Alanna made a grab for Josie, caught the hood of her jacket, then smashed a handful of snow on her blond curls. "Shut up, you little brat, or I'll bury you inside this snowman."

"Uncle Nathan, Lannie told me to shut up, and Aunt Emilie says we're not s'posed to say that!"

Nathan looked up from the driveway. "Girls."

It was all he said, all that was needed to make Josie roll her eyes, then brush the snow from her hair.

Alanna rolled her eyes, too, then muttered, "She's such a pest."

"She's a little sister, dear. That's what she's supposed to be." Agatha gave the girl a smile. Alanna Dalton was quite possibly the prettiest girl in all of Bethlehem , not that Agatha was prejudiced, of course. Everyone knew she had a crush on Caleb Brown, the eldest of J.D. and Kelsey's adopted children, and everyone knew her feelings were returned-everyone, it seemed, but Alanna and Caleb. They were so cute together, so innocent and sweet. Theirs well might be one of those rare childhood loves that lasted forever.

Or, she acknowledged silently, it could be a meaningless infatuation that would soon pass. But the romantic in her hoped for the former.

Most folks would laugh at the notion that a romantic lived within her. She was past seventy, an old maid. Her time for romance had come and gone. Plenty of her friends would tell her to put such foolishness out of her head.

But she was old, not dead. And if she wanted to pass her days dreaming of a certain man's attention, that was her business and no one else's. After more than fifty years without Sam, she was entitled to whatever foolishness in which she chose to indulge.

"Ready, Miss Agatha?"

Jarred from her thoughts, Agatha realized they were ready to lift the ball onto the snowman's base. She bent, slid her gloved hands underneath and listened to Alanna count.

"One, two, thr-"

"Hey, Lannie, there's Caleb," Josie teased. "Quick, go comb your hair an' check your clothes an' pretend you're not 'magining him with a great big dumb birthday bow on his head." She made loud smooching sounds, then said breathily, "Oh, Caleb! I'm so glad to see you. I've missed you so much."

"Uncle Nathan!" Alanna pleaded at the same time as he spoke her sister's name in a warning tone.

Agatha turned her attention to the vehicle pulling to the curb. The instant she saw Bud behind the wheel, she fought the girlish urge to check her own appearance. She was too old for that sort of nonsense ... but not for the shivers that danced down her spine. She would never be too old for the giddy pleasure the mere sight of the man brought her.

The children approached first, respectfully greeting her and Nathan before joining the Dalton children. Bud acknowledged Nathan with a nod and a jocular greeting about some shoveling needed at their place, if his back held up. Then he slowly-finally-brought his attention to her. "Miss Agatha," he said politely. "This cold weather has brought a bloom to your cheeks."

Feeling shy, charmed, and tongue-tied all at once, she demurely lowered her gaze. "Why, yes, I-I suppose it has. What brings you into town this fine morning?"

"I promised my grandchildren lunch in town-and my son and daughter-in-law a few hours of peace and quiet. We're having a bit of a disagreement, though. The kids want burgers and hot-dogs at Harry's, while I was envisioning something a little more refined. I understand the restaurant at the McBride Inn is very good."

"Yes, it is."

"Trey and Caleb were eager to propose a solution, of course. They feel they're quite capable of looking out for the younger children for an hour or two. Seeing that Caleb took care of them for nearly two full months after their father's death, I'm inclined to believe them."

"I'm sure it's an excellent solution." She'd never seen a more capable child than Caleb-or Trey.

"There's just one problem." Bud removed one glove and combed his hand through his white hair. "After my wife died, I never did get the hang of eating alone in restaurants. It's difficult to enjoy good food when you're wishing for someone to talk to. So I was thinking... If you don't have plans ... and you wouldn't mind..." Getting a bit of a bloom in his own cheeks, he took a deep breath, then rushed the words: "Would you do me the honor of having lunch with me, Agatha?"

Slowly she smiled. She felt as if the sun had come out on a dreary day, or an unexpected hot spell had driven winter's chill away. "It would be my pleasure, Bud," she said. And she truly meant it. * * * "What do you normally do with your free time?"

Holly regarded Tom though the steam rising from the china cup she held carefully with both hands. "What free time?"

"You get weekends off."

"Well, I'm spending this one answering questions from you. My last weekend off, I went to Buffalo , where you were much less inquisitive."

"That was before you turned down my proposal. Before you insisted we get to know each other first."

"I did not-" Seeing his grin, she swallowed her protest and settled on a sigh instead. "You know, most couples get to know each other by simply knowing each other. You find out that I like to shop by spending time following me in and out of stores. I find out that you like action movies by getting dragged to every one that comes out."

"I don't like action movies."

"It was just an example."

"But a bad one. Don't you know anything you could use as a good example?"

"All right." She studied him for a moment longer, decided she liked the view better without the steam, and lowered her cup to the table. "I find out that you had a difficult upbringing by your reluctance to talk about it."

True to her statement, he said nothing.

"The point is, people don't usually get to know each other by playing Twenty Questions."

"Couples."

She blinked. "What?"

"This time you said people. Earlier you said couples."

"No, I didn-" Scowling, she said, "Well, I didn't mean anything by it."

"Come on, Holly, you admitted we were a couple. 'Couples' are totally different from 'people.' Couples are romantically involved. People are just ... people ."

She sat back, folded her napkin neatly, and laid it on the table. "Apparently, I'm spending my free time this weekend listening to nonsense."

"Everyone in town thinks we're a couple." He gestured around the dining room. "Did you see their faces when we walked in together?"

"They wouldn't think a thing, if you would give up this ridiculous idea of our getting married."

He stared at her, his rugged features unreadable. "I want to marry you. I like being with you. When we're not together, I think about you. I wonder what you're doing, who you're with, if you ever think about me. I want you, Holly. What's so ridiculous about that?"

The delivery was stilted, the words certainly words she'd never expected to hear from him. But then she'd never expected a marriage proposal from him, had she? Even so, there was a part of her that would find it incredibly easy to believe his little speech. A part of her that wanted to believe it, that was tempted to throw caution, good sense, and intelligence to the wind, to let him tell her his lies, to let herself believe. Thankfully, her rational side was stronger.

"What isn't ridiculous about it?" she asked coolly. "It's all part of a game to you, Tom. Go into business. Check. Conquer the local business world. Check. Conquer the global business world. Check. Amass more money and power than you could possibly ever need. Check. What sort of challenge is left? Gee, find a wife. You don't have a clue what being married is about. You don't have a sentimental bone in your could, you don't give a damn about anything but yourself, your wealth, and your power, and you for damn sure don't have a heart, but what the hell. Get married anyway. Great. Wonderful. But leave me out of it."

His expression didn't change even fractionally, but somehow his eyes seemed darker, colder. The set of his jaw was harder. He sat there, motionless, looking at her. Just looking. For a moment she thought he might get up and walk away, or unleash the coldly devastating anger he was famous for and leave her in shreds on the dining-room floor.

She didn't think he might very slowly, very coolly, smile and softly say, in a tone sharp enough to cut, "And here I thought you didn't know me at all."

His sarcasm pricked. It made her face flush, and her gaze lower to the table. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of that."

"Why not? It's true. I don't have a clue what being married is like. Where I grew up, the only married people were women who had been abandoned by their husbands. A lot of the women there, like my mother, had never been married. I've never lived with a woman, never shared any part of my life with one. I have certain expectations of marriage, I admit, but I have no idea whether they're at all realistic."

"What expectations?"

He studied her for a moment, as if debating whether to trust her. Then he shook his head and changed the subject. "What do you do on a Saturday afternoon after lunch?"

His conclusion that she couldn't be trusted stung. She felt as if she'd been offered something important, then lost it because of her bad behavior. Five minutes ago, she hadn't even known she wanted to know. Now she wanted it badly. "I give no peace to people who refuse to answer my questions," she teased gently. "Since I'm the one you have these expectations of, don't you think you should tell me what they are? Maybe they'll make it seem..." She was about to say "less ridiculous." Instead, she substituted, "More reasonable."

Before he could answer, or refuse to, two departing lunch guests interrupted. "Holly, Mr. Flynn," Miss Agatha said cheerily. "I do hope we're not intruding."

Holly forced an extra dose of friendliness into her smile. "Not at all, Miss Agatha, Bud. Did you enjoy your meal?"

"Oh, it was wonderful, as always. You might have heard the compliments flowing if you hadn't been lost in your own little world with your beau. You two make a lovely couple."

Under the table, Tom nudged her foot with his, and he lifted one brow in an I-told-you-so way. She kicked him and smiled sunnily. "That's one of the advantages of being beautiful," she said in a carelessly vain voice. "No matter which man you catch me with, we're always a lovely couple."

"Have you set a date yet?" Bud asked.

"We're not get-"

Tom grasped her hand in what appeared to be an affectionate gesture. Instead, it cut off the blood flow to her fingertips. "Holly wants to do it right away, but I think we should take the time to plan a proper wedding. After all, we're only going to do this once. There's also the problem of where to live. Her apartment's much too small for the two of us, so I thought we should build a house. Not far from here, of course. Perhaps beside her lake."

Indignance fled, and Holly stared at him. She was vaguely aware of Agatha's and Bud's voices and of their leaving, but she couldn't pull her attention from Tom long enough to say goodbye. The instant they'd turned the corner into the lobby, she demanded, "Who told you that?"

"What?"

"That I always wanted to build a house out there."

He shrugged as if it didn't matter. "No one told me, but it's a good location. It's close enough to the inn that you'd be able to keep an eye on things, and yet maintain your privacy at home. The site is basically cleared, it has easy access, and- Why are you looking at me like that?"

It wasn't a big deal, she told herself. So what if, out of the blue, he had picked the one place she would have chosen? It didn't mean a thing. He didn't have any insight into her. They weren't in sync with each other in any way.

In spite of the breath she drew, she sounded a bit shaky when she asked, "Is that an occupational hazard for you? I'm kissing you, and you're noticing ways to benefit from my property?"

He relaxed his hold on her hand, eased her fingers flat, and lifted her palm to his mouth for a lazy, innocent, intimate kiss. "For the record, I was kissing you. And I wasn't noticing anything except how good it felt."

She thought about freeing her hand from his, but if she did, he couldn't repeat that hot, damp kiss and would have to stop rubbing the pad of his thumb across her wrist. "You-" She cleared her throat. "You shouldn't have told Miss Agatha and Bud that I want to get married right away."

"I didn't. I said you wanted to 'do it' right away, and you do."

"But they thought-"

"Who cares what they thought?" He didn't kiss her hand again but clasped it firmly between both of his. It was amazing how his warm touch could raise goose bumps beneath her sweater and send a delicious shiver down her spine. "You never did tell me what you do on Saturday afternoons."

And he had never told her his expectations of marriage. But she let that slide for the moment. "How about watching a movie in my apartment?"

"All right."

"Damn. If I'd known you were going to be so agreeable, I would have suggested an afternoon of mad, wild passion."

"Not until the time is right, darlin'." Standing, he kept her hand in his and pulled her to her feet. She resisted being tugged around the table long enough to ask one reluctant question.

"What if the time is never right, Tom?"

He gave her a long, intense look that hinted at regret deeper than she'd suspected he could feel, and he quietly replied, "Then that would be my great loss."

The words knocked her levelheaded, never-a-sucker-for-a-pretty-line feet right out from under her. He would consider losing her a great loss? Not a relief, not inconsequential, but a loss? No man in her life had ever thought such a thing, much less said it aloud. "Wow."

He smiled faintly. "Your favorite word?"

"No. I'm impressed. I never figured I'd be a great anything to you besides a headache."

"As I told you, you sell yourself cheap. You've got a lot more to offer a man than just pleasure and pain. Someday you'll realize that." He started toward the lobby, pulling her along behind. "Come on. Let's catch a movie."

* * * The afternoon remained vivid in Tom's mind. On Tuesday he could still feel the totally unexpected stab of pain at Holly's words after lunch: You don't have a sentimental bone in your could, you don't give a damn about anything but yourself, your wealth, and your power, and you for damn sure don't have a heart... The fainter ache at her surprise that he would regret losing her. The incredible sense of satisfaction when the afternoon was over.

They'd done nothing-just watched movies, eaten chocolate, and talked very little. She'd pulled the shades, turned off the lights, and sprawled on the couch with him. At some point in the second movie, he'd fallen asleep, only to awaken to a blank screen in a dark room with her head tucked under his chin. There'd been no phone calls, no pages, no faxes, no interruptions whatsoever. He couldn't recall the last afternoon he'd wasted with such laziness.

Or accomplished so much. He'd watched movies and eaten junk food. He'd held Holly. Dozed off beside her. Kissed her awake. Endured her talented caresses in those moments before she awoke enough to understand that he really meant no. He'd spent the hours the way every man he knew might have spent them. Doing normal things as if he were in a normal relationship.

But how normal could it ever be when she believed he didn't give a damn about anyone but himself? And after spending much of his life not caring about anyone else, how could he convince her that now he did? She had said couples learned by being and doing things together, by observing and experiencing. But pair her insecurities with his inadequacies, and it would take a lifetime for him to make her understand.

"So we've decided to rebuild the Alabama factory at the North Pole, next to Toyland, so shopping for the baby will be easier."

As Ross's words filtered through his thoughts, Tom slowly blinked, then looked around. He was sitting in the conference room one floor below his office, where he had apparently zoned out halfway through a meeting. Water glasses and coffee cups were scattered along the length of the table, chairs pushed back haphazardly, and everyone else was gone except his boss, who sat across the table from him. "Huh?"

Ross laughed. "Thank you. That's the most profound statement you've made this afternoon. Wish you could have made it to the meeting. Things went pretty well. I'd ask where you were, but I've got a pretty good idea. How's Holly?"

"Stubborn."

"Most good businesspeople are. I hear you two are building a house."

That focused Tom's attention more fully. "We're not ... I just said that..."

"The communication network in this town is amazing. However, a house isn't a bad idea. Her apartment's fairly small. If you choose an architect now, they should be ready to break ground by spring."

Tom scowled at him. "You think she's going to marry me? Because I have zero desire to live here if she turns me down."

"She's already turned you down. You mean if she does it in a way that you have to accept." Ross curbed his grin. "I don't know what she'll do. My first impulse is to believe she'll say no and mean it. But people can surprise you. You, for example. I never imagined that you would ever want to get married, and certainly not to her."

"Why wouldn't I want to get married? Everyone does it. Am I so different?"

Looking uncomfortable, Ross shifted in his chair. "It's just..."

"The coldhearted-snake thing. The unfeeling bastard. The shark."

"No," Ross said sharply. "It's not that. You can't be as tough as you are in business and not get called names. Hell, you can't be a lawyer without getting called a name or two. It's about your job, not you."

Except that every woman he'd ever had an affair with had called him bastard at one time or another, and the woman he wanted to marry believed he didn't give a damn about anyone, least of all her. That made it about him.

"Where does it stand now?" Ross asked.

"She's still saying no. So am I."