A Billionaire for Christmas(35)

She nodded, her legs shaky. “Thank you.”

He set her aside gently, and picked up the ax. “Move farther back. I don’t know how far the wood chips will fly.”

Teddy had dozed off, his chubby cheeks a healthy pink. She kept her arms around him as Leo notched the bottom of the tree trunk and took a few practice chops. At the last minute, he shed his heavy parka, now clad above the waist in only a thermal weave shirt, green to match his surroundings.

It was ridiculous to get so turned on by a Neanderthal exhibition of strength. But when Leo took his first powerful swing and the ax cut deeply into the tree, Phoebe felt a little faint.

* * *

Leo was determined to make Phoebe happy. The trunk of this particular fir was never going to fit into a normal-size tree stand. He’d have to cobble something together with a large bucket and some gravel. Who knew? At the moment, his first task was to fell the sucker and drag it home.

At his fifth swing, he felt a twinge in his chest. The feeling was so unexpected and so sharp, he hesitated half a second, long enough for the ax to lose its trajectory and land out of target range. Now, one of the lower branches was about two feet shorter than it had been.

Phoebe, standing a good ten feet away, called out to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Tree chopping was damned hard work. Knowing that her eyes were on him, he found his stride again, landing four perfect strikes at exactly the same spot. The pain in his chest had already disappeared. Probably just a muscle. His doctor had reassured him more than once that Leo’s health was perfect. Trouble was, when a man had been felled by something he couldn’t see, it made him jumpy.

Before severing the trunk completely, he paused before the last swing and tugged the tree to one side. The fragrance of the branches was alluring. Crisp. Piquant. Containing memories of childhood days long forgotten. Something about scent leaped barriers of time and place.

Standing here in the forest with sap on his hands and his muscles straining from exertion, he felt a wave of nostalgia. He turned to Phoebe. “I’m glad you wanted to do this. I remember Christmases when I begged for a real tree. But my dad was allergic. Our artificial trees were always beautiful—Mom had a knack for that—but just now, a whiff of the air brought it all back. It’s the smell of the holidays.”

“I’m glad you approve,” she said with a charming grin. Standing as she was in a splash of sunlight, her hair glistened with the sheen of a raven’s wing. The baby slept against her breast. Leo wondered what it said about his own life that he envied a little kid. Phoebe’s hand cradled Teddy’s head almost unconsciously. Every move she made to care for her sister’s child spoke eloquently of the love she had for her nephew.

Phoebe should have kids of her own. And a husband. The thought hit him like a revelation, and he didn’t know why it was startling. Most women Phoebe’s age were looking to settle down and start families. But maybe she wasn’t. Because, clearly, she had hidden herself away like the unfortunate heroine in Rapunzel’s castle. Only in Phoebe’s case, the incarceration was voluntary.

Why would a smart, attractive woman isolate herself in an out-of-the-way cabin where her nearest neighbors were knocking on heaven’s door? When was the last time she’d had a date? Nothing about Phoebe’s life made sense, especially since she had admitted to working once upon a time in a highly competitive career.

A few thin clouds had begun to roll in, dropping the temperature, so he chopped one last time and had the satisfaction of hearing the snap that freed their prize. Phoebe clapped softly. “Bravo, Paul Bunyan.”

He donned his coat and lifted an eyebrow. “Are you making fun of me?”

She joined him beside the tree and reached up awkwardly to kiss his cheek, the baby tucked between them. “Not even a little. You’re my hero. I couldn’t have done this on my own.”

“Happy to oblige.” Her gratitude warmed him. But her next words gave him pause.

“If we eat dinner early, we can probably get the whole thing decorated before bedtime.”

“Whoa. Back up the truck. I thought we had plans for bedtime.” He curled a hand behind her neck and stopped her in her tracks by the simple expedient of kissing her long and slow. Working around the kid was a challenge, but he was motivated.

Phoebe’s lashes fluttered downward as she leaned into him. “We do,” she whispered. The fact that she returned his kiss was noteworthy, but even more gratifying was her enthusiasm. She went up on tiptoes, aligned their lips perfectly and kissed him until he shuddered and groaned. “Good Lord, Phoebe.”