No Christmas Like the Present by Sierra Donovan Read Free Book Online Page B

front of her stove, assembling the ingredients. In her kitchen, all uncertainty dissolved, and Lindsay transformed into a woman in control. Fred was no fool. He added in his marshmallows.
    â€œWhere did you get this recipe, anyway? Your grandmother?”
    Lindsay blushed. “Internet.”
    â€œYou can’t be serious.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve heard of people using computers for other things, like meeting someone to marry. But something as important as fudge?”
    â€œWell, sort of. I started out with a bunch of recipes I found on the Internet. Then I experimented. I like to add some milk chocolate in with the semisweet. And a lot of people use marshmallow creme in ajar, but I—”
    â€œI bow to your expertise. Just show me how it’s done.”
    Lindsay continued stirring, with Fred following her example. A thoughtful crease appeared across her brow as she bent over her task. Her hair slipped forward to partially obscure her face like a curtain, falling in waves of whisper-light brown. It looked unbearably soft. He felt an irrational urge to bury his fingers in it.
    â€œYou’ve never used a computer, have you?” Her question caught him off guard.
    â€œNever needed to. I’m more of a field staffer.”
    â€œDo they use computers, where you come from?”
    Too many questions, and about things that didn’t matter. “The mix is boiling,” he said. “What now?”
    â€œIt never comes to a boil this fast.” Lindsay’s attention shifted to the critical matter at hand. “Quick, keep stirring. I forgot the candy thermometer.” Still stirring her own pot, she took a wide step to her left with one foot and rummaged in a drawer just barely within her reach. Her eyes widened in alarm. “I didn’t think. I only have one candy thermometer.”
    â€œSo we’ll time my batch to match yours. What’s the worst that can happen? You’ll still have one good batch of fudge, and I’ll be out of your way.”
    She might have looked displeased at the thought, even as she scrabbled through the kitchen drawer. He hoped so. But if she hadn’t sensed from the beginning how heavily this bet was hedged, she still had a lot to learn about him.
    Lindsay retrieved the candy thermometer and clipped it inside her saucepan. For a few minutes they stirred side by side in silence. Now and then she hunkered down, knees bent so she was at eye level with the candy thermometer, watching for that crucial temperature, as intent as any emergency-room physician. For Lindsay, fudge was serious business. But it didn’t seem to bear the burdensome weight of those awful cards in the living room.
    â€œYou enjoy this, don’t you?” he said.
    â€œI guess so. It gets exhausting after a while, though. By the end of last week I felt like my arm was going to fall off from all the stirring. But it’s something I’m good at.”
    â€œAnd that’s important?”
    She flashed him a menacing look. “Menace” being a relative term, coming from someone nearly a foot shorter than he was. “Keep stirring.”
    â€œSo amateur psychology isn’t one of my strong suits. We’ll add it to the list, along with electrical things and computers.”
    Lindsay didn’t seem to hear him. She was peering at the candy thermometer again. The sheer depth of her concentration put a strange little ache in his chest.
    You know, you could probably use that computer network of yours to find Steven, too. Provided that finding him was the problem. But he wasn’t about to upset the applecart by tossing that name out again. He wasn’t anxious to think of it himself.
    Steven should be pounding this woman’s door down, not the other way around. If they’d sent Fred to work the other end of the case and help Steven reconcile with Lindsay, it would have been much easier. He could have shoved Steven at some