Baby, It's Cold Outside

  Baby it’s Cold Outside

  Donna Kauffman

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Teaser chapter

  Praise

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2003 by Kensington Publishing Corporation “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” copyright © 2003 by Donna Jean

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  First Ebook Edition: October 2020

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4892-3

  ISBN-10: 1-4201-4892-3

  Chapter One

  Jace Morgan slammed the hood down on his father’s old truck, then ducked his head against the driving snow as he trudged back around to the driver’s door. At this rate both he and Suzanna would be stuck in town. For the first time since arriving back in Rogue’s Hollow the day before, Jace felt like smiling.

  Being stuck in the snow with Suzanna York was very probably the best thing that could ever happen to him. Or the worst, he conceded, as he rumbled on down the two-lane country road. He was still a good half hour away from the train station . . . and his reunion with the woman he’d given his virginity to the summer he turned seventeen. Then walked away from the summer he turned eighteen. Ten years. A lifetime ago. An eternity. So much had happened since that summer, when they’d both had scholarships clutched in their hands . . . and dreams held just as tightly in their hearts. Dreams only a college degree could provide. He’d gone west to Indiana State and a basketball career that had ended just shy of the pros, but provided him with the immense pleasure of teaching the stars of tomorrow . . . both in the classroom and on the court. Zan had left their country life in the foothills of the Blue Ridge in Virginia and headed south to Georgia on an academic scholarship.

  They’d had plans. Such mature plans. They’d set each other free during their college years, to experience life in and out of the classroom. But free or not, they’d vowed to maintain their close friendship, not really believing anyone would ever replace the other in their hearts. Their bond was special, ageless, timeless. Had been from the moment they’d laid eyes on each other, skating on Old Man Ramsay’s pond when they were thirteen years old, days after Zan and her mom had moved into the guest house on the Sinclair property in the Hollow. Pretty much from that moment on, Jace couldn’t imagine a world without Zanna York in it.

  Suzanna, however, had apparently found a world without him a bit easier to conceive. Christmas hadn’t even arrived before she’d stopped replying to his letters, was unavailable when he called. He’d realized the hard way that he wasn’t as mature as he thought, because his heart had been shattered. And all these years later, he still hadn’t figured out how to reclaim every last piece of it.

  But he’d long ago assigned that broken heart to one of the many milestones a man had to pass on the way to adulthood. So what if he’d been an adult for some time now and still couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the reason he couldn’t give his whole heart to anyone else was because Zan York still held a small piece of it. The most vital piece.

  Swearing under his breath now, he focused on keeping the damn truck on the road. He should have told Frances he’d book Suzanna a room in town, find some way to get her picked up and delivered home by Christmas Day. Seeing as it was only hours to Christmas Eve and the snow was coming down blizzard strength, with no signs of letting up anytime soon, he knew that was a promise he couldn’t have kept. And why he should care was beyond him.

  But Frances’s phone call had caught him at a low point. Sitting alone in his father’s big empty house, his past weighing so heavily on him he thought it might crush him completely, he’d begun having serious second thoughts about taking that job offer. About coming back to Marshall County for good. If only his brothers had made it in before the storm. All four of the Morgan siblings were finally coming home for Christmas. Not all that unusual for some families, but for the Morgan clan, it was downright miraculous. Flung to the four corners of the earth, mostly to get away from their tyrant of a father, they hadn’t all been under the same roof in well over ten years.

  Sentimentality and a warm holiday spirit had never been enough to draw the siblings back together. No, it had taken the death of their father, Taggart Morgan, to accomplish what love alone never would. In fact, only his oldest brother, Tag, had made it back for the funeral a month earlier, before heading back to the project he was overseeing in some South American jungle. But with the old bastard finally gone, there was a hell of a lot to consider about what to do with the two hundred plus years of Rogue’s Hollow legacy left behind.

  The snowstorm had stranded his three brothers in various locations, none of them being the train station in Porterville. So he’d been the only one wandering the rooms, staring out across the fields, trying to answer the stable hands and majordomo’s questions, when all he had was more questions himself. There were appointments set up for after the holidays, with the lawyers and such. He supposed it would all be settled then, after he and his brothers shared some time alone to come to some of their own decisions.

  He stared through the windshield, as the wipers whipped back and forth, losing the battle to keep the windshield clear. Frances’s phone call had surprised him. He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d left for college. Had never, in fact, been back to Rogue’s Hollow since. He and his brothers kept in touch via the wonders of e-mail and cell phones, but none of them discussed home and hearth. Probably because none of them considered it such. Home for the Morgan boys had become wherever they hung their hat. And it had been a long time since any of them had hung anything in Rogue’s Hollow.

  Jace didn’t bother wondering how Frances knew he was back home. The Hollow, along with the little town of Highland Springs, was too closeknit a community to hide much of anything from anyone, but it wouldn’t have mattered if it were a metropolis; Frances York was a one-woman telegraph system. Jace doubted that had changed much. She’d always been close with her only daughter, and Jace knew she’d be more than happy to share every detail of why Zan cut him off all those years ago, and every last thing she’d done since. Not that he’d ever ask her. Then or now. To say he hadn’t thought of it, of her, especially at this time of year, and early summer, would be a lie. Hardly a Christmas or Memorial Day passed that he hadn’t. But contacting Frances was also opening up a conduit to a whole lot of grief he could do without.

  Frances had been bookkeeper to the Sinclair, Ramsay, and Morgan clans over the years. And it was a biological compulsion with her to share every last bit of news and goings on in the Hollow and Highland Springs with anyone who’d listen. He’d left that summer without ever intending to look back, and he hadn’t. Not even for Suzanna.

  Another dry smile creased his face. Odd how the one thing that had b
een his ticket out of there—basketball—was now the one thing that would bring him back for good. He shook off thoughts of the job offer he’d received hours after he’d been given the news of his father’s death. The timing couldn’t have been better, or worse, depending on how he looked at it. His program at the high school in Indiana had just been drastically cut, making him feel even more constrained than he’d already been feeling for some time. A feeler to a local small college in Missouri had dried up, and he’d been pondering his options, feeling restless. Rootless. Maybe even a bit homesick.

  He hadn’t told anyone he’d accepted the job, not his brothers, not even the school. The school officials knew he was coming back to settle his father’s estate, and had simply asked that he give them his decision by mid-January. That would give him time enough to be sure. And to find out what Tag’s, Austin’s, and Burke’s plans were as well.

  Right now it was more pleasurable to focus on Zan. What would she look like now? Would he even recognize her? It hit him then. What if he climbed the railroad platform, only to find her standing there with a husband holding her hand, and a couple of tow-headed kids clinging to her coat?

  Idiot! He swore under his breath. Sure, he’d thought about that over the years, but not once since Frances had called earlier this evening had it even occurred to him. He hadn’t come home expecting to see her, had no idea where or how she spent her holidays. Not for the same reasons, but she hadn’t been in any more of a hurry to return to the Hollow than he had all those years ago. She’d been hell-bent on seeing the world, conquering what part of it she could. He wondered if she had.

  Moving back again, he figured he’d see her at some point but had also figured he’d have plenty of warning. Instead he’d gotten less than an hour to prepare. Prepare for something that, if he were honest, he’d been waiting for since the moment they parted at that very same train station. Married, he thought again. It was definitely possible. He sighed, trying to adjust his whole thought process to that possibility. He just couldn’t manage it.

  No. Surely Frances would have mentioned if he was picking up a whole family. But hadn’t she been the one to suggest taking Taggart’s old truck? He’d assumed at the time that she knew—as only the town gossip could—that he’d driven home in a small sports car, hardly the thing for crossing the county in blinding snow. But maybe—No, he resolutely refused to think it. And a second later he laughed at his own thoughts. Like it mattered. Yes, he wanted to see her again, wanted to bury some long-held demons. But surely he hadn’t fooled himself into believing he was going to be burying anything else. Namely himself, as deep and hard into Zanna York as he could.

  Of course not.

  Which didn’t remotely explain why, as the miles crunched beneath the half-bald tires, his heart began to pound, his palms grew a bit damp and sweaty, and his cock grew a whole lot hard.

  He couldn’t seem to find a way to stop picturing that long-ago Christmas Eve, when he’d had Zan beneath him, pushed up to the hilt inside her, all that wet, warm, softness surrounding him, holding him so tightly . . . just as he held onto her tightly. Like she was everything a man could ever want or hope to have. He’d thought so then. And he’d told her so that night. Had, in fact, told her everything that was in his heart.

  Six months later they’d parted. And he’d never said those words to anyone ever again. Sure, over the years there had been women who were special. Women he’d wanted, desired. He’d given his body, his attentions, even his care and concern. But he’d never given up his heart.

  By the time he parked in the station lot, his blood was pounding as hard as the snow. The wind cut into his skin as he walked to the platform, but his emotions were what felt ravaged. Filled with anxiety, anticipation, and not a little dread, he forced himself to walk slowly, steadily. Not take the platform by storm, as he found he wanted to do, and tear through the clusters of families and other holiday reunions until he found her. Until he could touch her, hold her, taste her. Claim her once again.

  Sheer insanity, he told himself. More than once. It didn’t seem to want to sink in. But with every step, the hunger increased. Until he wasn’t entirely sure what he’d do if she had, indeed, arrived with family and spouse in tow. Get a freaking grip, Morgan, he schooled himself. But his hands were clenched into fists, small puffs of air exploded from his mouth as his breathing grew more rapid, and his strides grew longer and longer. People moved out of his way and he had to force himself not to shout her name. He really was losing his mind, he thought, wishing he could see the absurdity of his behavior and wrangle it back under control. The rate he was going, she’d take one look at him and scream for help.

  Not that it was going to do her any good, some darker voice inside him immediately responded.

  He wondered what everyone back in Indiana would think if they could see him now. For that matter, what everyone in the Hollow would think. Jace Morgan. The nice one. The quiet one. The calm one.

  Yeah, that was him. Except where Suzanna York was concerned. It had always been that way. And, apparently, no amount of time was likely to change that.

  Then the crowds suddenly parted, as if ordained by some higher purpose, and there she stood. There was no doubt it was her.

  His heart simply stopped, and the kind of hope he knew damn well he had absolutely no right to feel sprang to life inside him anyway. Long thick blonde hair, eyes so dark brown he could drown in them, and a smile as wide as the sky. She hadn’t changed at all. And yet, when she turned and spied him standing there, he realized that no matter what foolish ideas he might have, the reality was that she was a stranger to him now. He had no idea who this Suzanna York was, or what she had become.

  The second thing he noticed was that there was no man holding her hand, no kids hanging on to her coat. She was alone.

  And as he crossed the platform, reality didn’t seem to matter. Rational thought even less. Crowds ebbed and flowed around them, pushing and shoving their way past, but he was completely unaware of it. It was as if the two of them were trapped inside one of those glass snow globes, set apart in their own little winter wonderland.

  And Jace realized right then he was going to turn that globe upside down and shake hard. Ten years ago she’d turned his world upside down and shook his heart so hard it never fully recovered. So while he was home conquering the ghosts his father had left behind, he might as well work on getting this one taken care of, as well. One way or the other.

  Chapter Two

  Suzanna blinked the snow from her lashes. It was a mirage. A figment of her imagination. Okay, and maybe the result of a long train ride . . . and some very hot and wet dreams. She’d known he wouldn’t be here. She’d come home several times a year over the past decade . . . and not once had he, or for a long time, any of the Morgan brothers, been home in the Hollow. It never stopped her from daydreaming. And night dreaming. And basically just plain fantasizing about him. And what might happen if he should suddenly show up back home.

  And what he might do to her if he did.

  She shivered, and not from the cold and damp seeping through her coat. It was part dread because things hadn’t exactly ended well between them, for which she only had herself to blame. And she was dead certain he blamed her, too. The other part, however, was anticipation. Which no amount of dread could quash. After all, it had been ten years. Surely no one held a grudge that long.

  If she could have laughed at that moment, she would have. The Morgan family was famous—or infamous, actually—for holding grudges. But Jace had always been the easygoing Morgan. He’d left the Hollow rather than confront his father. And he’d let you go, too, she thought now, rather than track her down and demand to know why she’d stopped writing and calling. Why she’d let what they had slip away so easily, so quickly. As if it hadn’t been the most important thing in her life.

  Only she knew that while her bad judgment, and the choices she’d made because of it, had happened quickly, her regret had lasted forever. Of cou
rse, his heart had probably mended ages ago. Hers most certainly should have. But it hadn’t. Not entirely.

  Actually, that spot in her heart still twinged when she thought about him, about their past together, about the future they might have had, had she not so callously tossed it away at the first glimmer of a new love, so dazzling and shiny. So much more mature and exciting, she’d been convinced, than a high school sweetheart from her country town could ever hope to be. Well, she figured the occasional painful tug at her heart was the least she deserved. It had certainly served her well enough as a reminder, because she’d never made the same mistake again.

  Which is probably why you’re alone at Christmas. Again.

  She brushed at the snowflakes that gathered insistently on her lashes, watching, unable to tear her gaze away from the man presently moving through the crowd of holiday travelers.

  “It’s not him, Zan. Just stop it right now.” It couldn’t be him. It was simply the memories that this holiday always dredged up. Memories of the nights he’d made love to her, so fiercely tender, so possessive, she shivered a little even now, thinking about it. Yes, she’d probably romanticized it over the years, as only a woman could when thinking back to the first man who’d made love to her, who’d told her he loved her. Only there was a part of her who knew she hadn’t embellished one whit.

  Even as a young man, Jace Morgan had made love with such natural force and passion, had so completely made her body his own that, no matter how silly it sounded, he had totally ruined her for any other man. He was no fantasy. He was the real deal. How foolish she’d been to think she could so easily replace that. When, in fact, she’d never once come close.

  No, whoever it was she’d glimpsed through the crowd couldn’t be him. He’d never so much as set one foot in Marshall County in ten years. But that didn’t stop her heart from tripping over itself. Didn’t stop her temperature from rising. Didn’t stop her from thinking about what those lips, that tongue, those fingers, had done to every inch of her body—