alone against him.
Sometimes, still, he came to the house from the forge to find an anonymous casserole at the door, or fresh-baked cookies, or a brand-new toy or outfit for Ace.
At first it had been hard for him to accept, but at some time Nate had realized it wasnât charity. It was something deeper than that. It was why people chose to live in small communities. To know they were cared about, that whether you wanted it or not, your neighbors had your back.
And you didnât just keep taking that. In time, when you were ready, you offered it back.
Nate wasnât really sure if he was ready, but somehow it felt as if it was time to find out. And so that awareness of âsomething deeperâ was how he found himself saying yes to the volunteer job of helping to build sets.
Since the school auditorium was the only venue big enough to host The Christmas Angel, Nate knew it was going to put him together again with Morgan McGuire. He knew it was inevitable that their lives were becoming intertwined. Whether he liked it or not.
And for a man who had pretty established opinions on what he liked and what he didnât, Nate Hathoway was a little distressed to find he simply didnât know if he liked it or not.
Â
Morgan marched her twenty-two charges into the gymnasium. The truth was, after being so stern with Nate about the benefits of The Christmas Angel coming to Canterbury, she was beginning to feel a little sick of the whole thing herself.
The children talked of nothing else. They all thought their few minutes on television, singing backup to Wesley Wellhaven, meant they were going to be famous.They all tried to sing louder than the person next to them. Some of them were getting quite theatrical in their delivery of the songs.
The rehearsal time for the three original songs her class would sing was eating into valuable class time that Morgan felt would be better used for teaching fundamental skills, reading, writing and arithmetic.
Today was the first day her kids would be showing The Christmas Angel production team what they had learned. Much of the team had arrived last week, filling up the local hotel. Now The Christmas Angel âs own choir director, Mrs. Wesley Wellhaven herself, had arrived in town last night and would be taking over rehearsing the children.
As soon as Morgan entered the auditoriumâwhich was also the school gymnasium, not that it could be used for that because of all the work going on getting the only stage in town ready for WesleyâMorgan knew he was here.
Something happened to her neck. It wasnât so sinister as the hackles rising, it was more as if someone sexy had breathed on her.
She looked around, and sure enough, there Nate was, helping another man lift a plywood cutout of a Christmas cottage up on stage.
At the same time as herding her small charges forward Morgan unabashedly took advantage of the fact Nate had no idea she was watching him, to study him, which was no mean feat given that Freddy Campbell kept poking Brenda Weston in the back, and Damien Dorchester was deliberately treading on Benjamin Chinâs heels.
âFreddy, Damien, stop it.â The correction was absent at best.
Because it seemed as if everything but him had faded as Morgan looked to the stage. Nate had looked sexy at his forge, and he looked just as sexy here, with his tool belt slung low on the hips his jeans rode over, a plain T-shirt showing off the ripple of unconscious muscle as he lifted.
Letâs face it, Morgan told herself, heâd look sexy no matter where he was, no matter what he was wearing, no matter what he was doing.
He was just a blastedly sexy man.
And yet there was more than sexiness to him.
No, there was a quiet and deep strength evident in Nate Hathoway. It had been there at Cheesie Charlieâs, it had been there when he sat in the pink satin chair at The Snow Cave. And it was there now as he worked, a self-certainty that really was more
Sometimes, still, he came to the house from the forge to find an anonymous casserole at the door, or fresh-baked cookies, or a brand-new toy or outfit for Ace.
At first it had been hard for him to accept, but at some time Nate had realized it wasnât charity. It was something deeper than that. It was why people chose to live in small communities. To know they were cared about, that whether you wanted it or not, your neighbors had your back.
And you didnât just keep taking that. In time, when you were ready, you offered it back.
Nate wasnât really sure if he was ready, but somehow it felt as if it was time to find out. And so that awareness of âsomething deeperâ was how he found himself saying yes to the volunteer job of helping to build sets.
Since the school auditorium was the only venue big enough to host The Christmas Angel, Nate knew it was going to put him together again with Morgan McGuire. He knew it was inevitable that their lives were becoming intertwined. Whether he liked it or not.
And for a man who had pretty established opinions on what he liked and what he didnât, Nate Hathoway was a little distressed to find he simply didnât know if he liked it or not.
Â
Morgan marched her twenty-two charges into the gymnasium. The truth was, after being so stern with Nate about the benefits of The Christmas Angel coming to Canterbury, she was beginning to feel a little sick of the whole thing herself.
The children talked of nothing else. They all thought their few minutes on television, singing backup to Wesley Wellhaven, meant they were going to be famous.They all tried to sing louder than the person next to them. Some of them were getting quite theatrical in their delivery of the songs.
The rehearsal time for the three original songs her class would sing was eating into valuable class time that Morgan felt would be better used for teaching fundamental skills, reading, writing and arithmetic.
Today was the first day her kids would be showing The Christmas Angel production team what they had learned. Much of the team had arrived last week, filling up the local hotel. Now The Christmas Angel âs own choir director, Mrs. Wesley Wellhaven herself, had arrived in town last night and would be taking over rehearsing the children.
As soon as Morgan entered the auditoriumâwhich was also the school gymnasium, not that it could be used for that because of all the work going on getting the only stage in town ready for WesleyâMorgan knew he was here.
Something happened to her neck. It wasnât so sinister as the hackles rising, it was more as if someone sexy had breathed on her.
She looked around, and sure enough, there Nate was, helping another man lift a plywood cutout of a Christmas cottage up on stage.
At the same time as herding her small charges forward Morgan unabashedly took advantage of the fact Nate had no idea she was watching him, to study him, which was no mean feat given that Freddy Campbell kept poking Brenda Weston in the back, and Damien Dorchester was deliberately treading on Benjamin Chinâs heels.
âFreddy, Damien, stop it.â The correction was absent at best.
Because it seemed as if everything but him had faded as Morgan looked to the stage. Nate had looked sexy at his forge, and he looked just as sexy here, with his tool belt slung low on the hips his jeans rode over, a plain T-shirt showing off the ripple of unconscious muscle as he lifted.
Letâs face it, Morgan told herself, heâd look sexy no matter where he was, no matter what he was wearing, no matter what he was doing.
He was just a blastedly sexy man.
And yet there was more than sexiness to him.
No, there was a quiet and deep strength evident in Nate Hathoway. It had been there at Cheesie Charlieâs, it had been there when he sat in the pink satin chair at The Snow Cave. And it was there now as he worked, a self-certainty that really was more
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