he said, handing Bridget the flashlight as he opened his billfold and pulled out the cash—the only paper he could think of.
But he wasn’t prepared for what else was tucked away between the bills.
With a red border and a festive stocking printed above three distinct images, the photo strip sat prominently on top. Two images of them, all silly smiles. The final shot captured them kissing—looking as if they were made for each other. He’d forgotten he’d tucked the evidence from their time in the photo both away in his wallet. Clumsily, he slid the strip to the bottom of the pile, but Bridget’s sharp intake of breath signaled her surprise and recognition.
“I remember the sound of the flashbulb,” she whispered, and the vice grip that held his heart captive loosened a fraction.
But this wasn’t the time to unpack the cluster of competing emotions that boiled to the surface at the thought of Bridget Dasher. More than that, he had no time to worry about looking like some sucker who’d saved her picture. Working quickly, he set a few bills on the floor, then returned the picture and the rest of the money to his wallet.
He struck a match, lit the first bill on fire, then held it near the logs. Thank Christ, the covered porch had kept the wood dry. He stared at the flame, dancing in the darkness as the lapping orange glow took hold and the top log began to burn.
His muscles trembling from the frigid temperatures, and the adrenaline tapering off, he sat back as the small fire crackled and took hold in the hearth.
“Mommy said you were rich, Uncle Scooter. But I didn’t know you were so rich that you could light money on fire.”
There was that pint-sized spitfire of a five-year-old.
Lit by the glow of the burning logs, he couldn’t hold back a relieved, grateful grin. “I don’t usually like to burn money, Cole. But this was a unique situation.”
“Here, you’ve got to be cold,” Bridget said, handing him his coat.
He slipped it on. “Did you check Cole? Is anything broken, or are there any signs of frostbite?
She patted the boy’s shoulder. “I’m no doctor but, he looks okay to me. He had on his gloves, and he can still move his fingers and toes.”
“Are you warming up, buddy?” he asked.
Cole nuzzled into Bridget’s lap, pulled the blanket over his head, and let out a heart-wrenching sob.
Bridget uncovered the child’s face. “What is it, honey? Does something hurt?”
The boy shook his head as tears streamed down his cheeks. “My glasses! I lost my glasses, looking for the Christmas fairy. I was running and running because I thought this would be the perfect place to see a fairy. It’s far away from anyone, and it’s got a fairy name,” the boy whimpered.
He patted Cole’s leg. “Lucky for you, Uncle Scooter and Aunt Birdie found them,” he said, pulling the frames from his pocket and handing them over.
“It’s not Aunt Birdie. It’s just Birdie, Uncle Scooter,” Cole corrected, slipping on the red frames.
“Right, just Birdie.” He glanced at Bridget, who looked at him with such tenderness that the breath caught in his throat. “Sorry, you know what I meant,” he finished, sounding nothing like a sharp-witted corporate raider and everything like a tongue-tied enamored teenager.
They stared at each other. The flickering glow of the fire sent shadows across her face. She was so hauntingly beautiful it was almost too much. He’d seen plenty of attractive women. Models and socialites dolled themselves up for a chance to spend the evening on his arm. But those women couldn’t hold a candle to Bridget Dasher. Completely disheveled, with wild dark tendrils framing her face, he’d never seen anything quite as exquisite as this radiant woman. And again, like each time before, he couldn’t ignore the pull between them.
“You’re staring,” she said softly with the trace of a sweet smile.
He pretended to check the fire. “I wanted to make sure you were all right, that’s all.”
“Do you want to kiss Birdie, Uncle Scooter?” Cole asked, perking up.
His mouth opened and closed like a confused goldfish. “No, why would you even think that?”
“Because you’re looking at her real, real hard. Like she’s a cookie, and you want to eat her. But you can’t eat a person. So, I thought you really, really, really wanted to taste Birdie, and the only way to do that is to kiss her.”
Holy hell! This kid was way more observant than any kindergartner should be.