groceries and Sundries without telling her why.
    â€œThe fixings for my famous hot chocolate!” he announced when he returned to the truck and got in, holding a bag in the air as if it were a prize of war. “I’ll build you a fire, fix you a cup of that and you’ll forget all about being frozen.”
    â€œWho says I’m frozen?” Shannon said defensively.
    â€œNot who, what—those two bright red cheeks and that even brighter red nose.” He flipped down the visor on the passenger side and pointed to the mirror there. “See for yourself, Rudolph,” he teased as he put the truck into gear and pulled away from the curb. “There I was, skating along, looking at where we were going instead of at you, and then I catch a glimpse of your face and you’re all lit up!”
    Shannon didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the way she looked, but she was a sight—her nose and cheeks were beet-red.
    Before she’d reacted in any way, Dag said, “Why didn’t you tell me that you were cold?”
    â€œAnd let you think I’m a sissy?” she challenged. “Besides, I shouldn’t have been any colder than you.”
    â€œ Ice hockey, remember? I’m used to it. Apparently they heat kindergarten rooms, huh?” he added with a wry glance in her direction.
    Shannon just laughed, glad that they’d reached the garage apartment.
    While Dag built a fire, Shannon went to do some damage control. First—following his orders—she removedthe socks she had on and replaced them with two pairs of dry, heavier ones she’d snatched from a drawer and brought into the studio apartment’s bathroom with her. After that she focused on what she was most concerned with and went to the mirror above the sink.
    She was glad to discover that her nose was no longer bright red and that her cheeks had calmed to merely a rosy glow. The knit cap she’d worn and now removed had mussed her hair, so she put a brush through it and then applied a little lip gloss.
    Despite the calming of her coloring, she was still feeling chilled when she left the bathroom, so she made a beeline for the fireplace.
    â€œFire is definitely more my speed than ice,” she said with one last shiver. “You are a sissy,” he teased, bringing two steaming cups with him when he joined her.
    Shannon took one of the mugs he offered, first encircling it with both hands to warm them and then tasting the rich, frothy brew that it held. “Oh, wow, you and chocolate must be a match made in heaven—this is not