Booked for Christmas

hill. He’d have a pretty clear view of her for a good ways into town. But that still didn’t answer one question. Sophie frowned. “Why? Why were you keeping watch?”
His eyes were tight, in spite of his smile. “Seeing a bear chase you would break up the monotony of Starlit Grove.”
Sophie glared at him. “You—”
“Kidding, kidding.” Wolfe’s sardonic eyebrow crept up. “I saw the cobwebs on the snowshoes.”
Sophie’s cheeks flushed and she bent her head to hide it. Prodding at her ankle and wincing, she said, “Well, I’m really glad you’re here. But I don’t think I can make it home. Would you mind going back and calling the ambulance? Maybe they can get the snowplow out here and then come up the hill to get me.” She hated to use the few emergency workers in Starlit Grove for something as stupid as a twisted ankle, but she didn’t know what else to do.
“We don’t need the ambulance,” Wolfe said dismissively. Before she could ask him to clarify, he briskly unstrapped her unisex snowshoes, took them off her feet, and strapped them to his boots. Next, he slung the tote bag over his shoulder. Then he bent down and scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing.
Sophie couldn’t help the surprised yelp that left her mouth as he settled her against his hard chest. “Are you serious? You’re going to carry me all the way home? It’s half a mile.”
Wolfe glanced at her. “I’m well aware. I’ll be fine.”
“Famous last words,” Sophie mumbled.
But he kept his word, barely breathing harder as they walked on, back up the hill toward the cabin. She watched it get closer for a moment, desperate for its warmth and comfortable sofa. Then she turned her attention to Wolfe again, studying his pink cheeks as he walked, the day-old stubble coating his upper lip and jaw, his tousled dark hair hanging onto his forehead. He felt steady; strong and capable. Weirdly enough, she felt safe in this moment.
Sophie blinked, dispelling the thought. Wolfe was the enemy. Maybe he was being chivalrous right now, but he hated her books and, therefore, he hated her.
As if reading her mind, he said, “Where were you taking these books, anyway? They weigh as much as a small elephant.”
Was that a dig on her writing? That her prose was bloated or something? Stiffening her chin, Sophie replied, “For your information, there are people in this world who enjoy my work.”
“Never said there weren’t,” Wolfe said easily, adjusting her in his arms. Then, frowning at her in disapproval again, “Your ears are red. Take my scarf.”
“I don’t want your scarf. I’m fine.”
“Just like your ankle’s fine?”
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, and something inside Sophie began to simmer and grow warmer. Her breathing upped just a notch, and suddenly, she was very aware of every place he was touching her—her thighs, her upper back, her arm. Although there were layers of fabric between them, her skin began to tingle. She cleared her throat and looked at his scarf, untangling it from around his neck to wrap it around hers. She pulled the border of the scarf up above her nose and ears, breathing in the scent of him: cloves and cinnamon and fresh mountain air. “Thanks,” she muttered, her voice muffled by the fabric. She was having a hard time meeting his eye.
“Sure.” He was looking straight ahead now, too.
What’s happening? The thought whizzed through Sophie’s mind before she could stop it, but she pushed it firmly out. Nothing was happening. And in any case, they were at the cabin.

9
Wolfe settled her gently on the sofa, pulling the blanket he’d folded and set on the back of the sofa over her legs. It was toasty in the cabin, and for the first time since she’d fallen, Sophie felt like she might de-thaw.
“Thanks,” she said again, touched at this surprisingly nurturing side of Evan Wolfe, but he didn’t answer.
Instead, he took off the snowshoes and sat on the coffee table, making it creak slightly in protest. Pulling one corner of the blanket back, Wolfe looked at her leg. Gingerly, he took her snow boots and socks off and studied her puffy ankle. “No bruising,” he said, prodding gently with his cool fingers. When Sophie sucked in a breath, he looked up at her. “I think you’ve just sprained it. I’ll get you an ice pack from the kitchen and a couple of Motrin.” He set her foot carefully back on the couch and covered it up with the blanket again.
Sophie rested her head against the back of the couch. “Wow.”
“What?”
“You’re just being so…” She searched for the words and decided “unexpectedly nice” was probably a touch rude. “Should I be calling you Dr. Wolfe?”
He smirked. “I did a year of medical school at OHSU before I realized life was too short to spend it studying under fluorescent lights. And before that, I took care of my little brother Jake. He was always getting himself into ridiculous situations that required medical care.” He took in her narrowed eyes. “Oh. Not that you’re ridiculous or that this situation was foolish in the least.”
Sophie quirked her mouth at his sarcasm-coated apology. She didn’t think Wolfe was capable of having a normal conversation with her. “Mm hmm. How old is Jake?”
“Nineteen—six years younger than me. Our parents got divorced when I was ten and he was four. With a single mom who worked twelve-hour shifts as an ICU nurse, I became the default caregiver.” He shrugged and began to take off his coat. Hanging it up on the quill-shaped coat hook, he added, “I didn’t mind it, surprisingly. Jake and I had a good time.” He smiled a little at some unspoken memory.
“Jake’s lucky.” Sophie sat up, unwound Wolfe’s plaid scarf from around her neck, and unzipped her coat. Taking it off and setting both on the coffee table, she said, “I was an only child.”
Wolfe took her coat