Five
A little over an hour later Andrea emerged from a store wearing her new purchases, a puffy, bright red jacket, and a red and navy-blue wool hat with matching gloves.
“I look like an overripe tomato,” she said, unable to curb a bubble of laughter.
“You do not,” Brandon said. “You’re insulting my taste. If I’d left it up to you, you would have gotten the boring beige one, or the gray, or the black. You’re extremely festive in that ensemble. Besides, it was all very democratic, you know. The selection of the coat, hat and gloves was put to a vote.”
“Right,” Andrea said dryly. “And the woman who owns the store and had one of the votes just happens to be someone you went to high school with. The ballot box was a tad stuffed, Mr. Hamilton.”
Brandon shrugged. “Whatever works. The fact remains that you can’t get into the holiday spirit wearing a drab jacket, Ms. Cunningham.”
“Oh? Your coat is tan.”
Brandon glanced down at his suede jacket lined with white sheepskin.
“Please, madam, bite your tongue. Don’t you realize that this is a creation that literally hollers machismo ? Only the mean and lean—a man’s man—wear these coats. I look like a cowboy out of the Old West.”
“Okay, okay,” she said, raising both gloved hands. “I surrender.”
“You do?” he said, grinning at her. “Terrific. Then you won’t argue about the next event on our agenda.”
“Picking up the music boxes for Aunt Pru and Aunt Charity? No problem.”
“That’s not next.” Brandon grabbed one of her hands. “Come on. If we hurry, we can make the light to cross the street.”
“But...”
Andrea stopped speaking as she hurried to keep up with Brandon’s long-legged stride.
This was so crazy, she thought. She now owned a jacket, hat and gloves that were as out of character for her as her dumb car.
The scene in the store had been silly and... well, yes, fun. She couldn’t remember when she’d laughed so much, felt so young and carefree.
Brandon and the owner of the store had ganged up on her, shouting their disapproval at her selections of somber-colored coats. She’d finally thrown up her hands in defeat and allowed the merry pair to deck her out like a radish.
If she didn’t start behaving like the Andrea Cunningham she knew, there was no telling what she might do during her two-week stay in Prescott.
Andrea glanced up quickly at Brandon as he continued to urge her forward.
That was a sobering thought, she mused. She seemed to be falling more and more under the spell of this compelling, incredibly handsome, charming man.
Why wasn’t she demanding that Brandon stop this nonsense, go directly to the store where the music boxes were waiting to be retrieved, then return her to the hotel?
Good question, she thought. So what was the answer ? There she was, being dragged to heaven only knew where to do heaven only knew what, without a peep of protest. Why? She really didn’t know.
After they’d crossed the street, Brandon left the sidewalk and tromped right into ankle-deep snow.
“What are you doing?” Andrea said. “This is snow.”
“Very good,” he said, chuckling. “You may go to the head of the class. You are now standing on what is known as the town square, or the plaza. That majestic building there is the county courthouse. Do note the gazebo to your right that has been decorated to look like Santa’s workshop. Cute, huh?”
“Yes, yes, it is,” Andrea said, sweeping her gaze over the area. “The trees look like something out of a Christmas fairy-tale book the way they’re covered in snow. It’s very pretty.” She paused. “Did we have to stand in the snow to appreciate the view?”
“Yep, because we’re going to build a snowman.”
“What?”
“Have you ever built a snowman, Andrea?”
“No.”
“Then it’s my duty as a resident of Prescott to rectify that sorry situation.”
Brandon stopped speaking for a moment as he looked around.
“My parents are no longer living, but when I was a kid,” he said quietly, “my dad and I had a tradition. When the first big snow of the season fell, he’d bundle me up, bring me down here and we’d build a snowman on the square. My mom would have hot chocolate with marshmallows—lots of marshmallows—waiting for us when we got home.”
“That’s a lovely memory,” Andrea said softly. “An enviable one.”
Brandon nodded, then looked directly into her eyes. “Let’s make a memory, Andrea. Together. We’ll build a dynamite snowman.”
Andrea opened her mouth to retort with an emphatic no, to tell Brandon that her feet were already cold, that she was an adult, not some child who was about to frolic in the snow, for mercy’s sake. No, absolutely not.
Let’s make a memory, Andrea. Together.
But she didn’t speak as Brandon’s quietly spoken words hummed in her mind, then encircled her heart with a warmth that caused her to totally forget the chilled condition of her toes.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Let’s make a...” A memory. A memory like none she had in the nearly empty treasure chest in her heart. A special memory. With Brandon. “A wonderful snowman.”
And so they did.
And it was fun.
They were soon joined by several children, who helped roll the huge balls of snow, then lifted them into place. Everyone was slipping and sliding, falling into the wet snow, then staggering to their feet once again.
Andrea was laughing so hard that she knew she was in danger of getting the hiccups. But, oh, what fun she was having. She was helping to build an honest-to-goodness Frosty the Snowman for the first time, and the enchanting adventure was fabulous.
“All right,” Brandon shouted, punching a fist into the air. “The head is on. It’s lookin‘ great, team.”
“I’m coming, Brandon,” a woman called. “I just don’t move as fast as I did in the old days.”
The group turned to see a plump woman in her sixties hurrying toward them. She was wearing men’s floppy galoshes, and she was clutching a heavy sweater closed over her ample breasts with one hand. She had something in her other hand.
“Martha!” Brandon said, then gave the woman a big hug when she reached them. “Andrea, this is Martha Hill. She and her husband own the café across the street there. Martha, this is Andrea Cunnngham, a guest at Hamilton House. And this fine fella—” he swept one arm in the air “—is Andrea’s very first snowman.”
“And he’s a beauty,” Martha said, smiling. “I saw you out here, Brandon, and it just warmed my heart. It brought back the days when you and your daddy would be building a snowman from the first snowfall. My job in those days was to bring you a carrot for a nose, radishes for a mouth and figs for eyes. So, here I am.”
“I love you,” Brandon said, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek.
Martha deposited the goodies in Brandon’s cupped hands.
“Come over to the cafe for something hot to drink when you’re finished,” Martha said. “All of you. Brrr. It’s cold.”
Martha hurried away and Brandon poked the of ferings into place on the top ball of snow.
“Oh, my,” Andrea said. “He’s alive now, and he looks so real and happy.”
Brandon slid one arm across her shoulders and pulled her close to his side.
“Do you like him?” he said, looking down at her.
“He’s wonderful,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Thank you, Brandon. I won’t ever forget building my first snowman.”
“Good. Then we did it. We made a memory together.”
“Yes. Yes, we did.”
In front of the smiling snowman and the wide-eyed children, Brandon lowered his head and kissed Andrea.
He can’t do this, Andrea thought. Brandon was kissing her in public, in the town square of Prescott. This was terrible. This was embarrassing. This was... divine.
This kiss was another memory they were making together.
Brandon slowly and reluctantly raised his head.
“You must be cold,” he said, a gritty quality to his voice.
Not really, Andrea thought, rather dreamily. How could a person be cold when there was such allconsuming heat swirling within her? No, oh, no, she wasn’t the least bit cold.
“Hey, Brandon,” a man said.
Brandon turned his head in the direction of the voice, but kept Andrea tucked by his side.
“Jeff,” he said. “How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain,” the man said. “I heard you were down here building a snowman, and I came to take a picture for the paper. We’ll probably save it for the special Christmas Eve issue.”
Andrea blinked, bringing herself from the sensual haze she was encased in.
“A snowman is big news?” she said.
“You bet,” Jeff said. “This is the first snowman of the year on the square. Okay, everyone, line up, with Frosty in the middle. Then I’ll get your names.”
“Oh, I don’t think...” Andrea started.
“Exactly,” Brandon said. “Don’t think. This isn’t Phoenix, Andrea. You don’t have to worry about your reputation. None of your megabucks clients will see our dinky little newspaper.” He frowned. “Besides, would it be all that terrible if one of the head honchos saw that you’d done something as human as building a snowman?”
Andrea matched Brandon’s frown. “Men have far greater leeway in the corporate world, Brandon. Women have to walk the straight and narrow at all times. You must be aware of that fact from your years in that world.”
“I worked with an attorney in the firm in New York who had a baby.”
“Did she move up to being a partner after the birth of her child?” Andrea said.
“Well, no, but...”
Andrea poked her pink-from-the-cold nose in the air. “I rest my case.”
“Hey, Brandon,” Jeff said. “Am I taking a picture here or not?”
“Andrea?” Brandon said.
What should she do? she thought. There she stood, a soggy mess, having just romped in the snow like a child. She would definitely not want any of her clients to see her like this.
But Brandon was right. This was Prescott, not Phoenix. What reason would there be for any of her clients to read a small-town newspaper?
Not only that, she hadn’t been behaving true to form since she’d arrived on top of this freezing cold mountain. So, what the heck.
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “We’re taking a picture with the most magnificent snowman ever built on the town square of Prescott, Arizona.”
“Way to go,” Brandon said, then dropped a quick kiss on her lips.
The picture was taken, then the group went across the street to the café. The children settled into one of the blue-leather booths, while Andrea and Brandon sat opposite each other in another.
Martha set huge mugs of hot chocolate in front of them, the surface of the steaming drinks covered in melting marshmallows.
Brandon stared at the mug.
“I know your mother always had a drink like this waiting for you and your father after you built the snowman, Brandon,” Martha said quietly. “Your mother was one of my best friends, and I still miss her. When that plane your folks were on went down, I was devastated. I hope I haven’t upset you by serving you this drink.”
“No, no, I‘ m fine.” Brandon smiled at Martha. “It was a very thoughtful thing to do. Thank you, Martha.”
Martha nodded and walked away.
“You’re very fortunate, Brandon,” Andrea said. “This whole town is like an extended family for. you.”
Brandon nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I hadn’t thought about it quite like that.” He chuckled. “There’s also a certain lack of privacy, too, you realize. Not much goes unnoticed and ungossiped about here. I’d say there are about twenty people who already know that I kissed a pretty lady in a red coat on the square.”
“Oh,” Andrea said, her eyes widening.
“Don’t panic.” Brandon paused. “Look, why don’t you start viewing your visit here as the vacation that it is. Don’t stew. Don’t worry. Don’t fuss. Just enjoy. Do whatever feels right at the moment. How does that idea sound?”
“I’ve never operated like that in my entire life.” Andrea frowned, then laughed in the next instant. “Correct that. I haven’t been acting true to form ever since I strolled onto the new car lot in Phoenix and bought my candy-apple-red sports car, just as bold as you please.”
“You own a red sports car?” Brandon said with a hoot of laughter. “I don’t believe it.”
“Neither do I,” she said, still smiling. “That’s only one example of what exhaustion has done to my brain.” Andrea paused and stared into space. “I’ve been behaving like a stranger even to myself. Weird. Very weird.”
“But not all bad?” Brandon said, his smile fading as he looked at her intently.
Andrea met his gaze. “No. No, it hasn’t been all bad,” she said softly, no hint of her smile remaining.
No, not at all, she thought. Kissing Brandon, being held in his strong arms, had been wonderful.
Buying her coat, building a snowman, had been such carefree fun.
Meeting friendly people like Aunt Pru, Aunt Charity, Ben, and Jennifer, being so warmly welcomed, was, so nice, so different from what she was accustomed to.
No, being in Prescott was definitely not all bad.
“So?” Brandon said, realizing he was hardly breathing. “Will you do it? Go with the flow, live for the moment at hand, during the remainder of your stay here?”
“Well,” Andrea began slowly. “Yes, I guess so. That’s what I seem to be doing already, so if I agree to your suggestion, then maybe I won’t feel so out of control, so off kilter.” She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know. Between my exhaustion and adjusting to the high altitude, I don’t seem capable of thinking very straight. I’m not being sensible and organized, like I usually am. And apparently I don’t have much choice in the matter.”
“That’s fine. That’s good. That’s great.” Brandon took a much-needed deep breath. “Just keep on keeping on, exactly as you are.”
“Well, at this precise moment, I’m going to the ladies’ room,” Andrea said.
“It’s in the back,” Brandon said.
Andrea slid out of the booth, and Brandon watched her until she disappeared through the designated door. He shifted his gaze to Andrea’s mug of hot chocolate, then the empty place where she had been sitting.
He liked looking across the table at Andrea Cunningham, he thought. She’d only been gone a few minutes but, well, he missed her, wanted her to hurry back so he could see her smile, hear her laughter, watch the emotions that were reflected so clearly in her expressive dark eyes.
Andrea was becoming very important to him very quickly, he had to admit.
If Andrea hadn’t come to Prescott, he wouldn’t have built a snowman on the square, wouldn’t have relived the fond memories of his father.
Now he was sharing hot chocolate and marshmallows with Andrea, bringing her into his world again, into his past, by having the traditional drink prepared by his mother after the construction of the yearly snowman with his dad.
And it felt good.
And very, very right.
It was as though there had been something missing from his existence since he’d gotten Hamilton House up and running. There had been a void, an emptiness he’d been unaware of, that he’d filled with working long hours at the hotel.
But now Andrea was here and he felt more complete, more at peace, than he could ever remember.
Brandon dragged both hands down his face.
Oh, man, he thought, what was going on here? What was Andrea doing to him? What was happening between them?
He just didn’t know, but he had every intention of finding out.
Butterflies dancing.
Brandon stiffened, every muscle in his body tensing, as his mind suddenly whispered the whimsical story about the butterflies, told to him by Aunt Pru and Aunt Charity.
Was that what he wanted? he thought. To fall in love, see the butterflies dancing, have a home, be a husband and father?
His entire life would change if he chose to travel down that road. Wouldn’t a man know if that journey was the one he yearned for? Maybe not, if there had been no woman to nudge awake those hidden hopes and dreams.
But what if...
Andrea.
Brandon stared at the empty place across the table, envisioning Andrea so clearly he felt as though she’d already returned to the booth.
Was that what was happening to him? he thought, feeling a trickle of sweat run down his chest. Was Andrea slowly but surely opening a dusty door in his heart that had been firmly closed until she’d fainted in his arms?
Brandon glanced up and saw Andrea walking toward him, her coat over her arm, a soft smile on her lips as she approached.
Was he falling in love with this woman? he thought frantically. Did he want to be in love with Andrea Cunningham? He had to have some answers before he went right out of his beleaguered mind.
Andrea slid into the booth, stirred the hot chocolate and took a sip.
“Mmm,” she said. “Delicious and sinfully rich, with all those melted marshmallows in it.” She paused. “You haven’t touched your drink, Brandon.”
“What?” He shook his head slightly. “Oh. Right.” He lifted his mug. “To snowmen and memories.”
And to butterflies dancing? he wondered. He didn’t know. He just didn’t know.
“Hear! Hear!” Andrea said, tapping her mug lightly against his.
They chatted about a variety of everyday topics as they finished their drinks, then they bid Martha and the children goodbye.
When they stepped outside, they discovered that it was snowing again. Andrea tipped her head back, stuck out her tongue and caught a big, lacy flake of snow.
“There,” she said, laughing. “Another first. Snowflakes, however, don’t taste as good as hot chocolate and marshmallows.”
“Nope,” Brandon said, managing to produce a small smile. “They surely don’t.”
Andrea cocked her head to one side and looked at him questioningly.
“Is there something wrong, Brandon?” she said. “You seem so... Oh, I don’t know...tense, preoccupied, all of a sudden.”
“I do?”
“Yes, you certainly do.”
“Well, I...”
“Hey,” a voice called. “There they are.”
Brandon’s head snapped around at the sound of the familiar voice.
Saved by Rizzoli, he thought.
Ben joined Andrea and Brandon where they were standing on the sidewalk in front of the café.
“Ah, the mysterious woman in the bright red coat,” Ben said, grinning. “Who was well and truly kissed by Brandon Hamilton after they built a snowman on the square. And who is that woman? As I live and breathe, it’s Ms. Andrea Cunningham.”
“Oh, dear heaven,” Andrea said, feeling a warm flush of embarrassment on her cheeks.
“You’re a gossipmonger, Rizzoli,” Ben said, glaring at him.
“No, I’m not,” Ben said. “I’m just an attentive listener. Four people have shared this bulletin with me so far. News does travel fast in Prescott, old buddy. The snowman is a beauty, by the way. I saw it as I was walking over here for some lunch. It reminds me of the ones you used to build with your father when we were bratty little kids, Brandon.”
Brandon nodded.
“It’s my very first snowman,” Andrea said, smiling at Ben.
“Is that a fact?” Ben said. “You’ve lived a far too sheltered life. We need to do something about that.”
“We are,” Brandon said. “Come on, Andrea. We have to pick up the music boxes for the aunts.”
“Snow angels,” Ben went on, ignoring Brandon. “You can’t leave Prescott without having flopped down in the snow and created a snow angel.”
Andrea laughed. “That sounds like fun—freezing, but fun. Do you like my coat, Ben? I’d definitely stand out in a crowd in this creation.”
“It’s stunning,” Ben said. “Red is an excellent color for you to wear, and at the moment it matches the shade of your cold nose.”
Andrea and Ben burst into laughter, the happy sound grating on Brandon’s nerves like fingernails scratching down a chalkboard.
Where did Benjamin Rizzoli get off flirting with Andrea? Brandon fumed. Rizzoli was pouring on his Italian charm ad nauseam. Well, Ben was going to have to find his own woman, because Andrea...
Was his?
Andrea Cunningham was Brandon Hamilton’s woman?
Ah, hell, he was driving himself nuts.
“That’s it,” Brandon said. “We’re out of here.”
“What’s it?” Andrea said, looking up at him.
“It?” Brandon said. “Oh. Well, the weather, the snow, the temperature. You’ll catch a chill if we stand here. Let’s go.”
“Join me for lunch?” Ben said.
“No,” Brandon said quickly. “I mean, thank you, but we just had hot chocolate.”
“With marshmallows,” Andrea said. “It was absolutely delicious.”
“I bet it was,” Ben said. “How are you feeling today, Andrea?”
“She’s fine,” Brandon said, gripping Andrea’s arm. “But she won’t be if you don’t put a cork in it so we can be on our way. Say goodbye, Ben.”
“Goodbye,” he said then hooted with laughter. “Ben.”
“Corny,” Brandon said, frowning.
“It was nice to see you again, Ben,” Andrea said.
“The pleasure was all mine, I assure you, lovely lady,” Ben said.
“Very corny,” Brandon said. “See ya.”
As Andrea and Brandon walked away, Ben folded his arms over his chest and watched them go, a wide smile on his face.
“Fascinating,” he said to no one. “Man, oh, man, I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Well, better Brandon than me, and Taylor would agree with me on that score.”
With a rumbly chuckle, Ben entered the café.