Rescued by his Christmas Angel Read Online Free

them. Even if he didn’t agree to the trade, she would have to try and buy them from him.
    But she saw she had found precisely the right way to get to him: a trade in no way injured his pride, which looked substantial. Plus, it got him out of the dreaded shopping trip to the girls’ department.
    He nodded, once, curtly. “Okay. Done.”
    She went to put the coat hooks back, until they worked out the details of their arrangement, but he growled at her.
    â€œTake them.”
    â€œSaturday morning? I can pick Cecilia up around ten.”
    â€œFine.” He turned away from her again. She saw he was heating a rod of iron, and she wished she had the nerve to go watch how he worked his magic on it. But she didn’t.
    She turned and let herself quietly out the door. Only as she walked away did she consider that by taking the coat hangers, she had taken a piece of him with her.
    Morgan was aware she would never be able to look at her new acquisition without picturing him, hammer in hand, and feeling the potent pull of the incredible energy he had poured, molten, into manufacturing the coat hangers.
    â€œI wonder what I’ve gotten myself into?” she asked out loud, walking away from the old barn, the last of the leaves floated from the trees around her. And then she realized just how much Nate Hathoway had managed to rattle her when she touched a piece of paper in her coat pocket.
    And realized it was the permission slip for The Christmas Angel , still unsigned.
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    â€œAh, Ace,” Nate said uneasily, “you know how I promised I’d take you to the antique-car show this morning?”
    His daughter was busy coloring at the kitchen table, enjoying a Saturday morning in her jammies. They were faded cotton-candy pink. They had feet in them, which made her seem like a baby. His baby.
    He felt a fresh wave of anger at the kids teasing her. And fresh frustration at the snippy young teacher for thinking she knew everything.
    He had tried to think about that visit from the teacher as little as possible, and not just because it made him acutely aware of his failings as a single parent.
    No, the teacher had been pretty. Annoying, but pretty.
    And when he thought of her, it seemed to be the pretty part he thought of—the lush auburn hair, the sparkling green eyes, the wholesome features, the delicate curves—rather than the annoying part.
    Ace glanced up at him. Her shortened red hair was sticking up every which way this morning, still an improvement over the toothpaste fin of last week, and the long tangled mop he had tried to tame—unsuccessfully—before that.
    â€œWe’re not going to the car show?” she asked.
    Nate hated disappointing her. He had been mulling over how to break this to her. Which is probably why he hadn’t told her earlier that her plans for Saturday were changed. Sometimes with Ace, it was better not to let her think things over for too long.
    â€œWe’re not going to the car show?” she asked again, something faintly strident in her voice.
    Just as he had thought. She was clearly devastated.
    â€œUh, no. Your teacher is coming over.” He had an envelope full of cash ready to hand Morgan McGuire for any purchases she made for Ace. His guilt over changing the car-show plans was being balanced, somewhat, by the incredibly wonderful fact he didn’t have to go shopping.
    The devastation dissolved from her face. “Mrs. McGuire?” Ace whispered with reverence. “She’s coming here?”
    â€œIt’s not like it’s a visit from the pope,” he said, vaguely irritated, realizing he may have overestimated the attractions of the car show by just a little.
    â€œWhat’s a pope?”
    â€œOkay, the queen, then.”
    â€œThe queen’s coming here?” Ace said, clearly baffled.
    â€œNo. Miss McGuire’s coming here. She’s going to take you shopping. Instead of me taking you to the car