A Hamilton Family Christmas - Donna Kauffman Page 0,88
but his imagination filled in the blanks quite nicely. “Down to the last drop,” he murmured, as he met her eyes once again.
It was simply payback for the abrupt eviction, and maybe a wee bit more for putting him so off balance. But his impulsive behavior backfired quite spectacularly when his caddish behavior didn’t earn him the expected scowl and possible swift boot straight out the door, but rather a far more delicious bloom of hot pink spreading across her delicate cheekbones.
Bollocks. He’d have to take several turns around the town square in the frigid cold morning air if he hoped to have even the slightest chance of taking his coat off at any point during his upcoming council meeting. He could only pray the windy chill would do what his normally stalwart willpower had not.
“Good-bye, Mr. Gallagher.”
“Have a good day, Miss ... ?”
“Duncastle,” she responded, polite to the end, despite her obvious dislike of him. When he didn’t respond right away, she sighed, and added, “Melody Duncastle.”
He nodded his appreciation, though he doubted she much cared. “Miss Melody Duncastle.” Her full name suited her, he thought. From her milkmaid complexion to her courtesan mouth, which was where his gaze was lingering.
“I’d wish you the same, Mr. Gallagher, but we both know that wouldn’t be sincere. Especially today.”
He chuckled at that, appreciating her honesty. A shame it looked as if they were to be adversaries. He could have used someone like her on his side. If only he could stop thinking about what it would be like to have her on her back.
He quickly tipped an imaginary hat her way. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ye, then,” he said, with a hearty, full-on brogue. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
“Of that you can be certain,” he heard her mutter as he left the shop ... whistling.
2
As the chiming bells on the door quieted, Melody wiped her damnably sweaty palms on her apron. “Wow,” she murmured beneath her breath. “This is going to be a little harder than I thought.” She relived the moment when he’d looked her up and down. And had to wipe her hands. Again. “Okay, much harder.”
She’d heard a great deal about Mr. Thomas Griffin Gallagher, but none of the reports she’d gotten had described his lethal good looks. Nor had she gotten the impression of him as a charmer. Quite the opposite, actually. The words she’d heard associated with Griffin, as she’d heard he liked to be called, had been more along the lines of determined, detail-oriented, driven, and hard-nosed—which she’d translated into bullying asshole.
Of course, the only people she’d talked to who had actually met the man were other men.
There had been talk that he looked nothing like his American-born relatives. But she still hadn’t been prepared for how startlingly different he did look. The whole town knew of his true heritage now that word had leaked out he wasn’t actually blood kin to the Gallaghers at all, but rather the direct descendant of Lionel Hamilton’s late wife, Trudy Hamilton, previously Trudy Haversham.
Hamilton Industries was the economic backbone that solely and uniquely supported the town’s ongoing existence. Though neither Lionel nor his forebears had ever been perceived as warm, or even particularly likable types, there was no denying his stewardship of his family’s many holdings had continued to make Hamilton a viable place to live and work. As such, there had been significant concern as Lionel’s health had declined over the past several years. Trevor Hamilton, his great nephew and the only Hamilton heir, had made it clear he was not interested in taking on the family empire. What would happen to their town and their livelihoods as time marched on?
It had been during last year’s holiday season that Holly Gallagher—then Holly Bennett—had taken over her mother’s Christmas shop in neighboring Willow Creek, which was also where Sean Gallagher ran his popular family restaurant. The two of them, now married, had unearthed a diary written by a young, pregnant Trudy in one of the dusty antique desks buried in the shop’s attic.
Apparently Trudy had been sent by her wealthy family in Richmond to a dotty old aunt in neighboring Willow Creek, to give birth to her out-of-wedlock baby in secret. The dotty aunt would see to the child’s eventual adoption, but teenager Trudy and her newfound friend, Sean’s own grandmother, had spirited the babe to the local parish, where he was placed with one of the many Gallagher families.