Hunt for Christmas
A Novella from the Under the Kissing Bough Christmas Collection
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…He did seem to care about his body, she noted. He had wide, broad shoulders that tapered to narrow hips. She imagined that his flat stomach would be firm and toned. Whether he worked to achieve that lean, healthy body because of vanity, the pleasure of working out, or for necessity because his job required it, she didn’t know. She also didn’t know why, when she’d seen thousands of male bodies before, his made her pulse increase. Maybe it was because he wasn’t on an examining table and she wasn’t his doctor.
“I need to talk to you about the Fa La La Cajun Christmas on the Bayou Celebration,” she said, shifting in the rocker to fully face him.
He stood, walked down the stairs and sat on the second step.
Dear Lord. How do I have a serious discussion with him when he’s a moving target? She promptly followed him down the steps and stood nearby. “Your island is important to the success of the celebration.”
His response was to pick up a pair of running shoes, knocking them upside down against one another, before putting them on his bare feet.
She moved to stand directly in front of him. “It’s quite a serious matter.” He looked at her tapping foot and smiled. Heat rushed into her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it. She pressed her foot soundly to the ground.
“You’re wound up with too much energy, Doc.” He tied his shoes in a slow easy manner. “Let’s go for a walk.” He stood.
She joined him as he started to walk away. Her phone dinged in her back pocket as she reached Hunter’s side. She read her text – it was from Edward. Do you want me to come to the island to assist you?
Her phone dinged again. Another text. It was from her mother: Don’t let Edward go to the island. You’ll have a better chance to convince Hunt to change his mind if it’s just the two of you. We’ve met him. He’s safe. You won’t need your papa’s gun from the boat just in case you were thinking about that. Don’t forget to finger-comb your hair.
And then there was a third text from her older sister, Sarah: He’s really handsome. Smile a lot and don’t shoot him.
She’d been home for less than an hour and her family was already trying to tell her what to do and play matchmaker. Both reasons why she’d left in the first place.
“There are always things to do,” she repeated his words. He laughed softly. “I have a thing to do right now,” she said, directing the conversation to the purpose of her visit.
“To discuss the over commercialization of Christmas?”
“To discuss the under-appreciation of tradition,” she replied.