“Do you have a car, Mr. Prescott?”

“No, not yet. I came in straight from the airport in a taxi. I’ll rent something on Monday.”

Caroline stood, and he stood, too, catching the handle of his bag. He was too close to her and stepped back immediately. It was an instinctive reaction. He was so tall he had to be careful not to loom over people. He particularly didn’t want to make Caroline uneasy.

“Well, no one else will be coming in today, not in this weather.” She gave a rueful shrug. “I think I’ll just close up the shop. You can ride home with me, Mr. Prescott.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I appreciate it.”

“Okay, Jack, and do please call me Caroline.”

“Caroline,” he said, the word passing his lips for the first time in twelve years.

She was staring up at him and seemed lost in thought.

He waited a beat, then—“Caroline? Ma’am?”

Caroline shook herself slightly. “Yes, um…Why don’t you wait for me at the front door? I need to close down my computer and change my shoes.”

She looked down at her pretty shoes, guaranteed to melt in the snow. Jack looked down, too. Their feet made an almost shocking contrast, as if they belonged to two different species instead of two sexes—Caroline’s in the pretty, small, pointy beige heels and Jack’s in his huge, ancient, battered combat boots. Their heads came up at the same time, and their eyes locked.

Jack clutched his bag tightly, because the temptation to reach out and touch her was almost unbearable.

He’d never touched her, not once, in all the times she’d visited the shelter. He’d thought about it endlessly, but he’d never dared.

Caroline moved to her office, behind a waist-high counter.

His knuckles tightened on the handle of the bag as he listened to the beeping sounds of a computer system closing down behind the cubicle wall. Her head disappeared as she bent to change shoes.

Caroline came out wearing lined boots, a wool cap and an eiderdown coat that reached almost to her ankles. Even bundled up so much it could have been a man or a Martian in there, she was so desirable it hurt. He watched her walk gracefully to a wall panel, switch off the lights and open the door.

Her gasp was loud even over the roar of the wind.

It was like opening a gateway to a freezing cold hell. The wind had risen and was howling like a tortured soul in the deepest reaches of the underworld, driving painful needles of sleet that stung the skin. It was so cold it stole the breath out of your lungs.

“Oh my God!” Recoiling as if someone had slapped her, Caroline stepped back straight into Jack’s arms.

Jack pulled Caroline farther into the room and fought the wind for control of the door. He actually had to put some muscle into it. He leaned against it, held out his hand and put command in his voice. “Give me your car keys.”

Just that brief exposure had Caroline shivering. It took her several tries to open her purse, but she made it and dropped a set of car keys in his palm. Then blinked at her obedience. “Why—”

“You’ll freeze to death out there. What make is your car and where did you park it? I’ll bring it around and park right out front so you don’t have to walk around in this weather.”

Caroline looked confused. “A green Fiat. It’s parked just around the corner to the right. But listen, you’re not dressed for the—”

She was talking to thin air.

I am either very lucky or very crazy, Caroline thought, shivering in her coat. Just thirty seconds exposed to the swirling freezing hell out there, and it felt as if she’d spent the winter camping in the Antarctic. She was chilled to her bones.

Lucky or crazy? Which was it?

Lucky was a strong contender because she needed the $500 desperately, and it had fallen into her lap from the sky on a day when she could never have hoped to find a new boarder. Paying off Toby’s medical bills had required taking out a huge loan against Greenbriars, and the money from her boarders was essential. She couldn’t possibly make the mid-January payment without the $500 in rent.

She’d been heartsick four days ago when old Mr. and Mrs. Kipping had come down to breakfast to announce that we’re so sorry honey, but we’re moving out. They were supposed to stay until May, until renovation work on their home was completed. But Mr. Kipping had lost several chapters of his biography of Alexander Hamilton to a short circuit somewhere in the house and, the crowning blow, Mrs. Kipping had contracted bronchitis because of the frequent breakdowns of the boiler.

There was no money at all to pay an electrician to test the wiring to find the source of the short circuit, and Caroline could probably fly to the moon more easily than she could afford a new boiler.

She’d still be paying off debts when she was eighty. If she lived that long. So far, her family’s batting average in terms of extended life expectancy wasn’t too encouraging.

Mrs. Kipping had been in tears at the thought of leaving, and it had taken all of Caroline’s self-control not to break into tears herself. The Kippings were a lovely couple and had been with her for almost a year. They’d been delightful company and had provided enormous comfort to her during Toby’s last days. Caroline didn’t know how she could have faced coming home to an empty house from the hospital. And after Toby’s funeral…she shivered.

In the beginning, the Kippings often remarked that they could never remodel their home into anything as beautiful as Greenbriars. That was before the lost files, the constant cold showers and waking up to ice in the bathroom sink. Caroline knew that Mr. and Mrs. Kipping were very fond of her and loved her cooking and that it was only Mrs. Kipping’s bout of bronchitis that forced their decision. Anna Kipping was fragile and Marcus, her husband, was afraid of losing her.

Still, he’d had tears in his eyes at leaving, too.

Finding a new boarder on Christmas Eve in this terrible weather was like a wonderful miracle.

Not to mention the biggie—not being alone on Christmas Day. The day she’d lost her parents to a hideous car accident. The day Toby was so injured he never walked again. It had taken him six pain-filled years to die.

So that was the lucky theory.

Then, of course, there was the crazy theory, which was probably the correct one. She was probably crazy to accept a man who looked as dangerous as Jack Prescott into her home and, as if that wasn’t enough, handing him the keys to her car half an hour after meeting him.

Marcus and Anna Kipping had been the safest people on the face of the earth—two darlings in their late sixties whose worst vices were Double Chocolate Fudge ice cream and an unholy passion for Gilbert & Sullivan. Marcus could recite the lyrics to H.M.S. Pinafore at the drop of a hat.

Jack Prescott, on the other hand, looked anything but safe. She’d felt her heart speed up as they talked, ridiculous as that sounded. Yes, he looked rather scary. He was rough-looking, tall, with the kind of muscles you can’t buy in a gym and an air of rocklike toughness.

He was also attractive as hell, which was something she’d never encountered in her boarders. Frightening, but sexy. So there might be a third theory to add to the lucky or crazy explanations—sudden hormonal overload.

When she’d briefly touched his arm, a shiver had run down her spine. She’d felt the steely muscle through his shirt and jacket, the hardest man she’d ever touched. And a flash of heat had run through her at the idea that he was probably as hard as that…all over.

Not that he’d done anything to make her uncomfortable, other than being so frighteningly large and…and dangerous-looking.

The exact opposite of Marcus Kipping, with his predilection for cardigans encasing sloped shoulders and thin arms. Jack Prescott’s massive musculature was visible through a shirt and a jacket. He was the most thoroughly male man she’d ever met and sexy as hell.