1. Max

CHAPTER 1

Max

I feel her before I see her. She’s like a ripple of energy, electricity that lives under my skin every time I get near her. I turn and inhale sharply.

There she is. The beauty that I’ve seen for the last week every time I turn around. And when I don’t see her, I wonder where she is and if she’s alright.

I’m a crazy, obsessed stalker apparently. My lips twist as I watch her watch a family from town hungrily. Her greedy gaze is locked on them as they happily carry their Christmas packages to their extended cab truck.

She looks half angry and half sad and my chest aches so much that I paw at it, rubbing it ruthlessly. Her dark curls are scraped back in a vicious ponytail that leaves the sharp, elegant angles of her cheekbones and chin delicately exposed. Her tiny body is swimming in a sweatshirt and blue jeans that feel like they’re not hers. Like she borrowed them from someone bigger than her.

Considering that she’s practically pocket-size and probably only comes up to the middle of my chest, it wouldn’t be that hard to assume she borrowed someone’s clothes and they aren’t anywhere near her size. She reminds me of a little, angry, sad Christmas elf and I want to take her home and stick her up on the shelf of my office and just stare at her until I finally get my fill.

Funny. I don’t think that that day will ever happen. There’s just so much to her that I can’t explain. She’s not perfect. Her nose is a little too snub, her eyes a little too big for her delicate face. Her eyebrows aren’t carefully-shaped like some women I’ve seen that come into my bar. She’s a naturally-pretty, girl-next-door type that would turn heads no matter where she goes. There’s a scowl on her face. A face that looks like it should always be smiling and the scowls hang heavy on her features.

Her body’s thinner than it should be. She should be thick with curves that beg for a man’s hands. In my eyes, I can see what she could be. Right now, she looks like she’s skipped a good few meals and I don’t like it. I want to take care of this girl.

But she is a girl and that’s what gives me pause. She’s got to be barely in her twenties and I’m nowhere near that anymore. I’m staring in the eyes of forty and I’ve got the gray hairs in my beard to prove it.

I keep one eye on her as I move closer. I need to see her closer. Need to know what her skin smells like and dammit! I should get my ass kicked for even thinking that.

I growl and stumble back away from her slender little body. She seems to be thinking and then her eyes look up and lock on mine and my breath locks in my throat. Dazzling lavender-blue. Her eyes are gemstone beautiful and I can’t look away. My heart pounds in my chest and then it’s like something’s torn from me when she looks away and walks up to the tree painfully slowly. The breeze off Wildwood Mountain plays with a loose dark curl and twists it until she grabs it and pulls it back and away. Her slender fingers shake and that possessive need to hold her, take care of her prods at me again.

Her hand reaches out and touches the tree that graces the town square. It towers over her, its dark green needles glaring among all the white snow on the ground.

She rubs the pine needles between her fingers and smiles, leaning forward to sniff the prickly thing. Her smile gets bigger, her pale cheeks coloring slightly when she looks up and sees me watching her. I look away and move one step, then two, then three away from her. Every step feels like another cut to my soul and I am starting to wonder if I’m losing my mind.

I don’t even know her name and yet she feels important to me.

I turn away and stride back to the doorway of my bar, Fire on the Mountain, and turn at the last minute. In time to see her take one of the little pieces of paper with the red ribbon on it that the mayor had put in small baskets alongside the tree. Another basket holds colored pens and I’m not really surprised when even from this distance I see her pull a flashy red glitter pen out and lean heavily against the rustic table provided. She scratches something on the paper and scrunches up her little nose and I can almost see the wheels turning in her pretty head. Her hands lift and she reaches towards a basket and then looks at a large trash barrel further along the path. She starts towards it and then I see her frail shoulders droop, her arm reaches around and holds her belly.

I hold my breath because if she throws it away, I’m going scrounging in the trash until I get my hands on it.

But she steps towards the tree and lifts the paper up, wrapping the ribbon around one of the evergreen limbs. Then her eyes dart back and forth, she seems to sigh and then she walks away, never looking back.

I cannot even wait until she’s out of sight. I stomp over and pull the folded piece of snow-white paper out, grinning at the loopy red glitter handwriting. Until I read the words.

I need help. I need a job. I’m an accoutant and I’ll be happy to take care of all your accounting needs.

Such simple words. I need to work. That’s all she wants for Christmas.

And it breaks my fucking heart that she’s obviously desperate for help but yet has no idea how to ask.

I flip the card over and see that she’s written her name and phone number on it. I’m surprised that she has a phone but I guess all of us have had to make sacrifices to keep the little things that modern life needs.

I put that little slip of paper in my pocket and walk back to my bar, opening the door and looking back at the tree thoughtfully.

That tree may have just given me the best or worst thing in my life. Depending on whether I can get her here and keep my hands to myself. She’s like catnip to me for some reason.

But she’s too young for me. I need to remember that. I can help her. That’s only human. We all sometimes need help.

But I cannot touch this girl. That would go against all my finer sensibilities. Such as they are.